Bold as Brass

By Sarah Richmond

Bold as brass, London milliner Dolly Wycliffe storms the hallowed halls of a private men’s club seeking the counsel of up-and-coming barrister, Edmund Caruthers. She means to sue an English lord for the wrongful death of her father.
Unfortunately, Edmund can’t help her. The coroner has ruled the death an accident and won’t reopen the case without new evidence. Still, he finds Dolly utterly charming. Few questioned authority with such conviction. For a woman to do so was unthinkable.
Tenacious to a fault, Dolly finds irregularities in the investigation and Edmund changes his mind. He defies his family and social convention to negotiate a tidy sum for Dolly’s family— which they will receive as long as they keep the out-of-court settlement a secret.
Dolly believes his lordship is head of a criminal conspiracy. Edmund is completely flummoxed as to why she would jeopardize her family’s annuity by accusing his lordship of a crime.
As their mutual attraction grows stronger, Dolly and Edmund are aware more than her wide-brimmed hats keep them apart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sarah Richmond
• Release date: Sep 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005072759

Sarah Richmond

Sarah Richmond is Senior Lecturer at University College London. She received her PhD in philosophy from Oxford University. She coedits the academic journal, Sartre Studies International.

Book preview

"In courage keep your heart,

In strength lift up your hand."

Rudyard Kipling

Chapter One

London, 1909

A violent shaking woke Edmund from a dreamless sleep. He blinked rapidly, trying to remember where he was and what was he doing in this strangely familiar room. At his side stood Oliver Ransom, esquire, staring at him with that ridiculous monocle he wore because he was under the mistaken impression it attracted the ladies.

You really look awful, dear boy, Oliver said in imperial tones. The Greenly has standards, you know. You should be sleeping in a bed as civilized people do. The club has perfectly suitable bedchambers, as you well know.

Edmund sat up and buttoned his collar. His head pounded and the crick in his neck made him wince.

How had he arrived in such a state?

He sniffed and grimaced. His clothes smelled heavily of cigar smoke and ale. He couldn’t blame Ollie for his objections.

What are you doing at the club so early in the morning? Edmund asked his scowling friend.

The morning has come and gone, Ollie answered. It’s already past luncheon.

You’ve slept in again. Cecil Arbruster stood behind Oliver, a smirk on his round face.

Indeed I have. Edmund didn’t know when he’d been so tired.

You should’ve seen him, Ollie. Cecil dropped into his favorite chair and exhaled. Edmund stormed the stage and danced a jig with one of the loveliest ladies in the British Isles. That is until a bruiser of twenty stone threw him into the first row of seats.

Reminded of his behavior at the dance hall, Edmund grinned. He’d been in a jolly good mood having won an acquittal for his murder case at the Old Bailey and a celebration had been called for.

No matter his client—a hapless clerk for the railroad—couldn’t pay the fees. Edmund’s purse had been filled to overflowing with his winnings from the wager made with the old boys at his club.

Edmund Caruthers had been a rich man—at least for one night.

I dare say, I’m happy not to have participated, Ollie replied.

Is that so? His head hurt too much to argue. What do I owe the honor of this intrusion into my sweet dreams?

The two men looked at each other.

You have a visitor—of the female persuasion I might add, Cecil told him.

Edmund wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. A lady? Here at the Greenly?

That’s what I said. Although she’d never be mistaken for a lady, Cecil replied with a sniff. She’s with a rather lowly looking fellow. Wears a checked suit, of all things.

You know the rules— Oliver started.

Edmund bolted out of his chair. Yes, a woman at a gentlemen’s club. Intolerable. Insufferable. I will see to her dismissal straight away.

And the man with her? Edmund had no idea who he might be. A father? A husband? Good grief, not a husband.

He left his two comrades, excellent men both, relieved he wouldn’t have to listen to any more of their badgering. He’d behaved badly, sleeping in the club’s parlor, looking no better than a rag and bone man, he was only too willing to admit. The old schoolboys of Greenly did not excuse the breaking of sacred rules.

They would forgive and forget eventually because they were gentlemen and all must be well with their world.

Edmund halted when he saw the club steward bringing in a tray of East India Company’s finest brewing in a chinaware pot.

My good man, you anticipated my needs to the letter. Edmund took the liberty of pouring himself a cup as the patient steward waited.

Now if you would be so kind. I believe I have a visitor.

Yes, sir. She’s in the reception room. Wouldn’t leave, sir, even after I told her women weren’t allowed at this establishment.

Not a relative, I suppose?

I don’t think so, sir. She gave her name as Miss Dorothea Wycliffe.

Not a name Edmund recognized.

I was led to believe she’s not alone?

That is correct, sir. Came with a Mr. Dutton. His card is on the tray.

Edmund snatched the card. The name of Ludlow Dutton, Solicitor was featured in bold letters.

