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

by Stratmann, Linda

  Flora put the cups down with a nervous clatter, and came to sit down, biting her lips, the knuckles of one hand grinding into the palm of the other.

  ‘You have not previously been married?’ asked Frances.

  ‘I have been married only once,’ Flora said.

  Frances unfolded the letter and placed it on the table in front of her. ‘Do you know of this letter? Is it in your handwriting?’

  Flora glanced at it briefly and looked away. ‘That is not my writing,’ she whispered.

  ‘Aren’t you curious to see what it says?’ asked Frances. ‘Or do you already know? Perhaps it is your husband’s writing – or your mother’s – it would not be hard to make a comparison.’

  ‘No, please!’ begged Flora. ‘Please say nothing to Jonathan!’

  ‘If there is something amiss which concerns Mr Quayle, then that is for you to tell him,’ said Frances. ‘Now, perhaps you would like to talk to me about what is in the letter.’ She held up the paper so that Flora could read it, but the girl stared down at the tabletop.

  ‘Who wrote it?’ Frances demanded.

  ‘It is my mother’s hand,’ said Flora quietly, ‘but written at my behest.’

  ‘And can you tell me why it was written, for the contents cannot be true.’

  ‘But it is true,’ Flora insisted, looking up, emotion colouring her pale cheeks. ‘Roderick Matthews is my husband.’

  ‘Mr Matthews denies the connection,’ said Frances, ‘and there is no proof that it ever occurred. There is no marriage certificate at Somerset House, and no record in the register of St Mary’s Havenhill. I have spoken to Reverend Farrelly and he is adamant that he did not conduct the service, and Joshua Jenkins could not have been a witness on 6th October because he was dead.’

  Flora gave a little gasping intake of breath. ‘It happened!’ she cried. ‘You must believe me! Roderick and I were married as the letter describes. Of course he will deny it, and Mary Ann will say whatever he directs her to say. He would not want the Duchess of Kenworth to know that he is another’s lawful husband or that he abused his responsibilities as my guardian. When I wanted my freedom my mother went to Somerset House to get the certificate and found none, so I had to remain content in my present circumstances, but when I heard of the proposed wedding I knew I had to say something, even at the risk to myself.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Frances. ‘What risk is this? What are you afraid of?’

  It was a few moments before Flora could whisper ‘My husband.’

  ‘Do you mean Mr Quayle?’ said Frances.

  ‘No!’ exclaimed Flora. ‘Jonathan is the best creature in the world and I love him dearly. He is kindness itself. But – and it pains me to admit it – he is not my husband as the law understands it, although he is the husband of my heart and mind. The law has bound me to a monster, a wicked monster – not a man – and I am afraid, Miss Doughty – afraid for my life!’

  Frances began to seriously wonder about the sanity of the young woman before her. ‘Perhaps,’ she said soothingly, ‘you could tell me from the beginning how this wedding in Havenhill came about.’

  Flora nodded and her agitation subsided a little. ‘I first came to Havenhill soon after Roderick returned from Italy,’ she said. ‘I was eighteen then, and had just left school. He told me I was to be his housekeeper, but in reality,’ she blushed, ‘he attempted to make me his mistress.’

  ‘Attempted,’ said Frances, leaving the question unasked.

  ‘Naturally I refused him,’ said Flora quickly, ‘and he did not try to force me. But then he asked me to be his wife. I have no fortune, Miss Doughty, and – so I thought at the time – no prospect of marriage. He said that he would secure a fortune for me in his will and also – and please believe me this was what decided me – he promised to ensure that my mother was never free from want. His only condition was that as I was not of full age, and he was my guardian, the wedding must be kept a close secret from all except those immediately involved, and even those few would be trusted persons who would be sworn to secrecy. I did not love him but, to my eternal regret, I consented.’ She heaved a sigh. ‘It did not occur to me that he would carry out his purpose so soon. Barely a week later, I was awoken very early one morning by Mary Ann Dunn, the maid.’

  ‘The morning of the 6th of October?’ asked Frances.

