Frances said she imagined that must be a difficult task and Mrs Farrelly was kind enough to regale her with all the details of Benjie’s daily toilet. ‘Charles had to expressly ask Mr Matthews to place a fence around the foundations of his new buildings as Benjie would try to play there and he was so dirty and smelly I thought he would never be clean. You can see it there,’ she added, pointing to a pathway that climbed uphill between some fields. ‘That is the way to Mr Matthews’ manor house, although it is really no more than a large cottage but very well-appointed and comfortable.’
Frances saw part way along the path a sizeable rectangular area with boards around it. ‘What is being built?’ she asked.
‘Oh at the moment nothing at all,’ said Mrs Farrelly. ‘The intention was to build a fine row of model cottages for the men who tend the hothouses, and we all thought it would make a handsome and sanitary addition to the village, but no work has been done on it for some weeks. I have heard,’ she added, ‘that it was an arrangement between Mr Matthews and Mr Paskall, whereby Mr Matthews provided the land and Mr Paskall the cottages, and there were men hard at work, even in the cold weather, digging the foundations, but then quite suddenly they stopped. It is rumoured that Mr Paskall lost a great deal of money with that terrible business of the Bayswater Bank, and there is no more money to be had to finish what has been started. Oh Benjie!’ she suddenly exclaimed, as the dog began to squirm in her arms with fierce determination, and before she could secure him he leapt down to the ground and ran up the pathway as fast as his little legs could take him.
Mrs Farrelly held onto her bonnet and ran after him, calling out ‘Benjie! Benjie! Oh you bad child!’ and Frances decided to follow.
The path was crushed gravel well stirred with dried mud, and rutted with cart tracks so as to be very hard to traverse without accident. There were sturdy and ancient hedgerows on either side, protecting fields tilled into ridges, the nature of the crop being as yet a mystery. Frances quickly caught up with Mrs Farrelly and helped her along as she stumbled over the treacherous ground. Benjie had got as far as the wooden fencing and was trying to jump up, barking loudly, but it was far too high, so he began to scrabble in the dirt at the base of the fence. Mrs Farrelly finally reached him, panting hard, and had just bent to scoop him up when a section of wood that must have split in the recent cold weather came away and left just enough space for Benjie to slip through.
‘Oh no! What can I do?’ wailed Mrs Farrelly. ‘Benjie! Come here!’
Frances peered over the fence, which was very roughly and unevenly constructed from wooden boards of different sizes. The ground within had been laid out and well dug with the foundations of four cottages, and some of the walling was already in place. Benjie was nowhere to be seen, but from one of the ditches came the sound of excited barking, and sprays of dry earth showed where he was digging furiously. ‘There must be a gate so we can enter,’ said Frances, and she walked around the fence until she found one with rope hinges on one side and secured with a padlock and chain on the other. Mrs Farrelly, who was very much shorter in stature than she, was unable to see over the fence and stood by, helplessly wringing her hands. ‘I am sure he will come out again when he is hungry,’ said Frances, deciding not to add that she did not think they would have long to wait. ‘Perhaps if you could bring one of his favourite titbits he might be tempted out.’
Benjie was growling now and Frances could see his tail waving like a pennant caught in a gale as he backed out of the ditch with something clamped between his jaws.
‘What is he doing? Can you see?’ asked Mrs Farrelly. ‘Is he hurt?’
‘No, he seems to have found something – a glove I think,’ said Frances, unsure because if the object, which was undoubtedly glove-shaped, really was a glove he was having unusual difficulty with it. It was a few moments before Frances realised two things – the object in Benjie’s jaws was a glove, and the reason he was obliged to tug on it so hard was that there was something to which it was attached, a bundle of clothes that someone had flung into the ditch, or even an old scarecrow.
Whether or not it was recent events that had led her imagination into unexpected areas she did not know, but she was suddenly struck with an unpleasant thought, and knew that at the very least she had to satisfy herself that she was mistaken. Briefly, she considered fetching some men from the village to help, but then she decided that if she thought herself capable of exercising the vote she was certainly capable of scrambling over a fence.
