The Daughters of Gentlemen (12 page)
Read The Daughters of Gentlemen Online
Authors: Linda Stratmann
Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #General
HAPTER
N
INE
B
y the time Frances reached the school and had waited impatiently outside for her ringing to be acknowledged, she was sufficiently incensed to push her way past the unfortunate Hannah and head for the stairs. The maid squeaked and backed against the wall as Sarah, unstoppable as a road-steamer and almost as wide, followed on. Without pausing to knock, Frances flung open the door of the headmistress’s study, and was pleased to find that lady at her desk.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ demanded Mrs Venn. ‘This is most unseemly and unworthy behaviour!’
Frances strode into the room. ‘There will be no more seemliness until I have answers,’ she said.
‘And who is this – person?’ said Mrs Venn, with a gesture of distaste.
‘Miss Smith is my trusted assistant,’ said Frances, advancing as far as the desk and leaning on it almost as Inspector Sharrock might have done, while Sarah folded her arms and stood at the door. ‘I have been lied to, Mrs Venn, and I will be lied to no longer. I have just spoken to Mr Fiske, who has told me that on his first visit to you after Charlotte was sent home you told him that the pamphlets were in your strongbox. Yet the very next day when I came here, I found you had destroyed them. Or have you? Are they still there? I demand to see the contents of the box this very moment.’
Mrs Venn gaped in astonishment, but there was no mistaking the alarm in her eyes however much she might try to brazen out the situation. ‘Mr Fiske may have been mistaken – confused …’ she began.
‘I think not,’ said Frances. ‘I think you are lying to me still.’
‘This is an insult!’ exclaimed Mrs Venn.
‘It is one you have brought on yourself. The box.
Now
.’
There was a pause, then at last Mrs Venn rose and unlocked the iron-bound box that stood on a side table, and threw back the lid. ‘There,’ she said, turning and walking back to the desk. ‘See for yourself.’
Frances peered into the box, but to her disappointment saw no papers, only neatly arranged and labelled pouches of money, and a few trinkets. One of the pouches, she knew, held the money found in Matilda’s slipper and Frances was about to suggest it be sent to the girl’s family, but decided that its presence there was evidence and it should be left as it was.
‘I trust that is what you came to see,’ said the headmistress, with a small smile of triumph.
Frances stood and thought for a moment, then she sat down. ‘Assuming – and this in my opinion is a very large assumption – that you were telling Mr Fiske the truth when you told him you had locked the pamphlets away, I suggest to you that the key was not mislaid at all, and you were lying so as to avoid showing them to him.’
Mrs Venn bristled at the accusation but said nothing.
Frances, feeling surer of her ground, continued. ‘Then he went away, but you must have been afraid that he would not let the matter drop. So who was it you feared? Not Mr Fiske – I doubt that anyone fears Mr Fiske – not the other governors, who never seem to come here. Not the police or detectives who you knew would
never
have been brought here. Who then?’
Mrs Venn moved back to her seat. ‘I see,’ she said, ‘that you are a young lady who will not be deflected from her purpose. Mrs Fiske is of a very similar disposition. You should make the lady’s acquaintance. You will have a great deal in common.’
Frances nodded. ‘And you knew that Mrs Fiske, mindful of the welfare of her daughters, would come here and demand to see what her husband had failed to see, and would not rest until she had done so.’
‘Yes.’
‘And that was when you destroyed them?’
‘It was.’
‘No doubt you told her it was done to protect the girls, just as you told me, but that was not the real reason, was it?’
The headmistress was silent.
‘Mrs Venn,’ said Frances urgently, ‘I have spoken to Jem Springett who saw Matilda’s body. He believes that she may have been murdered. Whether it pleases you or not we may soon find the school alive with uniformed policemen. And then I
know
that Inspector Sharrock will drag the truth out of you and he will not be as gentle as I am.’
Mrs Venn suddenly started to tremble in dismay and tears spilled from her eyes and rolled down her face. Frances allowed her a few moments to compose herself and dry her eyes. It was Frances’ turn to give the other woman a drink of water. ‘The pamphlet contained a libel against the school,’ said the headmistress at last. ‘An allegation as untrue as it was disgusting.’
