All That Glitters

By Sarah Richmond

Edmund Caruthers, London barrister and gentleman, is frustrated his betrothed, the lovely Dolly Wycliffe, won’t set a date to marry him.
Dolly loves Edmund, but she feels responsible for his dismissal from his law firm and his posh friends' open hostility toward them. Even his father is against the marriage because she’s a shop girl. Edmund doesn’t know how to convince her that her happiness is more important to him than status or wealth.
When a woman is found murdered in fashionable Mayfair, their two worlds collide. The victim is a shop girl and Dolly is determined to find the killer. Their engagement is broken when Edmund keeps a friend’s secret from Dolly.
Will his devotion to her and the cause of justice be enough to convince Dolly to change her mind and set a date?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sarah Richmond
• Release date: Oct 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005138189

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

I am first and foremost a teller of tales.

~Mary Stewart (1916–2014)

Prologue

London, Winter 1911

Fog as thick as fur, it was. The kind of night where a cold, rising damp soaked through the heavy great coat, the woolen uniform, and right into the bone.

Constable Burke didn’t like nights like these, not by half, and decided a cup of tea would be welcome. The publican’s daughter over at The Rose & Crown always had a hot cuppa ready—and a smile. Both warmed him like nothing else.

The bells of St. George’s church rang out the hour. His replacement should be here any minute. He waited at the corner of the high street, rocking on his feet.

He’d been walking this beat in Mayfair for three years now, and he still wasn’t used to its tidy appearance. No garbage piled in the gutters, no soot-caked buildings. The air didn’t stink of the river.

At the sound of footsteps, Constable Burke swung around, gripping his truncheon tighter. Who’s there?

Who do you think would be out at this hour/ came the answer. Constable Fallon emerged out of the mist, his ruddy face illuminated by the fuzzy glow of the gas lamps. He broke out in a smile.

Constable Burke exhaled. Fallon had given him a fright.

Any problems? A white cloud laced Fallon’s breath.

Constance Burke huffed. In this neighborhood? Not likely.

Fallon chuckled.

Constable Burke touched two fingers to the brim of his helmet. I’ll be on my way, then. See you tomorrow.

Right you are. Fallon ambled away, swinging his truncheon and whistling a tune.

Constable Burke had never liked the bloke and thought his attitude a bit too casual for police work. He watched until Fallon disappeared and then headed for his neighborhood across the river.

A shadow lurked in the gloom ahead of him. He stopped and listened, his stick at the ready. Who’s there?

A startled cat shot out of the shadows, skittered across the wet cobblestones, and disappeared through a chink in a brick wall.

You go on, then, he said with a nervous laugh. There’s plenty of rats and mice for you this night, I’ll wager. Constable Burke shook his head. It wasn’t such a good idea to be talking to a cat. The residents of these posh residences would be sure to hear him and wonder if he wasn’t a bit touched in the head.

He turned the corner, picking up his pace and thinking about the warm fire ahead when he almost tripped over a large sack partially blocking the pavement. What’s this? He’d walked this street less than an hour ago and the sack hadn’t been here. The bundle wasn’t empty. Constable Burke could not in good conscience pass it by.

He poked the coarse jute with his stick. It could be a sack of potatoes carelessly fallen from a barrow, or coal, or kittens. He did not want to know but he wouldn’t be doing his duty if he ignored what might very well be a crime.

This seemed an unlikely place to dump unwanted goods. Whoever had carried the sack had likely been heading for the river where the tide would carry it out to the sea. He looked up the street, the fog obscuring his view. Was someone out there watching? Had someone heard him coming and dropped his burden and run off?

Constable Burke wrinkled his nose, the metallic odor of blood unmistakable. He lifted the sack with his boot and saw the dark stain.

The sack was tied with a piece of binding cord, the kind one finds on a farm. He knelt and untied the knot and unwrapped the length of cord, revealing a lady’s muddy shoe and a torn stocking. His heart sank but he did not avert his eyes. He tugged and the sack came away from its contents: the body of a woman, the side of her face hideously bashed in, bloodied and bruised. He reached over and shut her eyes.

The stench twisted his insides. His stomach emptied of its bile. His throat burned as he tried to swallow. He stifled another go. Without success.

Steady, lad, he told himself as he straightened. He took a calming breath. Retrieving a handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped away the revolting taste from his mouth.

Anger built from deep inside. Who could have done such a thing? Who was responsible for this outrage?

He put his whistle between his lips and blew.

