The Daughters of Gentlemen: A Frances Doughty Mystery (The Frances Doughty Mysteries)

by Stratmann, Linda

  There was a knock on the door and Paskall’s housemaid entered with a telegram on a small tray. ‘Urgent for you, Sir,’ she said.

  Paskall leaped from his chair as if fired from a catapult, tore open the message and, having read it, almost collapsed back again. ‘Gentlemen!’ he exclaimed breathlessly, waving the paper aloft, ‘the hour is at hand!’

  ‘Whatever do you mean?’ said Matthews.

  ‘There was an announcement made in the House tonight! Quite unexpected! Lord Beaconsfield is dissolving parliament early.’

  ‘Then there is to be an election soon?’ asked Fiske.

  ‘Yes – very soon – oh my word – this month!’ Paskall was half excited and half alarmed. ‘But there is so much to do, so much to be settled that I thought I had months to achieve!‘ He turned to Frances. ‘This business at the school must be solved without delay, and with no breath of scandal! I must go to the Conservative club at once – there are meetings to be arranged – Matthews – we have a great deal to discuss!’ Paskall ran to the study door and wrenched it open. ‘Theodore! Come here – I need you urgently!’

  The tousled head of Paskall junior soon appeared at the door ‘Now then father, where’s the fire?’

  ‘Oh it’s good news! The best! But we need to make haste! I’m to be in parliament before the month is out!’ He thrust the paper at his son, who read it with some pleasure, then, looking up, saw Frances.

  ‘Well, bless me if isn’t the lady detective! Have you come to take us all prisoner?’

  ‘I am merely reporting on my progress in the matter of the pamphlets,’ said Frances, ‘and now I believe the meeting has concluded.’

  ‘I think,’ said Fiske, ‘it is safe for you to assume that your services continue to be required, and that all necessary expenses will be met. But there was one thing I was about to say. I called upon Mrs Venn on the afternoon that Charlotte was sent home, and asked to see the pamphlets, but she told me that they were locked in her strongbox and the key had been mislaid. It seemed so unlike her, but she was obviously distressed by the incident and not her usual self and so I let it pass. I assumed that by the time you had gone there she would have found the key. Now you tell me they have been destroyed. Some servant’s mistake, I suppose, but very unfortunate.’

  Frances stared at him. ‘Mr Fiske, when you engaged me in this matter you told me that you had been unable to view the pamphlets yourself, and when I spoke to Mrs Venn she said that they had been destroyed. I assumed therefore that you had not seen them for that reason. Are you now telling me that she destroyed them after your visit to her and not before?’

  ‘Well – I —,’ he looked dismayed. ‘That does seem to be the case.’

  Frances was suddenly angry, both with Mrs Venn and with herself. Now she was sure that the headmistress had lied to her. What if the pamphlets had been in the strongbox all along? What if they were there still? She must demand to examine the contents at the first opportunity.

  As Frances hurried along the street, she was seething with annoyance. ‘We are going to the school,’ she told Sarah. ‘I need to speak to Mrs Venn and it will not wait!’

  CHAPTER NINE

  By 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 stil
l 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. A
fter 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.