‘Was anyone named?’ asked Frances.
‘No. And I will say no more since I do not wish to be guilty of spreading this unpleasantness myself. Miss Doughty, you can see how dangerous this is for the school. Do not force me to reveal this lie to others who may be foolish enough to believe it!’
‘Very well,’ said Frances, evenly, ‘but I still need to know more. A libel you say, therefore something that you know is untrue, but presumably it is impossible for you to prove it is untrue, or you would not have felt unable to deal with it. I understand the nature of cruel rumour – my own father was a victim of it and it almost destroyed us. I will not ask you to repeat the accusation, but tell me this – was there anything in the pamphlet – and I am assuming now that you read it in its entirety – which suggested to you that it was written by a teacher or former teacher, or perhaps a former pupil? Is that where I should be looking for the culprit? Is there amongst those persons anyone who would have borne some ill-will towards the school or even yourself? Was a teacher dismissed, a pupil expelled?’
Mrs Venn thought deeply and despondently, then shook her head. ‘I have never had occasion to dismiss either a servant or a member of the teaching staff. Those who have left have either ceased to work due to age, or have departed in order to marry, or have found a situation that suited them better. All have expressed how fond they were of the school. The current staff – and I would stake my life on it – are beyond reproach and most loyal. Neither have I ever sent a pupil away. Many of the girls have made excellent marriages. I have regular letters from several of them, and they visit me and say how happy they were here.’
‘But did the author demonstrate some personal knowledge of the school?’
‘I think,’ said Mrs Venn unwillingly, ‘that the author had some knowledge.’
‘Very well,’ said Frances, ‘in that case I would like you to supply me with a list of all the staff who have ever taught here and also all the pupils. Then we will go through the list and you will tell me of anyone who you know to be deceased or residing abroad.’
‘It is growing late,’ said Mrs Venn, wearily.
‘The sooner we make a start the sooner we will be done,’ said Frances.
Fortunately for Frances’ enquiries, the school had during much of its existence been even smaller than at present. Initially, all of the teaching had been the responsibility of Mrs Venn and Miss Baverstock. Another lady had joined them later, but she had died several years ago. Professor Venn had been the figure-head of the school but had not actually taught, his days being devoted to his great work of history which would, due to his early death, never be published. He had suffered from breathlessness and pains in the chest, and his doctor had diagnosed degeneration of the heart. Mrs Venn, feeling it was inappropriate to have an invalid on the premises, had placed him in a sanatorium, where, as she had personally assured herself, he had received the best possible care until his final fatal collapse some weeks later. The only member of staff who had left recently was a teacher of arithmetic and science, who last January had, at the age of forty-four, been unexpectedly swept off her feet at an anatomy lecture, had married on St Valentine’s Day, and was currently enjoying wedded bliss in the south of France. There had been some difficulty in replacing her and her classes had had to be shared between Mrs Venn and Miss Baverstock, who had been finding the extra call upon their time extremely arduous. Mrs Venn uttered a sigh, then on a sudden thought gave Frances a speculative look and with a few swift questions established that she had useful experience in both disciplines. Before Frances knew it, she had been engaged for chemistry and arithmetic lessons once a week each, as a temporary measure only.
Frances examined a list of sixteen girls, all of whom were former pupils. Two, Selina Matthews and her sister Lydia, she had already met. Mrs Venn gave her to understand that neither of these could be the author of the pamphlet unless their grammar had undergone a very marked improvement since they left the school. Girls tended to join when aged between ten and thirteen and stay until they were eighteen. Two girls were an exception, Selina Matthews (later Mrs Sandcourt), and Caroline Clare, who had become pupils at the school on the same day at the age of fifteen. Mrs Venn explained that Caroline was a distant cousin of Roderick Matthews’ late wife, and the date that she and Selina entered the school coincided with his first becoming a governor. Selina had left a year later to go to finishing school, it being felt that her personal attractions were more likely to secure her a good marriage than any intellectual capability. Since her marriage she had, however, become a devoted patroness of the school, donating and awarding prizes, and even taking a table selling lace and embroideries at the Christmas bazaar.
