The Daughters of Gentlemen (23 page)

‘I think,’ said Flora uncertainly, ‘that the clergyman was not Reverend Farrelly. Sometimes, in my dreams, it comes back to me, and then I see his face clearly, but when I awake it is gone again. I can only say that I have never seen him before or since.’

Even Frances’ firmest stare was insufficient to move the girl from her unlikely tale. ‘And then, some three months later, you ran away,’ she said. ‘Can you give a reason?’

Flora paused. ‘I am not sure if it would be of any advantage to speak to you further. I can tell by your manner that you think I imagined the wedding.’

‘I am sorry if I have given that impression,’ said Frances. ‘Do not let it deter you from finishing what you have to say.’

Reluctantly, Flora went on. ‘A few days after my marriage we attended Joshua Jenkins’ funeral at St Mary’s. In the congregation there was a young woman hardly more than my age who caused a great disturbance. She kept calling out that it was a good thing that he had gone. It was very shocking, of course, and many people tried to comfort her and tell her to hush, but all she could do was laugh and then she turned to Roderick and pointed her finger and said that he would be next. I asked Roderick what it all meant and he told me that the woman was drunk or mad or both. Some friends of hers took her outside, but later as we came out, I saw her running about the graveyard laughing and then she went to the grave and threw stones into it. I asked someone who the young woman was and found that her name was Daisy Trent. The next day I sought her out and spoke with her. She lived in a room in the blacksmith’s cottage that had once been her father’s. She was much calmer then and told me a terrible thing. She said that Joshua Jenkins and Roderick had killed her sweetheart, Daniel Souter.’

‘She said that they had actually killed him?’ asked Frances, incredulously.

‘Yes.’

‘I have read the account of the inquest,’ said Frances, ‘and I have spoken to Reverend and Mrs Farrelly, and it was well known at the time that Daniel Souter was killed by a gang of men from East Hill who had been roaming the area thieving and causing damage. Joshua Jenkins had sent Daniel to find the thieves and frighten them away, but had not realised that they were armed. Daisy found her sweetheart’s body and it sent her out of her wits. I know that she blamed Joshua Jenkins and Mr Matthews for Daniel’s death, but it was not because she thought they had actually done the deed themselves but because they had put him in danger.’

‘That isn’t true,’ said Flora firmly.

‘But what makes you so certain? Did Daisy say that she had actually witnessed Daniel’s murder?’

‘No. The only witnesses were the murderers themselves.’ Flora’s face drew into something approaching a scowl. ‘I can see that you don’t believe me. Just as no one has ever believed Daisy.’

‘If there is a single shred of evidence, one thing that would stand in a court of law, I would like to know it,’ said Frances.

She waited, but Flora was silent.

‘You were not living at Havenhill when Daniel Souter was killed?’

‘No, I was at school, and living in Bayswater.’

‘And it was after you spoke to Daisy that you ran away?’

‘Yes, of course – as soon as I could! Can you imagine my feelings? I was terribly afraid. A man like that! But I had no money and I dared not place a burden on my mother. Then, not long afterwards, Freddie turned twenty-one and came into some money of his own. I told him I was very unhappy, but of course I could not tell him the reason, and he gave me enough to be able to leave. He was a good friend to me, and I do miss him.’

‘Was Freddie at Havenhill at the time of Daniel Souter’s death?’

‘I believe so.’

‘I expect you will tell me that Freddie is also under the control of his father and will say whatever he is directed to.’

‘No. Freddie dislikes his father. He went abroad as soon as he was able.’

‘Florence, I am told.’

‘Yes.’

‘Has he ever spoken of what happened on the night of Daniel’s death?’

She shook her head.

Frances pondered the puzzle. If one discounted anything Mary Ann Dunn might have to say, as she would undoubtedly support her master, it left two conflicting accounts both of the murder of Daniel Souter and the supposed wedding. If Flora was telling the truth about the wedding, then there had been a conspiracy in which several people, including a clergyman, had been involved. The other and rather more likely explanation was that the marriage had never taken place and that Flora was lying or insane or had dreamed the entire thing. As for Daisy Trent, it seemed very probable to Frances that the unhappy girl, distracted by grief, had not given the most coherent expression to her feelings and that Flora had made some unwarranted assumptions.

‘There is one other thing I need to speak to you about,’ said Frances. ‘The pamphlet, “Why Marry?” ’

Flora said nothing.

‘It was obvious when I read it that it was written by someone who knew the school well, and was there in some capacity, either teacher or pupil, during the lifetime of Professor Venn. Someone with the ability to compose such a document. Someone who had good reason to want to warn young girls against a hasty marriage. It was printed by a business in the same street as the coffee shop owned by your mother’s second husband. I do not think that is a coincidence. I believe that you are the author and Mrs Gribling the lady who arranged for the printing. Am I correct?’

Flora appeared to be considering the option of a flat denial.

‘For the avoidance of doubt, I could, of course, ask the printer to visit Mrs Gribling and identify her,’ said Frances.

A moment or two passed and Flora capitulated. ‘There is no crime in it,’ she said. ‘No one should marry unless for love. It was my duty to tell the girls that.’

‘Did you pay Matilda to place the pamphlets in the desks?’

‘Pay Matilda?’ repeated Flora, mystified. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘But it was she who put the pamphlets in the girls’ desks?’

Flora hesitated. ‘I don’t know,’ she said at last.

Frances did not press the point, since she believed that Mrs Gribling might be better able to supply the answer. ‘Did you or your mother, or anyone you know, ever meet with Matilda or send her messages?’

Flora shook her head.

‘You should know that Mrs Venn is very upset about your accusations against her late husband. Did you observe his indiscretions yourself? Did you ever go into his study?’