Edmund was intrigued. What sort of woman would be so bold as to insist on an audience in a men’s private club and bring along a solicitor?

He took a gulp of his tea and returned his cup to the tray. Very well. I’ll see to Miss Wycliffe at once.

Good as his word, he headed for the small but adequate reception room. A lady, dressed in a dark gray walking suit and wearing an enormous hat festooned with white and black ostrich feathers stood at one of the windows.

Men in some social circles believed a tailored suit overly masculine on a female, but Edmund found her attire rather becoming. She was a woman who knew how to dress for the best effect, her figure being one of the most attractive he’d been privileged to gaze upon.

He cleared his throat. She turned and lifted her chin. Chestnut brown curls framed her face. He didn’t miss the fineness of her features, a cherub mouth, an impish nose, and eyes the colour of cinnamon.

Edmund Caruthers? she asked.

In person. He bowed slightly.

Thank you for seeing me. My name is Dorothea Wycliffe.

She spoke her words with the deliberateness of somebody learning a new language. There was no mistaking the east-end accent.

Miss Wycliffe, the pleasure is mine.

I apologize for the intrusion, but I’ve come about a matter of utmost urgency. Her gaze focused on him in a manner that he found jarring. The women in his circle approached a conversation with eyelashes fluttering and a bit of coquetry.

She opened her overlarge handbag that matched the colour of her suit and pulled out a folded newspaper. "I have been following the affaire of the publican’s brawl in The Daily Mail."

Edmund didn’t interrupt.

She pressed on. Your success in securing a favorable verdict for your client was well documented.

My client was not guilty.

You are called the champion of the people. She heaped on praise he didn’t deserve.

You know how the newspapers exaggerate, he said.

Her lovely eyes seemed lit from within with an intensity that probably would scorch if he came too close, which was out of the question considering the size of her hat.

Quite ingenious, these modern hats, he mused. They gave a lady an air of mystery while keeping a gentleman at a safe distance. He judged the hat with such a large brim to be terribly inconvenient for courting.

At this juncture, an odd little man hovering to her left made his presence known. Name’s Ludlow Dutton, Miss Wycliffe’s solicitor. I see you have my card.

I do indeed. Edmund pocketed the card in his waistcoat. I’m sure you are aware new business is taken care of by the clerk of chambers. Edmund turned to Miss Wycliffe. If you would be so kind to take the matter up with him.

We have done so, she said, eyes wide, her expression grim, and we have been turned away.

That’s why we are here at your gentlemen’s club. The solicitor shifted his feet. Dolly insisted.

Dolly? Edmund liked the name.

The clerk had, no doubt, been following instructions from the head of chambers to allow only the cases where the fees would be substantial. Most likely, Miss Wycliffe had been rejected for that reason.

Rules must be followed after all is said and done. Orders obeyed.

Edmund bowed again. I am sorry if he was rude.

No more than could be expected. Miss Wycliffe dropped her gaze. She knew her place, such an action told him.

How can I be of help?

I seek your services as a barrister, she said without hesitation.

A twinge of interest coursed through Edmund’s veins. In what matter of crime would you be involved?

The ostrich plumes in her hat fluttered. No crime at all on my part.

A disappointment. It would do his reputation if not his betting pool wonders to defend such an attractive lady against a criminal charge. So you are the victim of some terrible offense?

A most grievous one, she said. My father was the pilot of the London-Greenwich ferry which exploded six weeks ago in the Thames.

Edmund remembered reading about the misfortune in the newspapers. The pilot had been killed and his fireman severely injured. Ruled an accident as I recall.

The coroner’s verdict ruled an overheated boiler was the cause. Dutton’s ruddy face turned even ruddier.

Edmund raised a brow and returned his attention to Miss Wycliffe. What can I do?

I want the coroner to conduct another inquest, she said. A request coming from you would have more weight.

On what grounds?

The first inquest was incomplete.

This is a serious charge, Edmund said.

Not one I make lightly, she replied. My family has questions that haven’t been answered. I fear a grave injustice has been done.

Edmund had to admit he smelled a challenge.

Seldom does the coroner reopen a case once the verdict has been rendered. Unless you have found some new evidence for him to consider.

I haven’t yet but I intend to find it. Miss Wycliffe didn’t waver.

Miss Wycliffe’s father’s good name is at stake, Dutton said. She’s protecting her family from vicious rumours and the like.

Commendable, but unfortunately any proof is at the bottom of the river. Edmund spoke bluntly. Rumours and misgivings—which are always in abundance when an accident occurs—are not the foundation for believing otherwise.

Her father’s death has left the family destitute, Dutton said. If you know what I mean?

Edmund did know. The family sought compensation for their loss, a tricky proposition considering the explosion had been ruled an accident.

