Excerpt from A Death of No Importance by Mariah Fredericks, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Mrs. Armslow chose to devote a small part of her vast fortune to my uncle's cause. Once a year, she would visit in order to survey the souls in the process of salvation. During one visit, when I was fourteen, Mrs. Armslow questioned the wisdom of raising an impressionable girl among so many fallen women and offered me a position. My future would be secured and my morals protected.

"My uncle administers a home where fallen women who seek a better life may stay in safety," I told Mrs. Benchley.

Mrs. Benchley nodded. "I imagine it's terribly difficult for these women to return to any kind of respectable life. And when you think so many were forced into it, even kidnapped—"

She paused, eager for colorful stories of white slavery and innocent country girls seduced into vice. I asked, "Is it you who requires a maid, Mrs. Benchley?"

"Me?" Her mind still on prostitutes, it took Mrs. Benchley a moment. "Oh, no. I have my own dear Maude, she's been with us for ages—Matchless Maude, I call her—and the girls need someone more their own age. But they're very different girls, and finding one person to suit both has been so difficult. I had thought, Well, we'll simply get two, but my husband doesn't see why they can't make do with one, and when Alfred doesn't see something, it's…" Nervous, she rubbed one hand over the other. "So, you see…"

"Yes," I assured her. "Your daughters require a maid."

With a sigh, she dropped her hands to her lap. "Oh, you do understand. And you speak English. They say the Irish do, but I can never make it out. Oh—you're not Irish, are you?"

"No, ma'am, from Scotland. When I was three."

Beaming, she said, "Well, that's fine. Shall we speak with the young ladies?"

As I followed her up the stairs, she said, "We'll see Charlotte first. She made her debut a month ago. Oh, it was marvelous, hundreds of people."

One of whom was Mrs. Gibbes, a friend of Mrs. Armslow's, who described the event as "a pageant of vulgarity," although she allowed "the girl was a pretty little thing."

Mrs. Benchley said, "Again, I must credit Mrs. Tyler; she told us who the best caterers were, where to get the flowers, who we must invite, and not invite, which is apparently just as important."

I wondered if there had been financial remuneration for Mrs. Tyler's helpfulness. She would not be the first lady of great name but small wealth to accept a fee for such guidance.

We were interrupted by a scream from down the hall. Mrs. Benchley hurried to the next door and flung it open. Coming up behind her, I saw a beautiful, airy room that looked directly onto the avenue. In the center of the room, a lovely girl stood in her chemise, fists clenched, glaring down at a bundle of light blue cloth heaped about her ankles. A sullen older woman in an ill-fitting maid's uniform stood at a safe distance.

"Whatever's the matter, Charlotte?" asked Mrs. Benchley.

"It's…" She waved a dismissive hand at the maid. "She's completely hopeless. She hasn't got the first idea what to do."

Small wonder. The bundle of cloth was a hobble skirt. It had only recently become all the rage among the fashionable set. A tight, narrow column of fabric, it obliged women to take tiny, awkward steps; in the words of its creator, Paul Poiret, it "freed the bust and shackled the legs." This made it difficult to put on, as one could lose balance as the skirt clutched tighter and tighter around the body.

This, it seemed, was my cue.

"If I may," I said, stepping into the room. "Mrs. Armslow's granddaughter had a skirt similar to this." Kneeling beside Charlotte Benchley, I said to the older woman, who I guessed was the Matchless Maude, "Could you bring that chair here? Miss Benchley, if you would hold on? Thank you."

Excerpted from A Death of No Importance by Mariah Fredericks. Copyright © 2018 by Mariah Fredericks. Excerpted by permission of Minotaur Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.