She had thought that his expenditure had been excessive, even taking a mistress into account; it seemed that the worst of the expenditure was in the form of gambling debts; but there were other things that were also worrying – and puzzling.
Frank had given her fifty pounds in paper money to help defray the cost of household expenses not long after these letters; and where had that come from?
Up until then he had become enraged any time she mentioned a need for money; that he was worrying about his debts might have explained why he had been short with her at first; but evidently that he found consolation with a mistress explained far better his subsequent distance; even if paying for the same would scarcely help his money worries.
But how had he found the fifty pounds – and how had he paid off those vowels?
The next letter was written in the same illiterate hand as the letter she had found that had killed any love she had left for Frank, the one she had discovered in the worn money purse she had taken to mend, just after little Frances had been born.
This one however was dated earlier, a few weeks after the ones from his uncle and father, around the time Frank had managed to provide that extra fifty pounds housekeeping. Jane read it through with some distaste.
“Frankie me darling I do love me little nook wot you have found for me! It is our own speshul nest to bill and coo in, and play pritty games. I am waring only me stockings and shemees while I rite you this dear Frankie; your little bird, Dolly”
Jane shuddered and after translating ‘shemees’ into ‘chemise’ moved, on to the final and fifth document. This letter was even more worrying; it had been thrust into the escritoire and was dated only a few days earlier, ironically on St Valentine’s day. The previous Valentine’s Day had brought with it a sentimental missive for her; and a heart cut from paper in the most delicate filigree that must have taken Frank long hours to do. Unless, thought Jane cynically, he had paid some poor silhouette-cutter a pittance for it. This year she had received nothing but a complaint that the toast was burned. Frank had however seen fit to send a gift to his mistress.
“Frankie me deer darling! You are the best man ever! Your little bird just LOVES her Valentine’s diymond necklass! I am waring it RITE NOW Frankie, and it is so loverly that it is all I need to ware!”
Jane groaned as she read this one again with its heavily underscored emphatics. The sort of woman who would write that had to be totally cheap. And for such a woman Frank would buy a diamond necklace?
He did not buy his wife diamond necklaces. More to the point he did not provide his wife with enough housekeeping. Unless this were paste with which to satisfy a greedy mistress. But even a paste necklace that looked convincing would not come cheap; where was he getting the money?
She was horribly afraid that her husband might be so totally sunk below reproach as to be spending his evenings persuading the gullible into cheating games, for she could think of no other way he might be gaining enough money!
The knock on the door must be Mr Armitage; and soon Fowler would show him in. She must remain like ice and betray no emotion about this iniquitous business.
Chapter 3
Caleb Armitage was grateful to be asked to sit; not so much that his leg pained him today but that he felt large and clumsy in Mrs Churchill’s dainty room. It was a room that suited the occupant; Mrs Churchill was a slight, neat figure, graceful more than dainty, thought Mr Armitage, the dark eyebrows and eyelashes more of a contrast in her pale face, framing steady grey eyes. She had put on a gown as close as she might have to mourning at short notice, a half dress of calico in dove grey print of scrolling leaves on white. Mr Armitage thought her very composed and ladylike; perhaps cold and unfeeling, perhaps very good at concealing her feelings. Genry-morts, ladies of the upper classes, were taught that it was ill-bred to display emotion after all.
The room must reveal something about Mrs Churchill to give some idea about her.
It was tidy; but that might be blamed on the maids. The chairs were fashionable but comfortable; the décor was all in the combination of silver grey, mazarine blue and cream, a cool-looking combination that suited Mrs Churchill very well. Dark blue velvet curtains were caught back from the window with a silver cord, the carpet was blue and cream, and the Florentine silk upholstery was in stripes of all three colours, the walls draped with a paper printed in ivory with darker cream and silver grey foliage forming the overall striped design. The colours were not those that Mr Armitage would ever have thought of as going together at all but they were surprisingly lovely together. Restful. Yes, that was it. He wondered whether Mrs Churchill was a naturally restful woman. Somehow the unusual combination made him suspect that cool as the look might be, she was not as cold as he had wondered; it did not go with an original eye and imagination. He wondered if it were she who played the beautiful pianoforte or if it had been her husband; a proper grand it was too, none of your cheaper uprights!