  ‘Yes. I cannot say what time it was, only that it was dark. She said that I was to be married to her master at once and helped me to dress. It felt so very strange, as if I was still asleep and dreaming. We walked down to Havenhill, with a lamp to light us. There was no sound anywhere. It was dark in the church, but Roderick was there and Joshua and the clergyman. And so we were married.’

  ‘But Joshua Jenkins was a sick man,’ said Frances, ‘he could not stir from his bed. Reverend Farrelly was called to him that same morning and sat with him until he died. There is no mistake; he recorded the date in the register.’

  ‘Joshua Jenkins was there,’ Flora insisted. ‘I can only say what I saw.’

  ‘You knew that he was a dying man?’

  ‘I knew that he was very ill. When I saw him sitting in a pew, wrapped in a great cloak against the chill, I assumed that he had rallied. And of course he was a person in whom Roderick placed a very great trust. It seemed quite natural that he would be there.’

  ‘Did you sign the register?’ asked Frances.

  ‘I – I’m not sure. There was a paper, and I signed it, but it was too dark to see what it was.’

  ‘And the witnesses signed too?’

  ‘I don’t know. I couldn’t see.’

  ‘But there is no record of the marriage,’ said Frances. ‘I have seen the register for myself. How do you explain that?’

  Flora shook her head. ‘I can only imagine that Roderick used his influence to ensure that it went unrecorded.’

  ‘Are you suggesting,’ said Frances, with considerable astonishment, ‘that Mr Matthews either induced or even bribed Reverend Farrelly to conduct a secret wedding in the middle of the night, not to enter the event in the parish records, and then to see that no certificate was ever registered with Somerset House? I am not sure but that may be a criminal offence.’

  ‘I think,’ said Flora uncertainly, ‘that the clergyman was not Reverend Farrelly. Sometimes, in my dreams, it comes back to me, and then I see his face clearly, but when I awake it is gone again. I can only say that I have never seen him before or since.’

  Even Frances’ firmest stare was insufficient to move the girl from her unlikely tale. ‘And then, some three months later, you ran away,’ she said. ‘Can you give a reason?’

  Flora paused. ‘I am not sure if it would be of any advantage to speak to you further. I can tell by your manner that you think I imagined the wedding.’

  ‘I am sorry if I have given that impression,’ said Frances. ‘Do not let it deter you from finishing what you have to say.’

  Reluctantly, Flora went on. ‘A few days after my marriage we attended Joshua Jenkins’ funeral at St Mary’s. In the congregation there was a young woman hardly more than my age who caused a great disturbance. She kept calling out that it was a good thing that he had gone. It was very shocking, of course, and many people tried to comfort her and tell her to hush, but all she could do was laugh and then she turned to Roderick and pointed her finger and said that he would be next. I asked Roderick what it all meant and he told me that the woman was drunk or mad or both. Some friends of hers took her outside, but later as we came out, I saw her running about the graveyard laughing and then she went to the grave and threw stones into it. I asked someone who the young woman was and found that her name was Daisy Trent. The next day I sought her out and spoke with her. She lived in a room in the blacksmith’s cottage that had once been her father’s. She was much calmer then and told me a terrible thing. She said that Joshua Jenkins and Roderick had killed her sweetheart, Daniel Souter.’

  ‘She said that they had actually killed him?’ asked Fra
nces, incredulously.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I have read the account of the inquest,’ said Frances, ‘and I have spoken to Reverend and Mrs Farrelly, and it was well known at the time that Daniel Souter was killed by a gang of men from East Hill who had been roaming the area thieving and causing damage. Joshua Jenkins had sent Daniel to find the thieves and frighten them away, but had not realised that they were armed. Daisy found her sweetheart’s body and it sent her out of her wits. I know that she blamed Joshua Jenkins and Mr Matthews for Daniel’s death, but it was not because she thought they had actually done the deed themselves but because they had put him in danger.’

  ‘That isn’t true,’ said Flora firmly.

  ‘But what makes you so certain? Did Daisy say that she had actually witnessed Daniel’s murder?’