‘What are you doing, Miss Doughty?’ exclaimed Mrs Farrelly as Frances moved a lump of abandoned building stone to give herself a step up. It was a lot heavier than she had anticipated but having started she was not about to admit defeat and managed with some effort to drag rather than carry it near to the fence. ‘I’m going to fetch Benjie,’ she declared, and started to haul herself over the top of the fence, which was not, she discovered, as robust as it looked. The boards sagged alarmingly, and creaked as if they were about to snap and impale her on splinters. Mrs Farrelly watched her with alarm.
‘Oh, Miss Doughty, do you think that is really advisable? I think we may need a man to assist us. Perhaps I should fetch my husband!’
The Reverend Farrelly, while undoubtedly a man, was, Frances had observed, shorter and stouter than she and twice her age, but she declined to mention this. One advantage he did have was the wearing of trousers and she thought, as she struggled to manoeuvre her heavy skirts over the fence, that the sooner a more rational mode of clothing for women became acceptable the better. There was a brief moment of difficulty as her skirt caught on a protruding fence post and Mrs Farrelly hurried up and released it, then Frances swung her long legs to the ground.
Benjie had temporarily stopped pulling at the glove and was standing barking at it. Frances took the opportunity to pick him up, surprised to feel how tiny his body was under the matted and muddy hair. She carried him to Mrs Farrelly, who received him with sighs of gratitude, then returned to what had captured his attention.
The neglected foundations had been considerably damaged by the bad weather of the last two months. Heavy rains, snow, and frost had caused the earth to collapse in places, and most of the trenches were filled with a heavy mud, much dried and caked about the edges, but treacherously soft in the middle. The object that Benjie’s sensitive nose had detected would have lain underneath the top layer, and he had succeeded only in dragging out what Frances was now sure was a gentleman’s leather glove, albeit thickly slimed with mud. As she approached, a stench of decay reached her nostrils and she was obliged to place a handkerchief over her nose, the scent of laundry soap affording some relief. Even under the thick dark crust there was no doubt that the glove contained something solid, and she thought she could make out the cuffs of a shirtsleeve and coat, and the flesh of what could have been an arm, very much discoloured. Frances had seen death before and was not afraid, but had never encountered it like this.
‘Mrs Farrelly,’ called Frances. There was no reply and she returned to the fence and peered over it to see that lady absorbed in cooing over Benjie, who was quivering with indignation at being thwarted of his prize. ‘If you would be so kind as to assist me, I think we need to send for a constable.’
As Frances struggled back over the fence, she realised that she was now very unlikely to be home by teatime.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It was late when Frances stepped wearily from the train at Paddington. Sarah, alerted by telegram, was waiting, her face a portrait of concern, which changed almost as if by magic into relief when she saw at last that Frances was safe. ‘I’ve got a cab waiting,’ she said, ‘and I’ve made cocoa with brandy.’ Frances could only nod gratefully.
Earlier that day, Mrs Farrelly had taken Frances to see Constable Clayborn, finding him at ease in his High Street cottage, enjoying a peaceful Sunday afternoon. To do him credit, he at once recognised the seriousness of what the ladies had to say, and transformed himself into a man on duty in an insta
nt. He was too respectful, especially of the Reverend’s wife, to suggest that the report of finding a body in Mr Matthews’ ditch might be due more to over-excited female imagination than any palpable truth, although Frances felt certain from his expression that the thought was in his mind. He accompanied them to the spot, climbed the fence with some agility and, after peering into the muddy trench, agreed with a startled expression that he too could see the remains of a deceased gentleman, and departed immediately for the nearest police station, which was two miles away at Hillingdon.
There was nothing else to be done immediately, so Frances and Mrs Farrelly returned to the vicarage, where Mrs Farrelly handed Benjie to Susan to see to his bath and took it upon herself to ensure that the large battalion of men, who she had no doubt would soon be descending on Havenhill, would not want for tea.