My specialty is criminal cases, Edmund told her. You should retain a barrister who specializes in civil law. I can give you the names of several excellent men if you need a recommendation.

Miss Wycliffe frowned but only for a fleeting moment. I believe a crime has been committed and if I’m right, you’re just the man I need.

Without any evidence, there’s little I can do, Edmund replied.

That’s what I keep telling her, Dutton said.

Mr. Dutton, perhaps you’ll excuse us, Miss Wycliffe said. I’d like to speak to Mr. Caruthers in private.

The solicitor gasped. I won’t leave you alone in a gentleman’s club.

Edmund admired the man’s chivalry. A decent chap, this one.

He seized upon a golden opportunity. Would Miss Wycliffe join me at a teashop?

The lady stiffened her spine. She would.

But Dolly, Dutton sputtered and waved his hands like a gamecock taking flight.

Thank you for your concern, Mr. Dutton. She smiled at the man. A teashop is perfectly respectable. I will explain the situation in more detail to Mr. Caruthers.

Her smile was thoroughly engaging, Edmund decided, and worth a closer examination.

Edmund patted his pocket to bring any further protest to a full stop. I have your card. I will give you my answer whether I’ll take the case or not as soon as I have heard more from Miss Wycliffe.

Mr. Dutton donned his hat and faced his client. All right. If that’s what you want.

Yes, Mr. Dutton.

If you’ll excuse me. He lowered his head and charged out of the room.

I don’t think Mr. Dutton was prepared to be dismissed, she said.

He should have been prepared for far worse, Edmund exclaimed. Especially dressed in checks.

Miss Wycliffe covered her mouth with a delicate hand encased in a knitted glove. Her smile reached her eyes most agreeably.

His comment had broken the insufferable tension in the room. He’d been able to make her forget her troubles for a brief moment. Despite the reason for their meeting, he intended to spend an enjoyable afternoon in the company of this attractive woman with the enormous hat.

He bowed. After you.

She swept out of the room with Edmund at her heels. He smelled jasmine. Like a summer’s day, the scent pleased him.

The club steward met them in the hall. He gave away nothing of his opinion of Miss Wycliffe or her confection of a hat. Edmund should follow his example and act more dignified. His esteemed profession required a certain amount of gravity from him.

Alas, he was a man who indulged his heart’s desire and the hat beguiled him. He wouldn’t pretend otherwise. From this day forward he would be known not only as the champion of the common man but a connoisseur of lady’s ostrich feather festooned hats.

Edmund asked the steward to hail them a hansom. The good man did so with alacrity and not a minute later was waiting by the door with Edmund’s stick, gloves, and top hat.

The steward opened the door and Edmund ushered Miss Wycliffe outside. The cab was waiting. An abundance of sunshine overhead made him blink. He needed only a few seconds to find his bearing.

If memory served, he’d no funds for this expedition.

One moment, he told her and returned to the front door where the steward waited. Be a good chap and loan me a couple of shillings so I might take the lady to tea, Edmund said.

Of course, sir. The faithful steward—not for the first time—fished coins out of his vest pocket and handed them over.

Thank you. Edmund pocketed the coins. I’ll be sure to repay the loan with interest.

Very good, sir. The steward bowed and closed the door.

Fortified with the borrowed money, Edmund traipsed down the walkway to where the lovely Miss Wycliffe waited.

Chapter Two

Call her foolhardy. Call her desperate. Dolly had to speak to Mr. Caruthers alone. Mr. Dutton, the dear man, was under the mistaken impression she needed him to guide the conversation and protect her from the obvious charms of the distinguished barrister. She appreciated the solicitor’s support but his interruptions weren’t helping.

She could take care of herself.

Dolly must explain the monstrous miscarriage of injustice that had befallen her family. She felt certain once Mr. Caruthers had heard her plea, he would help. Her family deserved answers.

She knew what it looked like to strangers—a shop girl in the company of a posh barrister without the benefit of a chaperone. Such liberties weren’t taken in polite society. Nor would anyone believe they were conducting business.

Dolly couldn’t help what others thought.

Mr. Caruthers seemed ever so nice and attentive. She’d not found him off-putting like the clerk in his chambers who’d dismissed them, nose in the air, as if she and Mr. Dutton were some species of bug.

The barrister opened the door of the hansom with an exaggerated sweep of his hand. He was rather odd that way, treating her as if she was special to him when indeed they had just met.

She looked inside. She’d not traveled by cab before and found the space rather small. How would she fit her hat without damaging the feathers?

Is everything all right? Mr. Caruthers was at her elbow.

Yes. Very much so.

He touched her arm, presumably to help her inside.

His action startled her and she pulled away. You’ll find I am quite capable of entering a carriage without assistance.

He tipped his hat in response. She regretted her sharp words. He was a gentleman, after all, and used to helping ladies into carriages. She would do well to remember her position as a helpless female and act accordingly.