Three of the sixteen girls had married wealthy merchants and now lived abroad, while five had married in London and still wrote to and visited Mrs Venn and said how much they would like to send their daughters to the school, and recommended it to their friends. Four of the unmarried girls were betrothed, and two hinted that happiness would soon be theirs, which left Lydia Matthews, who lived in constant hope of matrimony, and Caroline Clare, who had gone abroad several years ago, her situation unknown. All her girls, said Mrs Venn, were ornaments of the community, and she could not imagine a reason why any of them would want to harm the reputation of the school.
When they were done Frances rose to leave, and the two women faced each other. ‘Mrs Venn,’ said Frances, ‘I apologise for the rudeness with which I entered your study, and any impolite words I may have uttered. I believe we both appreciate that we can only resolve this matter by working together.’
Mrs Venn nodded. ‘I agree,’ she said, ‘and I too must apologise for being less than open.’
Awkwardly they shook hands, like the two parties to a quarrel who had determined to make things up.
On the following morning Frances made her way to Salem Gardens to see if the Springetts had any further news, but she knocked on the front door in vain. She was just turning away when the door of the next house opened and the neighbour, Mrs Brooks, looked out.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said, wiping hot suds from reddened forearms, ‘They’re not at home. They’re out arranging the funeral.’
‘Do you know if Mr Harris has come back?’ asked Frances.
‘No, the police have still got him, more to their shame,’ said Mrs Brooks indignantly.
‘I am sorry to hear that; I hope they may soon learn their mistake.’ Frances was about to return home when, on a thought, she said, ‘I suppose you have known the family for some years?’
‘Oh, yes, ten twelve year I’ve lived here, longer than anyone on the street.’
‘I only met Matilda two or three times but I thought she was a clever and sensible girl,’ said Frances, who knew that her only means of making progress was to pay compliments to the dead maid.
‘She was always a good girl to her mother,’ declared Mrs Brooks, ‘came to see her every Sunday, and saved out of her earnings and gave her something to help her out, five shillings a week, regular as anything.’
‘A good girl indeed,’ agreed Frances. ‘Five shillings. That would have been most of her wages. I suppose you must remember when Edie was born?’
‘Hmm, yes,’ said the neighbour unwillingly, ‘but they don’t like to talk about that, so I don’t know how you heard of it.’
‘Mrs Venn mentioned her to me,’ said Frances. ‘She is a kind and generous lady and was happy to allow Matilda to return to her duties after the child was born. There are many employers who would not have permitted it.’
‘That’s true enough,’ said Mrs Brooks. ‘Well, this isn’t getting the washing done.’ She turned to go back in.
‘I had expected to find the child living with Mrs Springett,’ persisted Frances, ‘but she is not. Is she at school?’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Mrs Brooks, stopping and staring back at Frances with a puzzled look. ‘The child died in less than a year. The doctor said her little insides were all twisted and the food wouldn’t go down proper.’
‘Oh,’ said Frances, confused, ‘but Mrs Springett said —,’ she paused. ‘I must have made a mistake. Is there another child, perhaps? One aged about seven, who is at school?’
‘No, there was just the one. Matilda was young and she was led on – it’s happened to many a girl, believing a man’s lies. After that she kept herself respectable and was happy to wait till a good man made her an honest offer.’
‘And Edie would be seven if she had lived?’
‘Yes, I think so. Only don’t you go talking about her in front of Davey, they won’t be holding with that.’
‘I understand,’ said Frances.
As she walked away she tried to remember the first conversation she had had with Mrs Springett. There was no doubt in her mind that Matilda’s mother had told her that the child, Edie, was aged seven and at school, and Mrs Venn seemed honestly to believe this. Indeed, Frances felt sure that had Mrs Venn known that there was no child living at the Springetts, she would never have mentioned her existence. It was only Frances’ intended visit to Salem Gardens that had prompted the grudgingly given confidence. There was no reason why Mrs Venn should necessarily have known that the child had died, although now Frances thought about it, Matilda must surely have been absent from her work for the funeral. Had the maid not attended the funeral of her own child, or had she given a false reason when asking permission to be absent from her duties? But why had she concealed the death from Mrs Venn? Had she concealed it from others, too? What had she been hiding? Frances suspected that any friends or neighbours of the Springetts who had not known them before the child’s death would not have been told of it.