He read the letters she showed him, the vowels and the rather sketchy and mysterious pocket book with odd sums entered in it. He grunted once or twice, shuffling them around on the dainty table to look at one then another.
“As I see it,” said Jane, “my husband tried to move with a faster set than he had means to accomplish; became heavily in debt in what I presume were gambling hells; and the IOU was a pressing need to be paid off, in order that he not be required to flee the country after the same fashion as the likes of Beau Brummel last year. He appears to have acquired sufficient wealth to not only cover that debt but also to keep a mistress in her own rooms, and subsequently to provide her with what she at least believes to be a diamond necklace. He provided me also with housekeeping money above the usual amount, which enabled me to pay off some of our most pressing creditors; one hates to be in debt to the tradesmen.”
“Lor’ love you, Mrs Churchill, the swell coves – the nobility and the like – are always in debt to their tradesmen” said Mr Armitage.
Jane frowned.
“Well I consider it immoral” she said.
“Yes ma’am; but when did anyone say that the gentry – the ‘ote tone they call themselves – were moral?” said Mr Armitage cynically.
Jane was faintly shocked. She had always been brought up to respect the haut ton – if that was what he had been trying to say – and this view of them was a little disconcerting.
“Does my summation cover what you are reading here?” she asked.
He nodded.
“If I may ask, what did he give you for housekeeping; and what was your understanding of his income?” he asked “I know it is an impudent question, Mrs Churchill, but a discrepancy is always a clue; look into anyone’s life, especially once they’ve left it as you might say, and any discrepancy can point to exactly why they left it.”
Jane nodded.
“I can see that” she said. “I have nothing to hide; let me fetch my own housekeeping books” she exited through a door at the end of the room, set in an alcove, her step brisk and decisive whilst remaining graceful and feminine.
She returned swiftly; and Caleb Armitage perused the neat, fastidious hand and its careful entries.
“You keep good clear accounts, ma’am” he said in approval. “Presumably Mr Churchill kept back a considerable sum with which to gamble; and turned out to be bamboozled by some peep-o-day boys so he outran the constable and turned out to be a real Johnny Raw. And then there’s suddenly the dibs flowing; a honey fall as you might say. Reckon I might have to find out if I can who held these vowels; PDV the initials say. Well, I can’t say I’m familiar with the initials from the Hells I know; but then, you have to realise, Ma’am, that the vowels of one man might be staked by another; or even sold.”
“Oh dear!” said Jane. “Would – would knowing who he had lost money to help solve his murder?”
“That? Well maybe not, Ma’am” said Armitage “But knowing who he paid off; ah, now that might put us onto the right track. See, whilst I hesitate to tell a bea
utiful woman that her husband sounds a dashed shady character, up to something havy-cavy, I cannot help thinking that there’s more ways to redeem vowels than cash.”
“I fail to comprehend your meaning” said Jane.
Armitage sighed.
“Mrs Churchill, if you weren’t taking this so calm, I’d never be even telling you a tenth of this; but you’ve been good enough to be open and to search for things to help me. And I’m bound to say I see little affection for your husband in you even allowing for a swell mort – I mean, a class lady – like you to hide emotion from a fellow like me.”
Jane sighed.
“Let us say that the honeymoon was swiftly over and many scales fell from my eyes” she said.