They settled into seats opposite each other.

Mr. Caruthers knocked on the roof with his stick and gave directions to the cabbie. He sat back looking quite pleased with himself. She’d no idea why.

She braced herself as they lurched forward, excited to be traveling in such a smart vehicle. At the risk of being thought vain, she wished the people in her neighbourhood could see her now.

The article in The Daily Mail had named Edmund Caruthers one of the up-and-coming barristers in London. Dolly questioned how this could be true. His appearance was rather unkempt—he’d not washed or shaved.

He looked, she imagined, the way a man must when first arising from his bed.

Dolly was mortified. A maid mustn’t think of such things and yet it’d been the first image that came to her mind when introductions were being made. She would do her best to set this first impression aside and act like a lady.

You keep staring at my hat, she said in an effort to start a conversation.

I can’t help myself. I find your hat remarkable, he replied.

I will consider that a compliment.

As you should. His gaze met hers without the slightest trace of mockery.

You might as well know, I work as a milliner’s in a small shop on Oxford Street.

With success, I have no doubt.

Thank you. She’d thought her profession would be met with a degree of disdain. Instead, he’d complimented her hat. A compliment from a toff? Would wonders never cease?

Mr. Dutton discouraged me from coming to your club to see you. She raised her chin. Now that I’ve met you, I’m happy I kept my own counsel.

Delighted as I might be you have done so, he said in all earnestness. I must say you’re very bold to accept my proposal for tea.

Tea is all you’ve proposed, am I right? She pursed her lips.

Edmund sat back in his seat. Her question had left him speechless.

Dolly relaxed a fraction. It appeared they understood each other very well indeed.

Edmund was left unsettled by the way Miss Wycliffe talked to him. They’d been getting along so well. He sobered immediately. This was a meeting between a lawyer and a potential client. A lady’s reputation was at stake, and he was embarrassed she’d found it necessary to remind him.

He concentrated on what he knew about the accident. The boiler had overheated, not uncommon in the age of the steam engine.

Could the explosion have been caused by negligence? Certainly no one had hinted it’d been an intentional act.

Edmund scratched his stubble. He could only see rough sailing ahead for Miss Wycliffe. Proving wrong-doing would be a formidable task.

The hansom proceeded at a slow pace from St. James Street to Piccadilly. The warm weather was like silk against the skin. He reveled in the fine June day. Perhaps he should go down to the seaside for a few weeks to soak in the sun. He would ask his sister and her girls to go with him. They would have a marvelous time.

The cab slowed to a crawl and then stopped. They’d arrived at the teashop, which was a favorite of his mother and sister. Edmund opened the cab door and descended. He offered his hand to help Miss Wycliffe step down. Her grip was strong and she held on without indecision.

Of course, she released him as soon as her footing was secure on the cobblestone. Clearly, she valued her independence and didn’t want him to think her less than capable.

He couldn’t take anything for granted with this woman.

Edmund paid the driver, leaving him enough coins to buy tea and some cakes. Miss Wycliffe waited on the pavement, the sun gleaming off her confection of a hat. By Jove, he liked nothing better than to be in the company of an attractive woman. He wished the reason for this meeting might have been more congenial.

She led the way. They were met inside by a girl of sixteen or so dressed in a plain skirt and blouse and wearing a white apron and cap.

Edmund followed Miss Wycliffe to a table by a window. Her hat cut a wide path. The other patrons of the shop were gawking at the plumage. Not a glance passed his way, even though he was the only gentleman in the room.

He ordered coffee and the cake. He’d slept through breakfast and was hungry enough to eat a plateful. Unless you’d like luncheon? He didn’t want to be presumptuous.

He’d be able to afford either sandwiches or cakes with the coffee but not both.

She shook her head. Coffee and cake will do, thank you very much.

The shop girl departed on her mission to provide them with their food and drink.

He wished Miss Wycliffe would favor him with one of her smiles but she didn’t. The topic was serious and the consequences dire.

Now explain in more detail why you think the coroner has been deficient. He shifted his weight to get comfortable on the diminutive cane chair.

The girl returned with two cups of coffee and a plate of Madeira cakes.

Edmund’s stomach gurgled as he added three lumps of sugar and a healthy measure of steaming milk to his cup.

There’s too much that has gone unexplained. She met his gaze. The coroner’s inquest ruled the explosion on Papa’s ferry caused his death. An accident, he concluded, most likely from a defective boiler or one of the gauges on the boiler gave a false reading.

Explosions from a defective boiler aren’t unheard of. Ever since the advent of steam engines, accidents of this nature have occurred, often with devastating results.

Isn’t faulty equipment evidence of poor quality?

That is one conclusion, Edmund admitted. Another could be the steamship wasn’t properly maintained by the pilot and his crew.

She grimaced.

"I’m sorry for