Reverend Farrelly was astonished at his wife’s news and both were in agreement that whoever the unknown person was, he could not have been an inhabitant of the village as no one was unaccounted for.
‘A visitor, then,’ said Frances. ‘And we may be able to estimate when he arrived. I doubt very much that he would have lain there unnoticed while the foundations were being dug. So whatever it was that happened took place after the digging stopped. Do you recall the date when the men last worked there?’
‘They stopped a day or two after the bank crashed,’ said Mrs Farrelly emerging from her larder, where she been searching for cake, and bringing out her largest teapot. ‘I remember that very well because it was the talk of the village.’
‘And when was the fence built?’
‘Not long afterwards,’ said Reverend Farrelly. ‘The weather was very cold and misty all through January, and then came the heavy frosts and snow, and I was worried, because I could see that anyone who walked up to the house from the station, especially if they were a stranger to the area, might easily stray off the path and fall into the diggings and break a leg. So I wrote to Mr Matthews to ask if a fence could be put round, and that was done. It was completed very promptly, within a day or two of my letter. In fact, I may have made a special mention of it in my sermon, thanking Mr Matthews for his kindness. I will consult my book.’ He went to his study and returned after a few minutes. ‘Yes, I have it,’ he said. ‘I spoke of it on the 1st of February, the work having been carried out the day before. It was the Monday before that, which would have been the 26th January, when we saw that the men had not returned to work.’
So, thought Frances, the area had therefore been unattended but open from Sunday the 25th of January to Friday the 30th, Had someone fallen into the trench and been stunned and unable to cry out, and then frozen to death, the body would have been quickly obscured by frost and snow. Mr Matthews’ men could have put the boards in place without realising that anything was amiss. It was possible, of course, for someone to have brought the body there afterwards if he had the key to the padlock, or if more than one man was present, to lift it over the fence, but from what Frances had seen the remains were stuck deep in mud and had been there for some weeks.
‘Since it must have been a visitor, he would most likely have come here by train,’ said Frances. ‘The line terminates at Paddington in the east, so he might have come from London or any station in between, or if from the west —,’ she tried to recall the route.
‘Could be as near as Slough or as far as Bristol,’ said Mrs Farrelly, proudly. ‘Or down the little branch line from Uxbridge. It’s Mr Brunel’s railway and he meant it to be a good one.’
It was nearly dinnertime when the police cart from Hillingdon clattered up the main street bringing an inspector, Constable Clayborn and a doctor. Frances knew that the police would want to speak to her about the discovery, but despite Reverend Farrelly’s considerate suggestion that it might be better for her to wait at the vicarage, she was determined not to sit meekly indoors and miss all the activity. She wanted to see the police at work, and was out of the door and hurrying up the street before he could offer any argument, with Mrs Farrelly impulsively rushing after her.
The arrival of the cart had already caused some stir, and the Sunday afternoon strollers had veered in its direction, followed it down the street, and become a crowd, speculating all the while on what had brought its occupants to the village. ‘What’s the matter, Clayborn?’ asked someone of the grave-faced constable and was told gruffly that he would ‘know soon enough’. Surrounded by excited chatter, the cart turned off the High Street and proceeded up the track to the foundations, where Clayborn alighted and, standing with folded arms and a stern look, became a one-man barrier, making it quite plain that the crowds were to go no further. Everyone gathered as near as they were permitted and gazed in fascination at the unfolding events.
There was no niceness about preserving Mr Matthews’ fence, part of which was torn down to give access to the site, the doctor being far too stout to permit him to climb over it. He squatted beside the trench with much grunting, and after a while, arose with an effort and pronounced the remains to be human, adult and male, but beyond that he was unable to say without closer examination. A portion of the fence was employed as a kind of pallet, on which the mud-encrusted corpse was laid, and two of Mr Matthews’ men volunteered to carry it down the track, where it was deposited in a stable attached to the Havenhill Arms, the villagers, all dressed in their gay Sunday best, forming a cortege like mourners at an unconventional funeral.
