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Title: Tea and Conversation ``°°ºº¤oøO§Oøo¤ºº°°``°°ºº¤oøO§Oøo¤ºº°°``°°ºº¤oøO§Oøo¤ºº°°`` Seamus Flanagan stood nervously before the imposing front door of a large Tudor-style house. He ran a shaky hand over bright red curls that constantly threatened to escape the cheap pomade he used to hold them in a semblance of the latest style. Surely, his editor had sent him to the wrong place. Experienced reporters were always dispatched to talk with people of high society, which the occupants of this grand house undoubtedly were. One simply did not send young apprentice typesetters to do this kind of work, no matter how under-staffed the news office was. Seamus was morbidly certain that someone in the office had made an error, and he would ultimately be made to suffer for it. Well, there was nothing to be done about it now. He screwed up his courage and rang the bell. He waited, and waited, and waited some more, but no one came to receive him. He was about to turn and leave when he heard muffled voices on the other side of the imposing oaken door. There was a click as the latch was thrown, and then the door swung open. Seamus already had a calling card in his hand, ready to give to the butler, but it was not a butler who was waiting on the other side of the door. The woman peering out at him was of late middle years, impeccably dressed in a starched, high-necked shirtwaist and a long, dark skirt, both at least twenty years out of fashion. Seamus had the distinct impression that she was looking down her nose at him, despite the fact that he towered over her by several inches. She reminded him most uncomfortably of a particularly severe Mother Superior who ran the convent school he'd attended as a child. She raked him from head to toe with a disparaging glance, clearly passing judgment on his inexpensive suit and shoes. "The tradesmen's entrance is at the rear of the house," she informed him in clipped, accented tones that told him she'd recently come from England. "I will receive you there." Seamus wasn't quite sure how to respond to that. "Er, begging your pardon, ma'am, but…" "The rear of the house," she said firmly. Another woman appeared behind her, also of late middle years. "Honestly, Marie! We're going to stop having visitors if you chase them all around to the back door," she chided. The first woman, Marie, glared first at Seamus, then at her companion, and swept grandly into the front parlor with an offended sniff, clearly leaving the other woman to deal with the situation. Seamus snapped his attention back when the other woman addressed him. "Please, you must forgive Miss Marston," she said, green eyes twinkling merrily. "She's terribly proper about everything. Is there something I can do for you, young man?" Seamus floundered. Marston; that was the name of one of the women he was supposed to seek out. So, he'd come to the right place, after all. "Er, yes. Er, I think so, that is." He thrust the unembellished calling card into her hands. "Seamus Flanagan, ma'am, from the Boston Globe newspaper. I'm here on behalf of the newspaper to request some information about something that one of our reporters overheard at the police station. You wouldn't happen to be Mrs. Fox, would you?" The woman smiled and nodded. "Yes, lad, I'm Sadie Fox. Though I must say, I'm a bit surprised that the newspaper is interested in us." Her weathered brow furrowed as she frowned slightly. She shrugged and smiled again. "Well, in any event, we don't need to have this conversation with you standing on the front stoop. Please, won't you come in?" She stood aside to let him past, the early afternoon sunshine glinting off her thick, silvery curls. Smiling somewhat bashfully, Seamus stepped past her and into the imposing foyer. He decided he liked Mrs. Fox, at least as far as first impressions went. She cast a pointed glance at Seamus' cap, which he'd been clutching even as he'd wrung his hands. "I think it's quite dead now, Mr. Flanagan," she teased him gently. "Shall I hang it up for you?" Seamus flushed, and he cursed his damnably pale skin for giving him away so easily. "Er, yes, thank you. Sorry, I'm a bit nervous. This is the first time I've been sent out on a story." He handed over his bedraggled cap, and she hung it on a fine brass hat stand that stood near the door. Mrs. Fox smiled kindly. "Not worry, lad. We don't bite," she teased him gently. Seamus cast an uncertain glance in the direction of the front parlor. Mrs. Fox followed his eyes and laughed. "Well, I don't at least. Miss Marston's not at all bad, though she can come off a bit prickly to the uninitiated." She eyed him consideringly. "Young man, you look as though you could do with some refreshment. Can I interest you in some lemonade and cookies?" Seamus' stomach chose that moment to speak up in favor of the suggestion by growling loudly. A breathless and embarrassed chuckle tumbled from his lips. "Yes, thank you, ma'am, I think parts of me are definitely interested in lemonade and cookies." He could feel his ears burning, and was certain that everything above his collar was as red as his