Chapter One

Bad business, this. Herbert took out his silver cigarette case and offered Edmund one of his excellent blends imported from the States.

Edmund shook his head. I can’t imagine who would do such a thing.

Herbert plucked out a cigarette, lit it, and blew a stream of feathery smoke. Nobody local, I dare say.

No, Edmund agreed.

Ever since the discovery of a young woman’s body in the streets of Mayfair the night before, speculation had been rife about the identity of the killer.

Amid the gaiety and laughter of his best friend’s engagement party lurked an undertone that all was not well, which it surely wasn’t with a murderer roaming the neighborhood.

Herbert flicked ash into a silver ashtray. Any clue as to the identity of the victim?

A servant girl, perhaps, Edmund answered, although, according to the newspapers, no one’s been reported missing.

Highly irregular, don’t you think? Herbert said.

Edmund had thought so, the streets of Mayfair were considered safe. Still, a woman alone at night took a terrible risk.

Apart from the newspaper accounts, what else have you heard? Herbert licked a fleck of tobacco from his bottom lip. He seemed uncommonly anxious this evening.

Only gossip. Even though Edmund stood before the bar as a barrister, he wasn’t privy to the communications of the police. We’ll soon know, I’ll wager.

There you are, Herbert darling, Cecilia called from the doorway. Come and dance with me.

Let’s not talk about this unfortunate crime with the ladies, Herbert said, drawing one last puff. Murder isn’t a subject for their delicate constitutions.

Edmund quite agreed about murder not being an appropriate topic of conversation with ladies present, but as for a delicate constitution, he wasn’t so sure.

Better not keep Cecilia waiting. Edmund slapped Herbert on the back nearly oversetting him. His friend, ever the good sport, took it in stride.

Herbert managed a thin smile but his stiff upper lip quivered. Always so calm and collected and practical to a fault, the dear fellow looked rather glum as he stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray.

Wedding jitters, Edmund decided, as he watched Herbert join his beloved.

Cecilia latched on to him, chattering in her light-hearted manner. He looked at his soon-to-be wife with devotion as she led him away. There’s true happiness, Edmund thought.

He searched the mingling crowd for Dolly and didn’t see her. She wasn’t comfortable with these people and would be subject to a barrage of questions, all quite polite, of course, but designed to ferret out anyone who didn’t belong to their circle.

He went to rescue her before the unthinkable happened.

* * *

The band played a Viennese waltz, light and airy, and Dolly kept time with her foot clad in her Sunday shoes. The swish of satin and silk gowns whirling by, the perfumed air, and the heat of bodies seemed like a dream.

She imagined the part she would play in future gatherings after she became a famous milliner of the haute couture. She’d wear a tiara and the season’s most sought-after gown. Her fondest wish, to become a celebrated milliner whose hats could be found in the poshest salons of Paris and Milan, had come true.

Dolly acknowledged their praise and admiration with an ever so slight nod of her head. When the music stopped, they would pester her with inquiries. Will the Queen be wearing your latest creation? Or one of those rich American ladies? Tell us, Miss Wycliffe, what will you design for us this year?

Well, I… What would she tell them? Would she describe a smart straw hat with velvet ribbons for the summer months ahead? Pompoms in luxurious fur for the colder weather? Or maybe something with a saucy up-turned brim? And bows, their hats must have bows, the bigger the better.

Such dreams were neither realistic nor wise but Dolly indulged herself anyway. For who would’ve thought less than a year ago Dorothea Wycliffe would become a milliner’s apprentice? Or that the world of fashion and high society would open up to her in ways she’d not thought possible.

Look where she was tonight. Dolly had never attended a grand ball or even seen a real ballroom before, and this one blinded her eyes. Everything glittered, from the massive chandelier to the diamonds swaying from pendulous earrings.

The gowns took her breath away. She tried not to gawk, for a proper lady wouldn’t be bowled over by such finery, but she couldn’t help but glance covetously at the abundance of expensive chiffon and satin, the gilded lames and fancy Belgian and French lace.

Dolly wore the gown Cecilia had loaned her. She loved the lemony satin concoction with the ivory tulle overlay the first time she laid eyes on it. There’d even been enough material for Mother to lengthen the skirt, Dolly being inches taller than her friend.

She’d fooled the nobs sure enough, but for how long? Everyone was unbearably civil, but that didn’t mean he or she meant what they said. How was she to tell the difference?

