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

by Stratmann, Linda

  ‘Oh no,’ whispered Miss John, shyly, ‘I am sure they will not.’

  Frances, looking about her at the assemblage, noted that Sarah was viewing the great throng with less pleasure than she, and realised that there was almost no one present of the artisan class and certainly no servants. There must, she thought, be many who would have liked to be there and would have benefitted greatly from it, but were prevented from doing so by pressing duties, or were forbidden to attend by husbands or employers outraged by the mere idea of women having minds, opinions and possibly even demands. Was the female vote only to be enjoyed by ladies of property and position? It was a more complex matter than she had supposed and one to which she would have to give a great deal of thought.

  Miss Gilbert marched proudly into the hall, as if at the head of an army, and led Frances to where a platform had been made ready with tables and chairs. The body of the hall was filled with rows of closely packed seats, and these were quickly being occupied. Frances could not help wondering, and hoped that she would not seem cynical in this, if the attendees were all prompted by an interest in female suffrage, or whether some were simply there as a way of passing the time, there being little in the way of alternative entertainment until the political parties arranged their public meetings. There were a few newspaper men present, who could easily be distinguished by their busy pencils, and she recognised in particular Mr Gillan of the Bayswater Chronicle, whose unduly melodramatic style of reporting had, she felt, contributed in no small way to her current notoriety.

  Miss Gilbert ascended the platform with great pride and confidence, Miss John pattering behind her, and together they unfurled the banner which pronounced the society’s name in large letters, draping it across the table so that no one might have any doubt of the reasons they were there. A few people were looking about restively, as if hoping for free refreshments, of which they were disappointed to see none. There was a table which was unhappily bereft of teacups and plates of bread and butter, but was well stocked with piles of pamphlets for sale. Sarah went to examine them, electing to remain in the body of the hall as an extra pair of eyes.

  Frances found that apart from her companions and herself, the platform was occupied by two more ladies and two gentlemen, one of middle age and the other a slender young man with long hair and an expression of devoted earnestness.

  Miss Gilbert opened the proceedings by welcoming all-comers to the inaugural meeting of the Bayswater Women’s Suffrage Society. She then introduced the individuals on the platform, affording Frances considerable embarrassment as she eulogised on her superior skills as a detective, which, she assured everyone present, were proof, if any were needed, that a woman’s intelligence was more than competent to deal with political questions. The other ladies on the platform were Mrs Bartwell, who sat with some distinction (and, thought Frances immovable avoirdupois) on a school board, and Mrs Edith Fiske, whose literary accomplishments, said Miss Gilbert, were well known to everyone present. Frances, having had Mrs Fiske recommended to her by Mrs Venn, albeit in a satirical humour, as a lady of superior qualities, could not help but steal a glance at her, and found that Mrs Fiske was regarding her with more than usual interest. She saw a lady of undoubted plainness of face, but with a firmness and resolution in the set of her form which suggested that she was someone who knew how to make her wishes not only known, but come about.

  The middle-aged man on the platform was a Mr Hawkins, who had tried but failed to be selected by the Liberals as their parliamentary candidate, and was, suspected Frances, attempting to make a name for himself by supporting the New Thing, on the grounds that if women were to be enfranchised, he would thereby double his support. The youthful looking gentleman was introduced as Jonathan Quayle, a poet who had recently dedicated a small volume to the cause.

  Miss Gilbert then made her opening address, starting by assuring her listeners that the new Bayswater Society was officially affiliated to The National Society for Women’s Suffrage and enjoyed the full approval of that organisation. Letters of support, she announced, had been received from many notables, including that enlightened and worthy gentleman Mr Jacob Bright MP, as well as Mrs Fawcett, the wife of Mr Fawcett MP, Mrs Garrett Anderson MD, and Miss Isabella Skinner Clarke, of the Pharmaceutical Society. There was polite applause.