hair. Mrs. Fox motioned for him to follow her, and, remembering his manners, Seamus offered her his arm, which she graciously accepted. Together, they headed for the back of the house. "So, Mr. Flanagan, tell me what has your newspaper interested in an aging widow and spinster who are relative newcomers to the Boston community?" "Oh, well, one of our reporters was at the police station, talking to a Detective about a recent murder, and he overheard part of yours and Miss Marston's statement to the police regarding the matter of the Campbell's stolen silver. He didn't have time to follow up on your story just then, so I've been sent out instead." Mrs. Fox stopped in a small, but elegantly appointed breakfast room. "I see. Please, have a seat, Mr. Flanagan. I'll get some things from the kitchen, and then rejoin you here." "Thank you, ma'am." The older woman smiled and turned to go into the kitchen in a swirl of sensible calico skirt and apron. Seamus sat down at the small table, which was tucked up into a bay window. The padded window seat served as seating for half the table, and there were two chairs besides. Seamus sat on the window bench and admired the view while he waited. At first, all he heard from the kitchen were clinking sounds as Mrs. Fox prepared their snack, but at length, he heard snatches of conversation. "Really, Sadie…entertain…urchins off the street…breakfast room?" "Marie, he's…reporter…Globe…hungry, for pity's sake." "The Globe? …sure?" "Didn't you…calling card?" "Well,…" "…interested…Cambells…police. You should…and join…give your account, too. …better…society page." "Oh, very well." "And please…not…frighten…poor boy." Mrs. Fox came back into the breakfast room, and Seamus tried very hard to look like he hadn't been listening. She set a tray containing a pitcher of fresh lemonade, and a plate of fragrant ginger cookies in the center of the table. She passed Seamus a napkin, and gestured for him to help himself to cookies and a cold drink. He'd poured himself and his hostess each a tumbler full of the chilled beverage when Miss Marston swept into the room, delicate china teacup and saucer in hand. She sat down primly in the other chair and stirred her tea with a silver spoon. She regarded him frostily with piercing, ice-blue eyes. Seamus had the uneasy feeling that she could see right to the heart of him. He cleared his throat. "Thank you for agreeing to see me, Miss Marston," he said politely. "My superiors at the Globe are most anxious to hear how you and Mrs. Fox became involved in the Campbell burglary case." "Indeed," she said somewhat distantly. "One wonders why a newspaper would take any interest in our affairs." Though it was perfectly clear from her tone that she thought the newspapers should've been more interested. Mrs. Fox rolled her eyes surreptitiously. Seamus bit his lip to keep from smiling. "Miss Marston, the word at the police station is that you and Mrs. Fox were instrumental in solving the case. My editor is of the opinion that your story will be of great interest to Boston Society." Miss Marston's lips curved slightly into a half-smile. "You are most diplomatic, young Mr. Flanagan. I presume you have been sent here in place of the over-curious gentleman who was listening at the door when we gave our statement to the police. I do find it curious, however, that an apprentice typesetter has been sent in place of a news reporter." In the midst of taking a sip of Mrs. Fox' excellent lemonade, Seamus fought valiantly against choking in surprise. "Er, yes, I suppose so. The news office is severely understaffed at present, thanks to the influenza outbreak and the urgency of some other stories we are currently covering. I didn't happen to be overly busy this afternoon, so I was sent out to put a few questions to you, if you will consent. As always, the Globe respects the wishes of the public. If either of you prefer not to be interviewed, we will respect that decision." He tried not to look disappointed. His one chance to get a story, and Miss Marston seemed distinctly disinclined to give it to him. Mrs. Fox smiled. "Oh, I don't know, Mr. Flanagan, the public always enjoys reading about high society, and we certainly seem to have gotten tangled up with that set." Miss Marston sniffed. "Gotten tangled up? Oh come now, Sadie. We've certainly become involved with what happens to be some of the finest society in Boston, I'll have you know." Mrs. Fox rolled her eyes again. "It might possibly be an interesting story, at that," Miss Marston mused. "It is, however, a long story. Do you have any pressing engagements for this afternoon?" Seamus blinked, and a grin spread slowly across his face. "No, ma'am. I'd be honored to take down your story, if you ladies would be so kind as to share it with me." Silently, he thanked Mother Superior for drumming proper deportment and respect for authority into his and his classmates' rebellious young heads. He took out his notebook and lead pencil, and prepared to take notes. Miss Marston sipped her tea and gestured for Mrs. Fox to speak first. "Well," Mrs. Fox began, "it all started about six months ago on two continents…" |