It was at least clear to Frances why Mrs Springett had lied; it was because she had come to the house saying she was from the school, something Matilda’s mother had found very disturbing even before she learned that her daughter was missing. Mrs Springett must have thought that Frances had come to ask about the child, and had been very anxious that Mrs Venn should not know the truth. What else had Matilda done that her mother did not want revealed? And did any of this have anything to do with Matilda’s death? Frances had to remind herself that she was not investigating a murder, only the distribution of pamphlets, yet she could not help feeling that the two were connected.
The streets of Bayswater were even busier than usual, and there was a rumbling of pre-election excitement in the atmosphere. Messengers scurried back and forth, groups of men stood talking animatedly on street corners, and someone had called an impromptu meeting where a crowd had collected to hear a debate on whether Lord Beaconsfield or Mr Gladstone was the better man, and what was to be done about Ireland. The air was chill and some enterprising individual was making a quick profit on the sale of hot meat pies.
Frances returned to the school to take the first of the arithmetic lessons to which she had impulsively agreed. Mrs Venn introduced her to the girls and then sat quietly at the back of the schoolroom to observe the new teacher. Frances did not find the headmistress’s presence intrusive, rather it was comforting as she felt it gave her more authority. For the first time, Frances faced the entire class of twelve pupils. Apart from the three doll-eyed Younge girls and Charlotte Fiske, she had not had the opportunity of meeting them before. Sophia Fiske she identified at once as a slightly younger version of Charlotte, although she had a confident, intelligent look that her elder sister lacked. Mr Rawsthorne’s daughters were small round girls, only a year apart in age, who glanced at each other often as if sharing some private amusement. The younger of Mr Paskall’s two daughters had been fortunate enough to inherit her features from her mother, but the eldest had her father’s hawk-like profile and an insolent superior stare, as if challenging observers to notice and comment upon her unusual looks. The two Matthews girls, smaller versions of Selina, gazed at Frances suspiciously, as if she was an exhibit in a display of fairground curiosities. A thin and palely freckled girl with sand coloured hair and eyes of a faded blue was Wilhelmina Danforth, Matthews’ seventeen-year-old ward.
None of them, thought Frances, could appreciate how fortunate they were to enjoy a good education in pleasant surroundings, an education, moreover, which would continue until they were young women about to enter society. She herself had been briefly schooled in crowded classes by harassed teachers overwhelmed by numbers, where she had been expected to absorb only the basic skills which her father had deemed would fit her for a life assisting him in a menial capacity. She had loved her brother Frederick, but how she had envied him the schooling her father had felt no qualms about affording him. She had studied her brother’s schoolbooks in private, alone, with, she suspected, far more eagerness and relish than he had ever shown, read every book on her father’s shelves, and then later prepared herself to take the examinations which would have entered her to study as a pharmacist. That, at least, had met with her father’s grudging approval, and, when he could spare the time from training Frederick, he had given her further instruction. And then, in an instant, the life she had planned for herself was gone, her brother’s accident and lingering death requiring her to be his constant nurse, as she had later been to her distressed and fading father. Work and self-reliance was to be her life, whereas these girls were destined to be wives and mothers, cosseted and protected by men. She wondered which fate was the better.
Frances appreciated that she had been given a simple class to teach, and did not find the task too arduous. She had been told what the girls were studying and which exercises were appropriate to their ages, and after demonstrating by use of a board and chalk how they were to proceed, assigned them their work. Her time was then occupied in marking completed exercises as they were handed in on slips of paper, and helping any girls who were experiencing difficulties. There was room for her to walk between the desks and so she decided to take a tour of the classroom and observe the girls working, which they did quietly and diligently. After a while Mrs Venn, with a nod and a smile of satisfaction, left the room.
As Frances took her seat again, she saw a hand go up. It was Sophia Fiske. ‘Miss Doughty, it’s true, isn’t it, that you’re a detective?’
Frances smiled. ‘That is one occupation I have, yes, but at this very moment, I am a teacher.’
The other girls said nothing, but all of them had glanced at Sophia with interest. ‘But you are watching us, aren’t you?’ said Sophia. ‘Are we all suspected?’