  ‘No. The only witnesses were the murderers themselves.’ Flora’s face drew into something approaching a scowl. ‘I can see that you don’t believe me. Just as no one has ever believed Daisy.’

  ‘If there is a single shred of evidence, one thing that would stand in a court of law, I would like to know it,’ said Frances.

  She waited, but Flora was silent.

  ‘You were not living at Havenhill when Daniel Souter was killed?’

  ‘No, I was at school, and living in Bayswater.’

  ‘And it was after you spoke to Daisy that you ran away?’

  ‘Yes, of course – as soon as I could! Can you imagine my feelings? I was terribly afraid. A man like that! But I had no money and I dared not place a burden on my mother. Then, not long afterwards, Freddie turned twenty-one and came into some money of his own. I told him I was very unhappy, but of course I could not tell him the reason, and he gave me enough to be able to leave. He was a good friend to me, and I do miss him.’

  ‘Was Freddie at Havenhill at the time of Daniel Souter’s death?’

  ‘I believe so.’

  ‘I expect you will tell me that Freddie is also under the control of his father and will say whatever he is directed to.’

  ‘No. Freddie dislikes his father. He went abroad as soon as he was able.’

  ‘Florence, I am told.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Has he ever spoken of what happened on the night of Daniel’s death?’

  She shook her head.

  Frances pondered the puzzle. If one discounted anything Mary Ann Dunn might have to say, as she would undoubtedly support her master, it left two conflicting accounts both of the murder of Daniel Souter and the supposed wedding. If Flora was telling the truth about the wedding, then there had been a conspiracy in which several people, including a clergyman, had been involved. The other and rather more likely explanation was that the marriage had never taken place and that Flora was lying or insane or had dreamed the entire thing. As for Daisy Trent, it seemed very probable to Frances that the unhappy girl, distracted by grief, had not given the most coherent expression to her feelings and that Flora had made some unwarranted assumptions.

  ‘There is one other thing I need to speak to you about,’ said Frances. ‘The pamphlet, “Why Marry?” ’

  Flora said nothing.

  ‘It was obvious when I read it that it was written by someone who knew the school well, and was there in some capacity, either teacher or pupil, during the lifetime of Professor Venn. Someone with the ability to compose such a document. Someone who had good reason to want to warn young girls against a hasty marriage. It was printed by a business in the same street as the coffee shop owned by your mother’s second husband. I do not think that is a coincidence. I believe that you are the author and Mrs Gribling the lady who arranged for the printing. Am I correct?’

  Flora appeared to be considering the option of a flat denial.

  ‘For the avoidance of doubt, I could, of course, ask the printer to visit Mrs Gribling and identify her,’ said Frances.

  A moment or two passed and Flora capitulated. ‘There is no crime in it,’ she said. ‘No one should marry unless for love. It was my duty to tell the girls that.’

  ‘Did you pay Matilda to place the pamphlets in the desks?’

  ‘Pay Matilda?’ repeated Flora, mystified. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘But it was she who put the pamphlets in the girls’ desks?’

  Flora hesitated. ‘I don’t know,’ she said at last.

  Frances did not press the point, since she believed that Mrs Gribling might be better able to supply the answer. ‘Did you or your mother, or anyone you know, ever meet with Matilda or send her messages?’

  Flora shook her head.

  ‘You should know that Mrs Venn is very upset about your accusations against her late husband. Did you observe his indiscretions yourself? Did you ever go into his study?’

  ‘No, but there were those who did.’

  Frances gave a despairing sigh. ‘Mrs Quayle, you must not write such accusations and then distribute them based on another person’s unsupported word. The only defence against a charge of libel is that what you have said is true. From what you have told me you have no proof at all. Even though Professor Venn is dead and therefore beyond any considerations of that kind, the school has been defamed, and if Mrs Venn wished to, she could institute proceedings against you. I assume,’ she continued, ‘you refuse to name the actual accuser.’

  ‘I do,’ said Flora.