The medical man, who was called Naresby, briefly questioned both Frances and Mrs Farrelly about how they had discovered the remains, but seemed less impressed with the merits of Benjie’s detective instincts and fine nose than the dog’s owner.
‘What will happen now?’ asked Frances.
‘I have notified the coroner and Mr Matthews has been sent for by telegram, since the body was found on his land and he may know the identity of the deceased. In the meantime, anyone who wishes to view the remains and suggest who it might be is free to do so. The body will remain where it is, and I will engage an assistant and make a full examination on Monday afternoon. Under the circumstances I don’t expect the inquest to open until Tuesday. Please leave your name and address with the police, who will let you know when and where to attend.’
There were many late dinners in Havenhill that Sunday. The police remained on hand to supervise the queue of people waiting to see the body. Both Mrs Farrelly and her husband felt obliged to look, and Frances, too. Someone had brought dried flowers to strew around the stable to hide the worst of the smell, and some villagers fetched lavender bags and bunches of herbs to carry. One lady, green-faced but determined, held an open jar of cloves under her nose, and Mrs Farrelly refreshed herself with a smelling bottle. The body, still on its pallet, was laid out on the straw. The face had been washed, but it was very swollen and dark, the features distorted by decay and could not have looked as it had in life. Frances braced herself for the sight, but it resembled a broken thing more than it did a man, and she felt more sorrow than revulsion. The clothing was undoubtedly male, but she thought that the coat was of an unusual cut. There was a subtle difference about the shape of the collar that made it unfamiliar to her. It was not the kind of coat gentlemen were wearing in Bayswater and she wondered if it was a country fashion.
Frances and the Farrellys returned to the vicarage where, they had been told, the inspector would shortly visit them, and an overcooked dinner was served, for which no one had much appetite. Inspector Eaves was polite, intelligent and gentlemanly, quite a contrast, Frances thought, to Inspector Sharrock, but then she supposed that Hillingdon was not quite as active in the sphere of crime as Paddington, and he had fewer matters of importance pressing upon him. Informing the Farrellys that the body had not yet been identified and was, almost certainly, that of an outsider, he consumed prodigious amounts of tea and several fruit buns, promised Frances to send a telegram notifying Sarah of her late return, made a fuss over Benjie and then departed. The Farrellys promised Frances to write with any news and walked her
to the station for the evening train to Paddington.
On their way home, Sarah recounted to Frances the details of her very successful day’s detective work, although she was almost as outraged by the state of the fashionable lady’s kitchen floor as she was by the unexplained absence of her silver. Sarah had identified the transgressor, who was not the suspected servant but a member of the lady’s family. Under the circumstances she had chosen not to denounce the thief, but had instead laid a trap, which would be sprung the following morning and offer undeniable proof.
The following morning Frances received a letter from Miss Gilbert assuring her that she quite understood Frances’ hasty departure, which she was sure was on a mission of very great importance. She had made enquiries about the Soho Printworks in Dean Street but had not discovered anyone who could supply any information. She added that she would be greatly honoured if Frances and Sarah could accompany her to a meeting at Westbourne Hall at 7 p.m. on Tuesday. There was to be a platform discussion about the forthcoming election at which the Conservative candidates were to appear. It was her intention to distribute leaflets in the hall, and question the candidates about their position on female suffrage, asking whether, if elected, they would vote for it in parliament. Frances, hoping that she might discover something to further her enquiries, replied saying that she would attend.
At nine o’clock that morning she again appeared at the boardroom of the Infirmary in Mount Street, where the inquest on Matilda Springett was due to reconvene. The boardroom was not large, with seating for about twenty, which would normally have been more than adequate for an enquiry into the death of a maidservant whose body had been pulled from the Serpentine, but that morning was an exception and the room was becoming more crowded by the minute. Inspector Sharrock was already there when Frances arrived, as were two constables and a medical man.
The Daughters of Gentlemen: A Frances Doughty Mystery (The Frances Doughty Mysteries) Page 18