‘I have no suspects at present,’ said Frances, ‘but if any of you has anything to say to me, I would be pleased to discuss it privately after class.’
The girls, after another glance at Sophia, all bent their heads and returned to their arithmetic. Sophia, after a flicker of the eye towards her sister, did so, too. Frances set them an exercise to do, and when the lesson ended and the class left to go to deportment and dance, she sat alone, examining the papers. None of the girls stayed behind to speak to her and she completed her work uninterrupted.
Mrs Venn came to invite her to take luncheon with the staff, and made some polite compliments about her abilities as a teacher. ‘That is kind of you to say so,’ said Frances, ‘and it is as well that I have some small talent in that direction, since I may seek to make my living in that way, if my investigation is unsuccessful.’
‘And no more is known about poor Matilda?’
‘The police are questioning her sweetheart, Mr Harris, and I feel strongly that they have made a very great mistake. I think I will go up to the police station this afternoon and see if there is any news.’
‘Is it quite proper for you to go to such a place?’ asked Mrs Venn, with some dismay.
‘Quite possibly not,’ said Frances, ‘but I have been to far worse in search of the truth. Incidentally, I discovered something this morning which I think you may not know. Were you aware that Matilda’s daughter Edie had passed away?’
‘No, I was not,’ said Mrs Venn. ‘I am very sorry to hear it, of course. Matilda said nothing to me about it, and I did not detect anything in her manner to suggest she had suffered such a loss, neither did she request leave to attend the funeral. Was it very recent?’
Frances studied Mrs Venn’s expression and felt quite sure that she was being truthful. ‘Not at all – the child did not attain her first birthday.’
They were walking down the corridor towards the basement stairs and, as she spoke, Frances saw the headmistress stop suddenly and her body almost swayed against the wall as if she was about to faint, then she quickly put out her hand and recovered herself. If the news of Edie’s death had come as a surprise the fact that it had been so long ago was a palpable shock.
‘How curious,’ said Frances, ‘since you knew of the child’s existence, that she said nothing.’
Mrs Venn took a small handkerchief from her pocket and pressed it to her face, then she shook her head. After a moment or two she said, ‘I do remember, it would have been about that time, I expect, Matilda did ask permission to go home as she said her mother was unwell and required nursing. She was there for about a week.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Frances, ‘she went to help her mother care for Edie until her death. Why do you think she lied to you?’
‘I really can’t imagine,’ said Mrs Venn, ‘and of course it is now most unlikely that we will ever know.’ She walked firmly on.
Luncheon was soup, bread, cold meat and milk pudding, and while Frances had a good appetite, she saw that Mrs Venn ate little and appeared distracted. Once the meal was over, she prepared to leave and found that the headmistress too had an errand. ‘While I believe it is most improper to intrude on a family’s recent grief,’ she explained, ‘I feel it is my duty to pay a call on Mrs Springett and see if there is anything I can do to assist her at this sad time.’ As she left, her face set and determined, she did not appear to be carrying with her the packet of money found in Matilda’s box, and Frances decided not to prompt her about it.
Frances turned her steps towards Paddington Green police station. She had hoped to see the cheerful face of Constable Brown, but instead found Inspector Sharrock in discussion with the sergeant at the desk. His face had grown redder and his nose was swollen like a giant but unappetizing raspberry, due to what was undoubtedly a heavy cold and catarrh, neither of which was calculated to improve his normally touchy temper.
‘Oh no!’ he exclaimed as she entered. ‘What is it
this
time, Miss Doughty? Treason? Mutiny on the high seas? Better let me know at once so I can go out and arrest the villains. That would save us all a lot of time.’
Frances ignored the jibe. ‘I wish to speak to someone in confidence,’ she said.
‘Well you can’t see Constable Brown, if that was what you were hoping. He’s been transferred to the Detective Division.’
Frances tried not to let her disappointment show.
‘I do have other constables, you know. Some of them are even single.’
The sergeant hid a smile behind his moustache, and Sharrock wiped his nose on a large and unpleasantly soiled handkerchief. ‘Come on, then, Miss Doughty,’ he said heavily, ‘into my office and I can give you a minute or two, but no more.’
‘Have you tried Friar’s Balsam?’ she asked as she followed him into the office, which she was sorry to see was no less chaotic than the last time she had been there.