  ‘I must tell you that the appearance of the pamphlets has caused the gravest anxiety to the school governors, the teaching staff, the pupils and the parents,’ said Frances severely. ‘I understand that you felt the need to utter a warning, but now that you have done so, I wish you to assure me that this incident will not be repeated. If you can tell me that, then I will go to the governors and inform them that the matter has been resolved and I promise that I will not disclose your name.’

  There was a spark in the girl’s eyes, a flash of defiance, a hint of fire, and though in that context it was not welcome, it warmed Frances to think that perhaps Flora would not always think of herself as a victim, that she might one day, even within her happy association with Jonathan Quayle, be a woman who could also belong to herself.

  ‘And supposing I did the same thing again?’asked Flora. ‘What would you do? Would you hand me over to a murderer? Or tell my dearest Jonathan about my past?’

  Frances realised that she had no authority with which to ensure compliance with her request, and no weapon other than one which she was not prepared to use. ‘It is not for me to tell Mr Quayle your secrets,’ she said, ‘neither do I wish to place you in more fear than you are already. I can only entreat you to desist from any further contact with the school, its staff and its pupils. And perhaps I may also offer my help. If in the future you should feel impelled to impart another message, write to me first, and we will talk about it, and work together and devise a better means of achieving your object. There. Do I have your promise now?’

  Reluctantly, Flora nodded.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Frances was beginning to feel that she was swimming in very deep waters. She had accepted a commission to investigate an incident which was not even a crime, and before she knew it had found herself looking at two murders, a suspicious death, blackmail and an allegation of planned bigamy that could threaten a politician’s career. Tempting as it was to try and uncover the truth, some of this, and quite probably most of it, was not her concern at all. While Matilda’s death might well be connected with the pamphlets, Frances anticipated that despite Mr Paskall’s hysterical fears, the inquest on the man in the ditch would find him to be the victim of an accident. She had no obligation and no explicit reason to investigate the circumstances of Daniel Souter’s unsolved murder, but felt that if she could cast some light on that event, it might ease Flora’s mind, which was at best distracted, and at worst suggestive that close confinement might be her best position. It was Flora’s hatred and fear of Roderick Matthews that had prompted the composition of the pamphlets and until those feelings could be resolved, Frances did no
t feel sanguine that some further incident might not take place.

  Frances made a careful list of all those persons to whom she had not yet spoken who might know something of the events on the night of Daniel Souter’s death. She had no doubts that Mary Ann Dunn would support anything her employer might say on the matter, Joshua was dead and Daisy Trent vanished. The only other possible witness was Matthews’ eldest son Freddie, who lived in Florence. The English community in Florence was, Frances believed, a close-knit society in which all the members might well know one another, and there was one person of her acquaintance who had lived there for most of his life.

  Cedric Garton was an anomalous man of whom it could be said that he was unlikely ever to marry. Frances had first met him in January when he had come from Italy to represent the interests of his family following his brother’s tragic death. They had first become acquainted under circumstances which Frances now blushed to recall, since she had accosted him impersonating a newspaper man while dressed in one of her late brother’s suits, and calling herself Frank Williamson, a circumstance Cedric frequently reminded her of with mischievous relish.

  The legal difficulties that had ensued following Frances’ enquiries had necessitated his indefinite stay in Bayswater. He had taken rooms not far from Frances in Westbourne Park Road, where he lived a bachelor existence with his manservant, Joseph. Frances knew that his unusual tastes might render him loathsome in some circles, yet she also found him witty, charming and very much cleverer than he pretended to be.

  Frances sent Sarah with a note asking if she might call, and settled down to work on her business accounts. Compared with the ledgers she had once kept of the chemist’s shop this was simplicity itself. Soon she had all the books neat, precise and up to date and felt very happy. Perhaps, she thought, as her fingers brushed the drawer where her mothers’ letters were kept, there were some things better left alone.

  Sarah returned with a message saying that Mr Garton was engaged with an appointment of very great importance, which would afford him far less pleasure than Frances’ company, which he looked forward to with keen anticipation the following morning at eleven.