‘So you know something of this business. Lady Frances?’ ‘Yes,’ said Frankie.
She paused, drew a deep breath and said: ‘The whole thing is really my doing, Mr Spragge.’ ‘I am amazed,’ said Mr Spragge.
There was a struggle in his voice, the outraged lawyer was at war with the fatherly family solicitor.
‘How did this come about?’ he asked.
‘It was just a joke,’ said Frankie weakly. ‘We – we wanted something to do.’ ‘And who,’ demanded Mr Spragge, ‘had the idea of passing himself off as Me?’ Frankie looked at him, her wits working once more, made a rapid decision.
‘It was the young Duke of No -‘ She broke off. ‘I really mustn’t mention names. It isn’t fair.’ But she knew that the tide had turned in her favour. It was doubtful if Mr Spragge could have forgiven a mere vicar’s son such audacity, but his weakness for noble names led him to look softly on the impertinences of a duke. His benign manner returned.
‘Oh! you Bright Young People – You Bright Young People,’ he murmured, wagging a forefinger. ‘What trouble you land yourselves in. You would be surprised. Lady Frances, at the amount of legal complication that may ensue from an apparently harmless practical joke determined upon on the spur of the moment. Just high spirits – but sometimes extremely difficult to settle out of court.’ ‘I think you’re too marvellous, Mr Spragge,’ said Frankie earnestly. ‘I do, really. Not one person in a thousand would have taken it as you have done. I feel really terribly ashamed.’ ‘No, no. Lady Frances,’ said Mr Spragge paternally.
‘Oh, but I do. I suppose it was the Rivington woman – what exactly did she tell you?’ ‘I think I have the letter here. I opened it only half an hour ago.’ Frankie held out a hand and Mr Spragge put the letter into it with the air of one saying: ‘There, see for yourself what your foolishness has led you into.’ Dear Mr Spragge (Mrs Rivington had written). It’s really too stupid of me, but I’ve just remembered something that might have helped you the day you called on me. Alan Car stairs mentioned that he was going to a place called Chipping Somerton. I don’t know whether this will be any help to you.
I was so interested in what you told me about the Maltravers case. With kind regards, Yours sincerely, Edith Rivington.
‘You can see that the matter might have been very grave,’ said Mr Spragge severely, but with a severity tempered by benevolence. ‘I took it that some extremely questionable business was afoot. Whether connected with the Maltravers case or with my client, Mr Carstairs -‘ Frankie interrupted him.
‘Was Alan Carstairs a client of yours?’ she inquired excitedly.
‘He was. He consulted me when he was last in England a month ago. You know Mr Carstairs, Lady Frances?’ ‘I think I may say I do,’ said Frankie.
‘A most attractive personality,’ said Mr Spragge. ‘He brought quite a breath of the – er – wide open spaces into my office.’ ‘He came to consult you about Mr Savage’s will, didn’t he?’ said Frankie.
‘Ah!’ said Mr Spragge. ‘So it was you who advised him to come to me? He couldn’t remember just who it was. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for him.’ ‘Just what did you advise him to do?’ asked Frankie. ‘Or would it be unprofessional to tell me?’ ‘Not in this case,’ said Mr Spragge smiling. ‘My opinion was that there was nothing to be done – nothing, that is, unless Mr Savage’s relatives were prepared to spend a lot of money on fighting the case – which I gather they were not prepared, or indeed in a position, to do. I never advise bringing a case into court unless there is every hope of success. The law. Lady Frances, is an uncertain animal. It has twists and turns that surprise the non-legal mind. Settle out of court has always been my motto.’ ‘The whole thing was very curious,’ said Frankie thoughtfully.
She had a little of the sensation of walking barefoot over a floor covered with tin tacks. At any minute she might step on one – and the game would be up.