  Miss Gilbert then talked at some length of the various Bills that had already been before Parliament on the question of women’s suffrage, all of which had, to date, been defeated, but which nevertheless gave her great cause for hope, since by the numbers of the votes and intensity of debate it could be shown that support for the measure was increasing, and must increase still further with time until eventually they would win success. She spoke with great energy, punctuating her talk by bouncing on her heels at moments of high emotion, and spreading her arms wide as if about to embrace the audience.

  They owed, she said, a great debt of gratitude to the tireless work of the National Society, and she therefore proposed the first motion of the evening, namely the Bayswater Society’s approval of and support for the objects of the National Society. This motion being unobjectionable, it was carried unanimously. Her second motion concerned a new petition to be sent to parliament the instant the forthcoming election had been decided. Since Miss Gilbert was content to take upon herself the entire work of framing the petition the meeting was happy to agree with her proposals.

  Mr Hawkins rose to speak in support of the notion that all property holders ought to have the vote, regardless of sex. The opponents of previous Bills which had sought to extend the suffrage had said that if women got the vote then the next thing they would ask for would be seats in Parliament, something for which they were unsuited. He personally did not think the House of Commons would be any the worse for women members and in fact a great deal better. There were shouts of ‘Hear! Hear!’ from the floor, and a number of voices proposed Miss Gilbert for Prime Minister, that lady declining to admit of any unworthiness for the honour.

  Mrs Fiske was next to speak and showed great composure and dignity of address. She expounded on the hardships that women suffered, which could only be rectified by their being given proper representation. Every aspect of a woman’s life was ruled by the legislature yet they had no say in its selection and could take no part in framing the law. She was convinced that there were as many women as there were men fully equal to the task, and the foundation of women’s future was a proper education. It was the duty of every mother of girls to prepare them to take part in government. A few men were opposed to the measure of women’s suffrage, but their views could easily be shown to be fallacious, and it was not they who were the enemy. Far more dangerous were those who by their indolence and apathy and want of intelligence failed to see how vital the enfranchisement of women was for the good of society as a whole.

  Mr Quayle addressed the meeting with an air of nervous diffidence. He began by reading a little poem of his own authorship, with a modesty about its merits that Frances thought to be entirely justified, nevertheless, its theme, the moral superiority of women, was appropriate and his words were well received. Frances had never had any great pleasure in poetry as she could not see how a sentiment well expressed and truthful could be made any better by trying to fit it into a rhyme. Fortunately Mr Quayle gave the remainder of his address in prose. It was the view of some, said Mr Quayle, that only single women or widows should have the vote, since to give it to married women might threaten domestic harmony. Mr Quayle professed himself to be a great admirer of the female sex and believed that all women of full age whether married or not should be entitled to vote, and who could say that a married woman might not have a better understanding of the issues affecting families, more sense and compassion and a cooler head than the man to whom she was united? There was a murmur of sympathy about the hall. How unfair it was, he went on, that a woman should have her own property taken from her control by the simple fact of being married, and possibly given to someone less able and intelligent t
han herself? A person of great wit had once said, he added with a smile, that before a woman married she should discover all of the man’s character, but many women having done so would choose not to marry at all. There was a small ripple of amusement around the hall, and several people, all female, shouted ‘Hear! Hear!’ with a feeling that spoke of personal experience.

  But Frances heard nothing. If someone had spoken to her directly at that moment she would not have been able to respond. Jonathan Quayle had used almost the very words that Charlotte had remembered from the missing pamphlet. For all Frances knew other words in Quayle’s speech had also been derived from it. Was Quayle the author of the pamphlet? Did he know the author? He had most certainly read it, and it was possible that he still had a copy. Frances was determined that nothing must now deflect her from obtaining the pamphlet.

  As soon as the meeting was over, Frances, at grave risk of being very impolite to all those around her and exciting prurient gossip, quickly sought out the young poet.

  ‘Mr Quayle,’ she began, entirely forgetting in her eagerness the formalities of a preamble, ‘it is essential that I enlist your help on a matter of very great importance.’

  ‘Miss Doughty, it would be an honour to assist you,’ he said, gallantly.

