Hattie Glover’s Millinery

quite intrigued by what Rumsfield might turn up concerning Miss Pruett’s suitor.
After bidding Harriet goodbye, Guy hired another cab to take him to a seamier part of town where Mr. Tyron Rumsfield, a retired Scotland Yard detective, had his office. Old age had not dulled the man’s wits. Guy had witnessed the man’s skill after hiring Rumsfield to look into a potential land deal. As Guy had feared, the property was a fabrication and Guy’s enthusiastic new friend, a con artist. Since that incident several years ago, Guy had begun a friendship of sorts with the gruff old detective.
“Mr. Hardy! Good to see you. It’s been some time,” the elderly receptionist greeted him. “Mr. Rumsfield is with a client just now, but should be finished soon. May I offer you tea while you wait?”
“No, thank you, Mrs. Worthy. I’ve just come from lunch.” Guy took a seat in the tiny room and took turns staring out the smudged window and studying the faded print of a fox-hunt on one wall.
“What have you been doing with yourself?” Agnes Worthy asked, after she’d finished laboriously typing something. “Keeping busy?”
“As busy as I’m able given my sedentary nature. What about you? How are your children and grandchildren? I apologize if I don’t recall their names.”
The woman pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. Sunlight through the window reflected off them, hiding her eyes. “Oh, I wouldn’t expect an important man like you to remember such details. Every one of them is right as rain, I’m happy to say. If children are a blessing, grandchildren are doubly so. Just the other day, my youngest grandson, Dewey, told me the sweetest story he’d made up…” She proceeded to launch into a detailed retelling so all Guy need do was smile and nod.
His mind drifted back to his luncheon with Hattie Glover. She’d been as fresh as a spring leaf today in a pale green pin-striped skirt and matching jacket worn over a pristine white blouse, a dark green velvet tie at the throat of her collar. The straw hat perched on her coil of chestnut hair matched her ensemble and sported three erect black feathers tucked in the hatband. Mrs. Glover’s verdigris was an eye-catching ensemble as sharp and bright as the woman herself.
Her worry as she’d confessed Miss Pruett’s situation touched him. There was nothing for her to gain from helping this young woman and everything to lose if the girl’s mother found out the milliner was interceding. Hattie took the risk out of the kindness of her heart, which was worth something in this selfish world.
Guy realized Mrs. Worthy’s tale had come to an end. “How charming your grandson must be. You have every reason to be proud of him.”
The woman beamed and began another anecdote. Just in time to stop the recitation, Rumsfield’s client left and it was Guy’s turn with the detective.
He entered Rumsfield’s office, a cluttered room packed with cabinets and boxes full of files with still more stacked on every available surface. There was barely enough room for the inspector’s desk and a chair for his client.
Guy sat down. “How’s business?”
The stocky man with a walrus moustache shielding the lower half of his face grunted a non-response. “What do you need?”
“It’s a wonder you have any clients with your manners. I’m fine, thank you for asking.”
“Get to it. I’m busy.” Rumsfield took off his half-spectacles and looked up from the papers on his desk.
“Very well, since you’ve asked so nicely. I’d like you to find out all you can about a man who may be leading a young lady astray.”
“You want me to investigate you?” Not a hint of humor in Rumsfield’s tone indicated a joke.
“Funny,” Guy said wryly, then filled him in on the pertinent details of Miss Pruett and Randall James.
“See what I can do. What’s the time frame?”
“Quicker the better.” Guy found himself speaking equally tersely. “Girl might run off with him.”
“Got it. Time for a game of chess?” Rumsfield abruptly switched topic.
Guy wasn’t in the mood, but agreed anyway. The inspector removed more papers from the top of a chessboard and rummaged in his desk for the pieces. Guy scraped his heavy chair closer to reach the board.
Rumsfield opened with the Queen’s Gambit as expected. Guy countered, and they swiftly progressed through the initial salvo. Playing with only a fraction of his attention on the match did not place Guy in the best position. He was too busy wondering whether it would be too awful of him to ask Rumsfield to look into Hattie Glover.
The inner voice he might as well label “Bettina” clamored that investigating her would be an unpardonable intrusion. She’ll tell you about herself when she is ready, and if she never is, then you must suppress your curiosity and accept it.
Guy didn’t want to hear that advice. Somewhere between capturing a pawn and receiving his first “Check” from Rumsfield, he blurted, “Would you look into another matter for me?”
“Usual rates apply. What is it?”
Guy moved to protect his king. “There’s a woman of interest to me, but I know nothing of her background.”
Rumsfield pushed forward his bishop, pinning Guy in a two-pronged attack. “Name?”
An inevitable checkmate was only three moves away. Since there was no escaping it, Guy toppled his king. “Mrs. Harriet Glover, but I doubt that is her actual name. Don’t you think Hattie Glover is a bit too on point for a milliner? Hat and glove.”
The old man gave him a bleak stare that suggested Guy was an utter idiot for spelling it out. “Address?”
“I believe she lives in rooms above her shop, but I’m not certain.” Guy wrote down the address, then slouched back into his chair. Why did he feel he’d just sold his soul for thirty pieces of silver?
Because you’re prying into something that is none of your business, and you are betraying her trust, Bettina replied helpfully.
“Might be hard to track without a real name, but I’ll try.”
“Don’t let her know you’re