“Ah, that’s what I thought” nodded Armitage. “And forgive me, but yesterday the thought crossed my mind that you might have paid to have him killed. But then I thought, Caleb, my boy, any professional wot did that would take his purse. And that was professional enough. And what’s more, he’d been bound, surgeon says; after he’d been on the slab, there was marks on his wrists, and marks under his nails like someone had shoved a needle up them. Oh Lord!” as Jane swayed in her chair. Caleb Armitage leaped up and pulled the bell pull hard, hearing the jangle somewhere below.
The door opened and Fowler came in.
“’Ere, Ferret, wotever yore name is” the East End emerged briefly more strongly in Mr Armitage’s alarmed voice “Go get the lady’s maid and smellin’ salts or somfink!”
Fowler raised an eyebrow and crossed to Jane.
“Mrs Churchill, would you like Ella?” he asked.
“No thank you Fowler” said Jane “If you will pass my reticule, my vinaigrette is in it.”
Fowler did as he was bid, fetching the ridiculous confection of silver net on the soft feet of a well trained servant. He gave the impression of despising Caleb as much as Caleb despised him for being, in his own vernacular, a man-milliner. Jane took the little filigree silver box from her reticule to inhale the pungent scent from within it.
Fowler withdrew again at a sign from Jane, now a better colour. She spoke, her voice hardly shaking,
“My husband was tortured; and you spoke of more than one way to redeem a debt. Both of those things puzzle me. I have been fearing that he has been luring the unwary into gaming hells for the consideration of having his own debts written off. But why that might lead to torture I cannot see.”
Caleb Armitage nodded. She was not afraid to face the unpalatable this lady; and she had a long head on her.
“As any decent lady might be puzzled” he said. “And there’s more ways to recoup that debt than being a trapan, that’s someone as leads the gullible to be gulled; though it’s something to keep in mind. If someone from a less than salubrious background as we might say had obtained your husband’s vowels, a favour might have caused them to be signed off; working in a solicitor’s office, the favour perhaps of an advance look at a brief to a barrister; or a will; or the removal of a copy of a will leaving a previous one extant; or any one of a number of such activities. And whilst a man might be upright enough to refuse in normal circumstances, a man facing social and financial ruin might find himself tempted as would be outside of his normal code.”
“You are tactful, Mr Armitage” said Jane, dryly “Though I should say from the experience of my marriage that my husband’s code might prove remarkably elastic if his own image and comfort were in any wise at stake. I find your suggestions shocking but not, I have to say, wholly surprising. And in some ways not as bad as persuading poor gullible fools into debt to what I believe might be called Captain Sharps.”
Caleb Armitage gave a sigh of relief. Suggesting to this bang-up swell mort that her husband might be involved in such fraud had always been the sticking point. And she had the imagination and the realism to accept that he might be even worse.
“I shall have to ask at the place he worked if anything has been moved or gone missing” he said apologetically.
“Oh quite” said Jane “Perhaps you would escort me to the place so that I might ascertain my legal position with regard to my husband’s allowance from his uncle; as I have a daughter of the marriage to maintain and can therefore scarcely easily undertake work as a governess should I be entirely destitute.”
“I cannot think that any reasonable uncle would cut off the allowance that feeds his great niece!” said Caleb Armitage.
Jane gave him a tight smile.
“I expect that will depend how much Frank has disgraced his name and whether his uncle will decide to cut off root and branch of an unsatisfactory heir” she said. “Frances can at least probably be reared in the nursery of Frank’s father, dear Mr Weston, and his wife; for Frances is a year and a half younger than her half-aunt. And I believe that dear Mrs Weston will present her husband with another petit paquet before long too. But it would be nice not to have to be a slave to other people’s children in which situation I will not be able to watch my own daughter grow up” she added wistfully.
“Well, Mrs Churchill, perhaps it won’t be so bad as that” said Caleb. No, this woman would not have her husband killed; too much was at stake, and though she might risk it for herself, he had never known a devoted mother who would risk her child – and he could read the devotion for this child Frances in Mrs Churchill’s eyes. It was a relief; because the torture had been nasty. He cleared his throat. “A professional murderer – such as a lady might hire to get rid of an inconvenient husband – might be told to beat him well; but this looks like something deliberate to ask questions. And I may say your husband was not badly hurt so one may presume he talked.”