  ‘For reasons I am not at liberty to divulge, I am trying to find a pamphlet with the title “Why Marry?”’ she said, almost breathless in her haste to say the words. ‘Tonight I heard you quote from it – are you the author?’

  ‘Oh, I have never written any pamphlet, only my little poems,’ he said.

  ‘Then you must have read it,’ she urged. ‘Perhaps you still have a copy. If so, I would like to purchase it.’

  He smiled. ‘There should be no difficulty about that. There are so many pamphlets in my house and I often pick them up and read them. My dear wife, Flora, takes a great interest in the Women’s Suffrage Society and it is she who distributes its publications.’

  ‘When you say “distributes” – do you mean she gives them out to interested persons?’ asked Frances.

  ‘No, all the business is done by post,’ said Quayle. ‘The pamphlets are sent to us by the printers, and we keep them at the house. They are advertised in the newspapers, and Flora receives the funds, makes up the packets and sends them out.’

  At that moment Sarah, who had been looking at the publications for sale in the hall, came up to the platform and shook her head.

  ‘Is Mrs Quayle here tonight?’ Frances asked, ‘I would very much like to speak to her.’

  ‘No, my dear Flora is devoted to our home and rarely strays forth,’ he said fondly. ‘She is a very timid girl. Why don’t I speak to her this evening and see if she has any copies left of the pamphlet you are looking for. If you could supply me with your address I will ensure that she sends one to you, and please accept it with our compliments.’

  Whether this was an innocent or deliberate deflection Frances could not know. ‘That is very kind of you, but I must impose upon you further. I wish to see it tonight.’

  For a moment he was taken aback by her boldness, then he recovered. ‘I see that Miss Gilbert has not underestimated you, Miss Doughty. Very well, I will secure a cab. I have a little house in Fulham.’

  ‘Thank you. There will be three of us to travel as my companion Miss Smith will accompany us.’

  ‘Oh!’ he exclaimed, as Sarah loomed into view, as if daring him to attempt even the smallest incorrectness. ‘Of course. That will be —,’ he laughed nervously, ‘most appropriate.’

  The crowds were streaming from the hall, most of the audience in urgent search of refreshment. In the Grove, posters blazoned with the names of the Conservative candidates had, during the course of the meeting, appeared in the windows of nearby taverns and boys with bundles of leaflets were taking the opportunity of the sudden activity to hand out the election addresses of the Conservatives. There were no answering publications for the Liberals, who, it appeared, had been somewhat remiss in their arrangements. Frances quickly thanked the Misses Gilbert and John and assured them of her support for the Society before she and Sarah joined Mr Quayle in the cab.

  Flora, said Quayle, who seemed inspired to heights of impassioned lyricism at the mere thought of his wife, was the most beautiful, delicate, shy and sweetly feminine girl in the whole world. They had met because her mother, Mrs Gribling, a good and respectable lady with an interest in literature, occasionally held small gatherings of poets who thereby had the opportunity to read their humble offerings aloud. Many a starving poet, he declared, would have expired for his art had it not been for Mrs Gribling’s bread and butter. Flora, who had kept house for her mother, had on those occasions only been seen when tea was to be served. This done she would retire quickly to another room, like a fragile flower afraid of withering in the sun. And yet, he thought, and yet – he uttered a sigh – perhaps there had been something in his poetry which had induced her to creep to the door of the parlour and listen. For his part, he had fallen in love with her on the very instant that he had seen her.

  Quayle assured Frances that he believed strongly in the development of women’s intellect and would have been more than content if Flora had taken a leading part in the Women’s Suffrage Society. Had she desired to take the platform and make a speech, he would have been the first to applaud, but this, she had assured him, was not to her taste. She loved their little home and wanted nothing more than to make it agreeable for him. They had been married for less than a year, and for domestic bliss and comfort he could recommend nothing better. Feeling it necessary to explain that he did not earn a living from his poetry, something that Frances had already guessed, Quayle said that he had been fortunate in receiving a legacy from a generous aunt, this and his daily work as a clerk of accounts was more than enough for their small wants. Frances was largely silent as Quayle enthused about his little house as if it were a palace in miniature and his wife the queen of both his home and heart. Sarah said nothing, her face stonily impassive.

