That evening, as I ate dinner with Emory and Freddy, I thought of the poet Rumi, who wrote "Find the sweetness in your own heart, then you may find the sweetness in every heart." The Beckham family had managed to set aside the sour and find the sweetness in their life. I hoped they would be able to bring Mary into their hearts. My large family was one of the things which kept me going.
The fact I could quote Rumi would surprise many. One of the advantages of growing up in the Kingsbury household. Lord Kingbury thought that everyone should study as much as they had the capacity for. I never had a talent for science, literature and poetry became my passion when I spent time in the school room with Carmella.
Freddy asked, "What happened with the meeting? Did Mrs. Beckham shake a flannin?"
Freddy's colorful turns of phrase never cease to amaze me. "What does that mean, exactly?"
"To get into a fight, especially with your fists," Emory said.
I shook my head. "I'm not sure what a flannin is, unless they're talking about the Scots word for cloth."
"It's just something that's been passed down with the boys in the gang. Could be Scotch, I know some of the gang have Scottish ancestors. Why would you shake cloth at someone, though?"
"Well, whatever the origin of the phrase, no, there were no first fights at the Beckham house. Everyone was civilized and Mr. and Mrs. Beckham finally aired their dirty laundry to each other. It turned out Mr. Beckham did suspect his wife had an affair leading to the birth of Maggie, but once he saw his two daughters together, he found himself in the wrong. This probably contributed to his guilt and led to him not arguing to hard when Mrs. Beckham asked for a wife auction. It all could have been avoided if they discussed things instead of keeping their feelings bottled up."
Emory kissed me on the cheek. "This is a lesson to all us married people."
Freddy rolled her eyes. "You need to find some more interesting clients. There's never any fighting or real arguing."
I smiled. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm not looking for a client who wants me to find a murderer. I'll leave that sort of thing to Scotland Yard."
"I highly approve of that," Emory said.
"I don't. What kind of investigator wouldn't want to solve a murder?" Freddy asked.
"The kind who has no desire to go into physical danger. I know how to fend off a masher with a hat pin, but someone who commits murder wouldn't be daunted by a long pin. Besides, who would ask a lady's maid to look into a killing? It's absurd."
"You're selling yourself short, my love" Emory said. "You would be the person a murderer would least expect, but I don't want you putting yourself in danger either."
"I am sure there is no fear of that." As I said this, a shiver went up my spine, as if I may have spoken too soon.