Don’t they look ferociously happy? A woman her age had joined her. She wore pleated silk in light green with clear beads across the shoulders, around the armholes, and down the side seams. The gown fit her to perfection.

They both watched Herbert and Cecilia as they danced gazing at each other, oblivious to the others in the room.

Yes, Dolly agreed. They are very well suited.

The woman beat the heavy air with her fan. Sorry, we haven’t been introduced. My name is Agnes Bennington.

I’m happy to meet you. I’m Dorothea Wycliffe.

Are you a relative or friend? Miss Bennington’s eyes shone bright with curiosity.

A friend of the groom. She spoke with a confidence she didn’t feel.

I thought I knew all of dear Herbert’s friends, Miss Bennington said.

We haven’t known each other for long, Dolly explained.

Miss Bennington took a deep breath, no doubt to probe further when some other well-dressed ladies joined them.

It’s all very exciting, don’t you agree, Agnes? one of the women said. Mother told me not to speak of it.

They huddled together in a circle of rustling satin and crisp lace.

Miss Bennington shielded her mouth with her glove and whispered. Doris means the murder, of course.

Dolly had read about the unfortunate woman in this morning’s newspaper.

Quite close to here, according to the newspapers, Dolly said.

Oh, yes, only ten minutes away.

Cousin Prudence told me that the victim was a light-skirt, Doris continued.

One of the girls, barely out of her teens, squealed. The others looked in various degrees of shock.

Which is what a lady would do, Dolly decided, as they pressed closer to hear details.

Agnes, being older and presumably wiser, scoffed. "She was, no doubt, one of those kinds of women, but I expect men who pursue them would keep their affairs to the East End. Those people who live across the river don’t belong on our side of town."

Dolly recoiled. Do you think so?

I do. She nodded at the others.

There was a chorus of agreement.

We all must keep to our station in life, Agnes proclaimed.

The remark was the height of snobbery, and yet the other ladies didn’t consider what she’d said to be cruel or thoughtless. Dolly was tempted to tell them where she lived but refrained. They’d be quick to judge a shop girl from Lambeth pretending to be one of them.

Cecilia and Herbert had been generous in inviting her to their engagement party. She had no desire to spoil the happiest day of Cecilia’s life because she included Dolly as one of the guests. Although she feared Cecilia’s friends might guess anyway before the party was over.

Dolly squelched a sigh. The women’s attitudes were expected. They didn’t know any different. What bothered Dolly more was her own deception. She’d pulled off a rather elaborate ruse, playing a lady. She made quite a show of dressing the part.

Pretending to be somebody she wasn’t took a great deal of practice. She’d studied their speech and manners, even the slightest of gestures, and had become quite good at imitating them. It’d been part of her training as an apprentice in Mrs. Woodward’s millinery shop, a necessity because part of her job was to wait on highborn clientele.

Here, with Edmund’s friends, the pretense felt awkward and dishonest. She hated pretending to be someone she wasn’t. She wanted them to know her for who she was.

Please excuse me. Dolly begged her leave and made her way to the drinks table.

Edmund intercepted her there. He looked so handsome in his white tie and tails. She was quite breathless to think he was her fiancé and one day would be her husband. How had she managed to attract such an amazing and brilliant man? Was he part of the deception? Was she fooling herself by believing they were suitably matched?

That could be us, Edmund said as Herbert and Cecilia twirled by them. He gazed into her eyes and leaned closer, a little too close for surely he would raise eyebrows among the guests seeing them thus.

Dolly stepped away from his advances and cast him a demure gaze. Sir, mind your manners.

It was what a respectable lady would say.

Standing this close to Edmund Caruthers, her heart fluttering and the rest of her body reacting with scandalous desire, she didn’t want to be respectable.

Or, for that matter, a lady.

He poured a ladle filled with lemonade into two pretty cut-glass cups and handed her one. The evening is about romance, don’t you agree?

She cradled the glass in both hands. I do indeed. One could lose her good sense in an atmosphere like this.

His gaze clouded. So tell me why you won’t set a date for our wedding.

Please tell me I may have a chance this evening of persuading you to set a date for our nuptials.

Let’s not talk about our engagement right now.

Although Edmund rarely took anything seriously, she could tell by the set of his jaw and his piercing stare he was serious now. Beyond serious, for the subject of setting a wedding date had become a sore point between them.

Very well. You need privacy. We’ll save the conversation for later if that’s what you wish.

They had been engaged for more than six months, in secret, but it seemed like only yesterday when he’d proposed marriage. What a wonderful day that’d been.