  Quayle understood, however, that there were marriages which resulted in great unhappiness for both parties and did not disagree with the writer of the pamphlet that careful thought should be given before entering the married state. Want of money, the dissipation of unsuitable husbands, and contrasts of character were, in his opinion, the chief causes of marital misery.

  The Quayles lived in a terraced property not far from the Fulham Road. There was no resident servant, only a woman who came in to do the heavy work, and of course a washerwoman, but everything else Flora liked to do for herself. As Quayle opened the front door, she peered around from the parlour into the hallway, like a bashful child. Her simple dress showed her delicate figure to advantage, and her face was very pale, with good features, and surrounded by a mass of lustrous golden hair. Unlike Selina Sandcourt, who knew she was beautiful, and that her beauty was her fortune, Flora Quayle seemed quite unaware of the advantages that nature had been kind enough to bestow upon her. She was for a moment alarmed at the appearance of two strangers on her doorstep, but her pleasure at seeing her husband was unmistakable.

  ‘Flora, my dear, here are Miss Doughty and Miss Smith who attended the meeting tonight and are most anxious to acquire one of your pamphlets. If you would be so kind as to provide some cocoa I will find what is needed.’ He hurried upstairs and Flora conducted Frances and Sarah into a small but well-kept parlour, so tidy and spotless that no army of assiduous maidservants could have left it better.

  ‘I hope we are not imposing upon you,’ said Frances, ‘but I was so moved by the speeches tonight that I simply had to know more, and there was something your husband said which was inspired by a pamphlet – I felt I had to obtain a copy without delay.’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Flora, ‘please be seated and I will bring the cocoa, it is already made, as I knew Jonathan would want a cup.’

  They were soon settled, by which time Quayle had returned and Frances had to suppress her excitement as she saw he held a paper. ‘Ah, I
remember this one, now,’ he said, ‘and it was a curious thing – it was not sent by the usual printer, and there seem to have been no orders. Perhaps they have failed to advertise it.’

  ‘May I see?’ asked Frances. Her cup rattled a little in the saucer as she set it down.

  ‘Oh,’ said Flora quietly, lowering her gaze to the tabletop. ‘Yes. I thought it strange, too.’

  ‘I have read several of the publications given to me by Miss Gilbert,’ said Frances, ‘and they were all on good quality paper and printed by Grant and Co. of Farringdon. This one is altogether thinner and by —,’ she looked at the back, which read only ‘Printed for the author by Soho Printworks Dean Street, W.’ ‘Not a firm I am acquainted with. Well, this is quite the mystery. And were they delivered here by hand, or did they come in the post?’

  ‘By hand, I believe,’ said Flora.

  ‘Is it a recent publication?’

  ‘I think so,’ said Quayle. ‘We received it in the last month.’

  ‘And what is your current stock?’

  ‘There are three dozen.’

  Frances wrote her new address on a slip of paper and handed it to Quayle. ‘I would very much like to speak to the author. If you should learn anything, would you write to me?’

  They both agreed, and Frances finished her cocoa with as much speed as was commensurate with politeness and not burning her mouth, and after attempting to pay for the pamphlet, an offer they refused to countenance, made her departure.

  It was too dark to read in the cab home, but Frances, holding on to her prize, was content to wait. ‘I have to teach a chemistry class tomorrow,’ she told Sarah, ‘but I would like you to go to Dean Street and find out all you can about the person who ordered the copies of this pamphlet.’ Flora, she thought, had been very quiet at their meeting, but then that, according to her husband, was the nature of the girl. Even if Flora had not recognised Frances’ name from the newspapers – and Frances was unsure if her fame had spread as far as Fulham – she would soon be apprised by her husband of the nature of their visitor’s profession and the urgency with which she had demanded the pamphlet. She wondered if Flora had any more information to impart and if she might expect to receive a note requesting a private interview.