Jane nodded.
“He would” she said “Frank does – did not like discomfort. It is hard to imagine him dead, even now; I apologise for the wrong tense.”
“Ah, and something else I’ve noticed” said Caleb, feeling even more relief “Someone what has done away with a party readily mentions them in the past tense; because they already started to think of them dead before even they are, and certainly by the time the news is broke.”
“Fascinating” said Jane “You have read a lot from me and I have always considered myself hard to read; there is much skill in your profession concerning the reading of people.”
“Well some does it more than others, ma’am” said Caleb flushing slightly. “But if you agree that your husband would rapidly cave in then whoever killed him knows whatever it is they wants to know.”
Jane paled.
“Might he have hidden a will or documents of some kind here?” she said “The doors are locked at night but one hears terrible stories….”
“Well, Ma’am, the thought that you might be in some danger had crossed my mind” said Caleb “And if you will permit me to help you search I would be grateful; and perhaps you might find me a corner to sleep in the servants’ quarters for a night or two; I’m handy with my fambles – hands that is – when it comes to a mill. A fight” he translated. “And I do have barking-irons – pistols.”
“That would be a relief to my mind” said Jane “But I hardly think that sleeping with the male servants in the basement will answer; anyone who breaks in would head for the family quarters to search or – or to find out if I knew anything. And – and if they threatened Frances….. you must sleep in a guest room to be near at hand.”
“It ain’t proper ma’am” protested Caleb.
“You are staying in a professional capacity” said Jane, decisively, ringing the bell.
Fowler arrived in his usual silent fashion.
“Fowler, Mr Armitage believes that the felons who did away with your master may be looking to steal something; work he may have brought home from the office” she temporised crisply. “You are to see that the bed in the blue room is made up and warmed for Mr Armitage who will be staying over to protect Miss Frances and me from possible attack.”
“There ain’t no need to make up a bed” said Caleb hastily “I shan’t be sleeping deep like; I’l
l take off me boots and lie down on the coverlet.”
“If it is to be for more than one night, Mr Armitage, you should sleep properly for at least a portion of the night or you will be too tired to do your duty” said Jane. “I would suggest that you retire early and Fowler will awaken you after he has locked up for the night. Then when the servants rise, you might sleep properly again for another hour or two.”
“That would answer admirably, ma’am” said Caleb with some admiration “They won’t come into a wakeful household, nowise. Whoever they might be” he murmured to himself by way of a parenthetic addition.
Chapter 4
Caleb procured a hackney carriage to carry himself, Mrs Churchill and her abigail to the solicitor’s premises; and by the afternoon that same abigail had finished making up a mourning gown for her mistress by rapid and clever conversion of a white muslin; new sleeves and bodice of black crepe had been cut and applied and three black crepe flounces had been added to the skirt, the lowermost mimicking the three inch hem that was customary on mourning costume.
“Are you sure it is all right Ella, to have the black on the white?” asked Jane anxiously “White is acceptable until full mourning is to be had… and my silk gown has gone to be dyed…. You have done a remarkably economic job with that old crepe cape, Ella, if you think it looks well enough…”
“You look a treat Mrs Jane, and as proper as could be asked with such an unexpected event” said Ella firmly “When your silk comes back from the dyer we shall send this so it is black all over; don’t you fret, Mrs Jane my dearie.”
Jane sighed.
Black was not a colour that flattered her; though her complexion was not so pale as to be made to look washed out, the unrelieved black of her bodice did make her look paler even so. Slightly worried grey eyes looked too large in her oval face; and she sighed again. It was quite improper to be considering her appearance when she was but newly become a widow.
Death of a Fop (Bow Street Consultant series Book 1) Page 2
