The Daughters of Gentlemen (27 page)

The housekeeper gave a satisfied smile. ‘Then that just goes to prove it.’

‘And Reverend Farrelly says he knows nothing about it.’

‘Of course not, because he wasn’t there,’ said Mary Ann firmly.

There was a moment of deadly silence, then Mary Ann coloured deeply and said, ‘What I meant to say was, he couldn’t have been there because it didn’t happen!’

Frances, the consequences of what she had just heard flooding her mind, stared keenly at the woman before her. ‘Mrs Dunn, in all our interview you have been very precise. I think that precision has not deserted you.’

‘I don’t know what you mean!’ said Mary Ann defiantly, but there was a break in her voice, a note of panic. ‘If that is all, I will take my leave!’ She turned and almost ran away, heading towards the little lychgate but Frances pursued her with some determination, her long legs striding across the grassy mounds of the burial ground, gathering her skirts to leap over a row of little stones that sprouted from the earth like ancient teeth, and finally overtaking and facing the housekeeper at the gate, blocking her way.

‘How dare you! Stand aside and let me go!’ gasped Mary Ann. ‘I will call for assistance!’

Assistance, Frances knew, was not far away, so she spoke quickly. ‘Listen to me first. I think that the wedding
did
take place. I think that you were there and that somehow you fooled Miss Clare into believing that Joshua Jenkins was there as well. Reverend Farrelly is innocent in this matter, indeed I never suspected him to be guilty, so some other clergyman must have conducted the ceremony. All I now require is the name of the man. Give me that and I will stand aside.’

Mary Ann recovered her breath and, with that, her composure. ‘It never happened, and you can’t prove that it did,’ she said.

‘I can’t prove it now,’ said Frances, ‘but one day, I promise you, I will. Very well, if you will say nothing today, I will return home, but when you feel ready to tell me the truth, please do so.’

‘I have nothing more to say to you,’ said Mary Ann obstinately, ‘not today or at any time!’

‘Nevertheless,’ said Frances, ‘you have my address.’ She stood aside, and the housekeeper hurried away.

Frances made the journey home alone. If Flora’s account was true, she thought, then Matthews, after failing to make the girl his mistress, had arranged a secret marriage in order to possess her. No reputable clergyman would have agreed to take part in such an underhand proceeding, and Frances wondered if there was such a person as a disreputable clergyman. She rather feared there might be – one addicted to drink perhaps, or with debts to pay. Even if she was able to find this man, and she had to admit that without Mary Ann’s unwilling testimony she could not imagine how she might do so, he would hardly confess to what he had done. Supposing, however, he was not even a genuine clergyman, but had been defrocked for whatever sin might result in that unsavoury situation. If that was the case, then the marriage was not lawful and Flora would be free to marry Jonathan Quayle. The more Frances thought about it the more she believed that this was the answer. If Matthews had indeed contracted a lawful marriage with Flora, would he have dared to court the Duchess? The perils of discovery were far too great. The mere fact that not one scrap of paper existed to say that the wedding had ever taken place led Frances to conclude that it had been a sham.

That afternoon Frances was due to teach a chemistry class at two o’clock, and with no time even to return home or refresh herself with a biscuit, presented herself at the school at a quarter to the hour. To her surprise, however, there was no answer to the bell. She waited for a while and tried again, but the house was silent. Mystified, she went to see Mr Fiske, but the maid said that he was unwell and could not be disturbed. ‘In that case, I wish to see Mrs Fiske,’ said Frances.

‘Mistress is not at home to visitors,’ said the maid, as if chanting a nursery rhyme.

‘Then I will wait inside until she is,’ said Frances.

‘Mistress says she can’t see anyone at present, but if you were to send a note —,’

‘Rose,’ said a quiet voice from the hallway, ‘you may conduct Miss Doughty into the parlour.’

‘Yes Ma’am,’ said Rose without turning a hair, and stood aside to let Frances in. ‘This way, if you please.’

Frances and Mrs Fiske made themselves comfortable and tea was sent for. Mrs Fiske looked weary and troubled.

‘I have come from the school,’ said Frances. ‘I was due to teach a class but it is all closed up.’

‘And may well remain so,’ said Mrs Fiske. ‘There has been a disaster of the greatest magnitude.’

‘I hope no one is injured?’ Frances asked anxiously.

‘No, it is nothing of that nature.’

‘Where are the pupils and the teaching staff? Have they all gone away?’

‘I have sent Charlotte and Sophia to stay with my sister. The Younge girls, who have no female relative, have gone to a boarding school in Kent. The others I believe are with their families. Those of the staff who reside on the premises remain there, but as you have discovered, they are not answering the door to visitors. I don’t know where Mlle Girard is and I don’t particularly care. Mr Copley the art teacher is in the custody of the police. He has been charged with murdering the maidservant.’

Frances gaped in astonishment. ‘I have spoken to him on only two occasions and I cannot say that I held him in any esteem, but I cannot imagine that he is a murderer.’

‘I assume,’ said Mrs Fiske dryly, ‘that your experience of murderers, while greater than mine, is necessarily limited.’

‘That is true,’ said Frances. ‘I have known murderers, and somehow they seemed outwardly to be little different from anyone else. But what evidence do the police have against Mr Copley?’

‘I am afraid it all stems from the activities of the pretentious Mr Miggs,’ said Mrs Fiske. ‘He came here the other day in a great state saying that I had insulted Mr Mellifloe’s mother. I pointed out that I had said nothing to the detriment of that lady, but he replied that he did not appreciate the tone of my comments, and I ought not to have mentioned her at all. I was blunt with him and said that Mr Mellifloe had brought odium upon himself by having the effrontery to publish under the guise of poetry lines utterly devoid of merit, and then expect the public to part with money for them. As to Mr Mellifloe’s mother, if he did not want her mentioned then he ought not to have dragged her into the matter himself.’