She knew precisely what he was after. She kept his ring on a ribbon tied around her neck. Her hand went reflexively to the top of her corset where the ring rested, ready to take its place on her finger. When that would be, if ever, she couldn’t say.

Dolly couldn’t live in his world. She would always fear, as she did now, of being caught out. She could suffer the humiliation for her own sake, but she wouldn’t subject Edmund to their scorn.

Are you all right? he asked.

Sorry, my thoughts have wandered.

He sipped his punch. May I know where to?

I wonder if I belong here with your friends?

Of course you do.

They may think differently.

You place too much importance on what others think, he said.

Of course I do. It is a necessity of being in trade. I make hats. What my customers like is crucial to whether I sell them a hat or not.

Edmund shifted his feet. He couldn’t refute the truth of what she’d said.

She looked into his eyes. She didn’t doubt his love for her. Did he appreciate the difficulty of the obstacles ahead? What if they were insurmountable?

You have been very patient, she said. More patient than I deserve.

We are in agreement on this score.

Dolly wouldn’t embarrass him in front of his friends by engaging in an argument. This is not the time and place to discuss such an important matter. She put down her drink on a side table. We should instead be celebrating Herbert and Cecilia’s good fortune.

There never does seem to be a good time, he answered with irritation.

She didn’t know what more she could say to convince him. She didn’t belong here. Surely he knew that. Why did he persist in thinking society would accept her after they were married? Was it some kind of game to him, a challenge to family and friends?

She took his drink from him and set it next to hers on the table. Sir, would you like to dance?

His sullen expression disappeared. Happily, Edmund never stayed cross for long. He took her hand and led her to the middle of the dancers.

Drawing her closer, he put his hand at her waist. Not an embrace exactly, but thrilling just the same.

I consider myself a lucky man.

She rested her arm on his shoulder. The scent of his shaving cream reminded her of their walks in the park. She looked up and saw a hint of amusement in the glint in his eyes and the quirk of his mouth, as if the matter of setting a date would be settled in the very near future. It was easy for him to believe all would be well because he’d never known failure.

He guided her to the rhythm of the music: one, two, three, and her heart beat the same rhythm. She put her troubles out of her mind and enjoyed herself in the arms of a splendid fellow.

Edmund would be the first to admit the evening had gotten off to a bad start. He blamed himself. The Pemberton’s soiree contained people Dolly didn’t know, apart from Herbert and Cecilia. They’d landed in a sea of social sharks ready to bite at the least provocation and Dolly had every reason to be apprehensive.

The music ended with a flourish and the assembly clapped. He twirled his true love one last time.

She threw back her head and laughed.

Ah, that’s better.

She detached herself from his grasp. The heat of the room and the exertion, and dare he think, his close proximity had brought color to her face, especially to the apples of both cheeks. He found himself transfixed by her glowing skin, dark penetrating gaze, and perfect mouth.

He thought himself the happiest man alive when she’d accepted his marriage proposal. The only thing that could make him happier is for her to set a wedding date. Her lips parted, ready to speak. Had she changed her mind? Had she made a decision?

Herbert approached them bearing more lemonade. Here you are. He handed one of the glasses to Dolly. Edmund took the other.

His friend’s timing couldn’t have been worse but there’d be other moments this evening. The Pemberton’s ballroom was alive with romance and Edmund would take advantage. He felt certain he would have his answer tonight.

Splendid party. Edmund drank the sweet liquid in one gulp.

Cecilia’s family knows how to entertain, Herbert replied. He turned to Dolly. Are you enjoying yourself?

Her eyes gleamed in the electric light. Yes, very much.

You look wonderful, my dear, he said.

Dolly blinked. Thank you. I give credit to the dress, which belongs to Cecilia.

Herbert blanched, believing, no doubt, he’d committed a gaff. Edmund rushed in to save him from further embarrassment.

Rather good taste, your Cecilia.

Dolly nodded. I’m very much obliged to her for loaning me such a beautiful gown.

Herbert bowed. Both Herbert and Cecilia had insisted Dolly attend their engagement party. They’d included her because they liked her. Edmund was grateful that Dolly had at least won over his closest friend and his future wife.

Now that the engagement has been announced, Edmund said, when is the main event?

Herbert took a moment to consider the question and looked slightly humiliated before he answered. I haven’t a clue.

You may be the last to know. Edmund grinned.

Herbert managed a thin smile, but there was no quick retort. The old boy just didn’t have it