‘I’ve got better things to do with my time than hang over a basin of hot water,’ he said, throwing himself into a chair, which uttered a noisy squeal of protest. ‘Now, what is it?’
Frances looked about to see if there was a seat which might be either free of heaps of paper or clean, or preferably both. She remained standing. ‘As you may recall, I mentioned that Matilda Springett was thought to have been in possession of unsuitable reading matter.’
‘Yes, and it’s over half of Paddington that she gave them to the girls to read,’ said Sharrock. ‘Have you read them?’
‘No, I have not.’
‘Unwise of the girl, but it’s not exactly a police matter. Why should I be interested, unless you have brought samples?’
‘It appears that Mrs Venn disposed of the items rather than risk having them fall into innocent hands, but it has since occurred to her that the publisher might have further copies. She is anxious to trace the publisher so that he might agree to withdraw them. I had wondered if the publisher or seller might be already known to you for offences such as publication of criminal literature; maybe libel or slander. If you could advise me of any such, I would be most obliged.’
‘Libel and slander?’ said Sharrock. ‘We don’t get a lot of that round here. Stealing, yes, fighting, yes, and doing just about anything while drunk. But I’ll keep my eyes open. No doubt with the election on its way we’ll have libel and slander thick as snowflakes.’ He sneezed noisily and Frances backed away in distaste.
‘Jem Springett told me that when he identified the body of his sister he saw bruises on her throat,’ she said. ‘He was certain that she had been murdered.’
Sharrock grunted. ‘Yes, well neither of you is a doctor, and nor am I, so let’s leave all that till we get a verdict at the inquest.’
‘But you are treating Matilda’s death as murder, or you would not still be holding Davey Harris in custody. Do you suspect him?’
‘And what is that to you?’ Sharrock demanded.
‘It is not my personal concern,’ said Frances, ‘but Mrs Springett and her son and their neighbour Mrs Brooks are unanimous in their belief that Mr Harris would never have harmed Matilda.’
‘Well all that is very interesting, but it’s not exactly evidence is it?’ said Sharrock. ‘If I freed every suspect whose friends thought he was an angel we’d be in a right pickle.’
The door opened and the sergeant peered in. ‘He’s ready to go now, Sir.’
‘Oh, that’s wonderful!’ said Sharrock gloomily. ‘All right, I’ll have a word.’ He heaved himself out of his chair and pointed a warning finger at her. ‘And you, Miss Doughty, are not, and I repeat
not
, to go poking your nose where young ladies have no business. You’ve got yourself quite a reputation, and it isn’t a good one. There’s people round here are saying you are some sort of a detective. I hope you know better than that.’
He stamped out, closing the door behind him, but Frances quickly pulled it open and saw a constable bringing Davey Harris from the cells, while the sergeant returned to him such property as had been in his pockets on his arrest.
‘Now mind, this doesn’t mean we don’t have our suspicions!’ said Sharrock to Davey, who stood with his head down, blinking despondently. ‘I’ll be keeping my eye on you, I can promise you that!’ Davey hurried away and Sharrock headed back to the office and scowled as he saw Frances in the doorway. ‘Now, unless you have a photograph of the murderer caught in the act with his name pinned to his chest, you can go, and I don’t expect to see you here again.’ He slumped into his chair again and submitted to a fit of coughing and sneezing.
Frances was eager to leave and rushed out after Davey Harris. She knew that Sharrock in his annoyance had made a slip in admitting that as far as the police were concerned Matilda had been murdered. ‘Mr Harris!’ she exclaimed, and Davey paused and looked around. ‘I hope you remember me, I’m Miss Doughty – I called at Mrs Springett’s house. I was in the police station just now to ask if there was any news.’
He gazed at her mournfully and shivered. ‘No, no news. I’d best get home.’ He walked quickly on.
‘They’ll be pleased to see you,’ said Frances, trotting alongside him, gathering her skirts so she could keep pace. ‘They never believed that you had done anything wrong, and neither did I.’
‘Nor would I. Why would I harm my girl? It was just that I had some scratches on my arm, and – well – it was the way it looked. Lucky for me someone remembered seeing me with them earlier in the day.’