‘All of this is very true,’ said Frances, ‘but I expect it did not please him to hear it.’

‘Not at all. He then revealed that he had made enquiries amongst all the printers of his acquaintance to try and discover a copy of the pamphlet, and he had found one that he was sure was the one distributed at the school. He read some passages to me and I could not deny that they sounded very like what Sophia had been saying. The allusion to Miss Baverstock was unmistakable. He then revealed that under normal circumstances he would not choose to make the contents public, however the pamphlet referred to an evil man in the school, one addicted to nameless vices. He felt it his duty to inform the police, if only for the protection of the girls.’

‘But —,’ began Frances and stopped before she revealed more than she ought. ‘But the only man associated with the school is Mr Copley and surely he is not addicted to vice?’

‘Oh, but he is,’ said Mrs Fiske severely. ‘Mr Copley is addicted to seeing the female form in a state of nature. Some call it Art, and I understand that there are many paintings of that sort in the Royal Academy, which is a place where those who wish to indulge themselves may do so without fear of arrest. The police, however, have found pictures in his portfolio purporting to be —,’ she paused, ‘purporting
only
, you understand, to be of the pupils of the school. It is surmised that he exercises his talents in drawing the forms of dishonest females, and then for his own amusement appends to these filthy things the faces of innocent young girls drawn from memory.’

The tea arrived and fortunately it was accompanied by thin slices of sponge cake. Mrs Fiske ate nothing, but Frances was hard pressed not to devour the entire contents of the plate, which would have been very impolite.

‘That was a most shocking discovery,’ she said, ‘and I can understand your distress, but what has it to do with Matilda’s death?’

‘There was, amongst his other imaginative work, a drawing of the maidservant. Her mother has confirmed that there are certain features which convince her that it was drawn from life. It is suspected that the girl was paid to pose for him. However, the police also believe that being a prying young person, she may have seen the other drawings when visiting Mr Copley at his lodgings, and demanded money in return for not reporting what she saw.’

‘Thus giving him a motive to murder her,’ said Frances.

‘He admits drawing her, indeed he can scarcely deny it, but he denies murder.’

‘One hardly knows what to believe of a person like that,’ said Frances.

‘Precisely,’ said Mrs Fiske.

‘Poor Mrs Venn!’ said Frances, thinking of all the people who had by now seen the dreadful pamphlet and what would ensue when it was realised who the man referred to really was.

‘She employed the man, and as a result her judgement is now seriously in question,’ said Mrs Fiske. ‘I doubt very much that she will be retained.’ She put her cup down. ‘I must not forget – my husband asked me to pass on an envelope to you. I believe it is your account.’ She rose and took the item from a side table and handed it to Frances.

‘I hope Mr Fiske is not too unwell,’ said Frances.

‘A headache only – he does not deal well with upheaval, and I regret to say that there is more to come. Mr Younge has just returned from Malaya, where I understand he is something in rubber, and he has engaged the services of a solicitor. It appears that there will be a public enquiry. They have lost no time and an announcement will be in tomorrow’s newspapers. It should take place very soon.’

‘Before the election?’ asked Frances.

‘Sooner than that – before Easter,’ said Mrs Fiske. ‘Thursday, if they can secure a suitable room. And the formal nomination of candidates takes place on the following Tuesday. I wonder what romance of the imagination Mr Paskall will make of
that
.’

Frances decided that she would call upon Mrs Venn as soon as that lady felt able to receive visitors. Once home, she relayed all the events of the day to Sarah, who soon saw that Frances had barely eaten and plied her with more cheese and pork pie and cake than she could comfortably manage. Sarah’s detective duties had continued to meet with success, and Frances anticipated that her apprentice might, in time, become so well known for her work amongst the servant class that it would be necessary only for her to enter the door of any establishment to procure the abject terror of the culprit, who would instantly confess.

Frances opened Mr Fiske’s envelope, the contents of which were very satisfactory, but represented, she knew, a dismissal from the case. The payments she had received for her other work had also been more than handsome, and she found herself obliged to visit the bank, although not before she had given Sarah a bonus, which was received with considerable astonishment. Perhaps, thought Frances, one day they would be sufficiently settled that they might think of investing funds to ensure their comfort in old age. But even the most prudent of plans could all come to nothing, as she knew from her father’s example, and to which she now had to add that of Mrs Venn. She wrote a letter to that lady, expressing her sincere condolences and the hope that in due course she would be permitted to call upon her, not in any professional capacity but as a friend.

Tom called to advise Frances that the lady he had been following had kept an appointment with her Hyde Park swain but the tender moment had been interrupted by his arrest on several charges of fraud at the behest of a whole posse of disappointed females. The client, being the only one of the gentleman’s victims to retain possession of her investments, was naturally grateful, if still suffering from the effects of lost love, and was entirely under the impression that the drama she had just seen enacted had been brought about by Frances’ almost miraculous prowess as a detective.

Frances had not planned to go and see Flora until she had something more tangible to report thal her own suspicions, but in the dying light of the evening she took up the pamphlet again, as there was an expression she had heard recently that was an echo of something in its pages, and she wanted to be sure that it was no more than coincidence. There was an awkwardness of phrasing at its centre as if there was something the writer wanted to say that she could not place comfortably, but it sat there, standing out as if it had been underlined, and was, perhaps, the most important part of the document. Frances saw now that Flora had not been entirely honest with her, and that the pamphlet had not after all been prompted by a desire to warn all girls against the dangers of marriage without love. She determined to go and see her immediately after breakfast the next morning.