‘No, but there were those who did.’

Frances gave a despairing sigh. ‘Mrs Quayle, you must not write such accusations and then distribute them based on another person’s unsupported word. The only defence against a charge of libel is that what you have said is true. From what you have told me you have no proof at all. Even though Professor Venn is dead and therefore beyond any considerations of that kind, the school has been defamed, and if Mrs Venn wished to, she could institute proceedings against you. I assume,’ she continued, ‘you refuse to name the actual accuser.’

‘I do,’ said Flora.

‘I must tell you that the appearance of the pamphlets has caused the gravest anxiety to the school governors, the teaching staff, the pupils and the parents,’ said Frances severely. ‘I understand that you felt the need to utter a warning, but now that you have done so, I wish you to assure me that this incident will not be repeated. If you can tell me that, then I will go to the governors and inform them that the matter has been resolved and I promise that I will not disclose your name.’

There was a spark in the girl’s eyes, a flash of defiance, a hint of fire, and though in that context it was not welcome, it warmed Frances to think that perhaps Flora would not always think of herself as a victim, that she might one day, even within her happy association with Jonathan Quayle, be a woman who could also belong to herself.

‘And supposing I did the same thing again?’asked Flora. ‘What would you do? Would you hand me over to a murderer? Or tell my dearest Jonathan about my past?’

Frances realised that she had no authority with which to ensure compliance with her request, and no weapon other than one which she was not prepared to use. ‘It is not for me to tell Mr Quayle your secrets,’ she said, ‘neither do I wish to place you in more fear than you are already. I can only entreat you to desist from any further contact with the school, its staff and its pupils. And perhaps I may also offer my help. If in the future you should feel impelled to impart another message, write to me first, and we will talk about it, and work together and devise a better means of achieving your object. There. Do I have your promise now?’

Reluctantly, Flora nodded.

F
rances was beginning to feel that she was swimming in very deep waters. She had accepted a commission to investigate an incident which was not even a crime, and before she knew it had found herself looking at two murders, a suspicious death, blackmail and an allegation of planned bigamy that could threaten a politician’s career. Tempting as it was to try and uncover the truth, some of this, and quite probably most of it, was not her concern at all. While Matilda’s death might well be connected with the pamphlets, Frances anticipated that despite Mr Paskall’s hysterical fears, the inquest on the man in the ditch would find him to be the victim of an accident. She had no obligation and no explicit reason to investigate the circumstances of Daniel Souter’s unsolved murder, but felt that if she could cast some light on that event, it might ease Flora’s mind, which was at best distracted, and at worst suggestive that close confinement might be her best position. It was Flora’s hatred and fear of Roderick Matthews that had prompted the composition of the pamphlets and until those feelings could be resolved, Frances did not feel sanguine that some further incident might not take place.

Frances made a careful list of all those persons to whom she had not yet spoken who might know something of the events on the night of Daniel Souter’s death. She had no doubts that Mary Ann Dunn would support anything her employer might say on the matter, Joshua was dead and Daisy Trent vanished. The only other possible witness was Matthews’ eldest son Freddie, who lived in Florence. The English community in Florence was, Frances believed, a close-knit society in which all the members might well know one another, and there was one person of her acquaintance who had lived there for most of his life.

Cedric Garton was an anomalous man of whom it could be said that he was unlikely ever to marry. Frances had first met him in January when he had come from Italy to represent the interests of his family following his brother’s tragic death. They had first become acquainted under circumstances which Frances now blushed to recall, since she had accosted him impersonating a newspaper man while dressed in one of her late brother’s suits, and calling herself Frank Williamson, a circumstance Cedric frequently reminded her of with mischievous relish.

The legal difficulties that had ensued following Frances’ enquiries had necessitated his indefinite stay in Bayswater. He had taken rooms not far from Frances in Westbourne Park Road, where he lived a bachelor existence with his manservant, Joseph. Frances knew that his unusual tastes might render him loathsome in some circles, yet she also found him witty, charming and very much cleverer than he pretended to be.

Frances sent Sarah with a note asking if she might call, and settled down to work on her business accounts. Compared with the ledgers she had once kept of the chemist’s shop this was simplicity itself. Soon she had all the books neat, precise and up to date and felt very happy. Perhaps, she thought, as her fingers brushed the drawer where her mothers’ letters were kept, there were some things better left alone.

Sarah returned with a message saying that Mr Garton was engaged with an appointment of very great importance, which would afford him far less pleasure than Frances’ company, which he looked forward to with keen anticipation the following morning at eleven.

At nine o’clock on Thursday morning, Frances was at the school to take an arithmetic class. The work was not, when one compared it with the long hours serving in a shop or indeed trying to solve a murder, arduous and in the case of the cleverer pupils, quite satisfying. After the recent revelation of their organised mendacity the girls were subdued and obedient, although the chief culprit, Sophia Fiske, showed no signs of remorse.

That morning Frances had received a letter from her uncle Cornelius approving her choice of profession and deploring the dreadful and thankfully false rumours he had heard that she had become a private detective. He invited her to dine with him at her earliest convenience. Frances felt sure that this was a ruse to question her but could hardly take offence, as she knew he was concerned for her welfare. She replied, accepting the invitation. Would it, she asked herself, be such a very bad thing if she abandoned her strange endeavours? She knew that she was supposed only to be teaching in a temporary capacity but Mrs Venn had been so kind as to intimate that she had great promise in that profession. No one had as yet been engaged to replace the teacher who had found that she preferred the married state to respectable work. It seemed quite possible that Mrs Venn might offer her a permanent engagement, and if she did, thought Frances, she might give the matter some very serious consideration.