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

by Stratmann, Linda

  It was while she was engrossed in these less than wholesome thoughts that Cedric called for Frances quite unannounced and declared that he would like nothing better than to take a turn along Westbourne Grove, which he said was becoming the most fashionable promenade in London. The West End was too passé, too serious; only the Grove answered all the requirements of an elegant and adventurous man about town. Frances did not especially want to go on a frivolous tour of the shops, especially as there was nothing she wished to purchase, but allowed herself to be persuaded. For Frances to go out required only that she put on a coat and bonnet but Cedric needed several minutes in front of the mirror, surveying his form from every possible angle, whether it was convenient or not. Finally he pinched his cheeks and pronounced himself ready.

  ‘You should go out in society more, my dear Frank,’ said Cedric as they strolled arm-in-arm. ‘We make a wonderful couple. You would sting with your intelligence and I would astonish with my golden hair. The world would be at our feet – or Bayswater at least, which is the only part of it that counts.’

  ‘Oh I shall be going out this evening to the society event of the year,’ said Frances teasingly. ‘Everyone who is anyone will be there, I am told. You should come, it will be very shocking.’

  ‘Shocking? How interesting! Will there be dancing girls – or better still, boys?’

  ‘I expect fisticuffs at the very least.’

  ‘Oh, so I expect you are taking your pugilistic lady friend. There are backroom mills where she could earn a good purse. But do tell me more.’

  Frances explained about the public meeting at the Great Western Hotel, and Cedric admitted that it could supply a pleasing antidote to the boredom he often experienced when five minutes passed in which nothing sensational had occurred.

  ‘It starts at six o’clock prompt,’ said Frances.

  ‘Perfect!’ exclaimed Cedric. ‘It will fill those disappointing hours between tea time and dinner.’

  ‘But there is something you might do for me,’ said Frances. ‘Could you write to Freddie Matthews and ask if he would correspond with me? There are a number of questions I would like to ask him, albeit of a somewhat delicate nature.’

  ‘I am afraid I cannot comply with your wish,’ said Cedric solemnly.

  ‘Oh!’ said Frances, disappointed. ‘Well, if that is the case …’

  ‘You misunderstand. There is no point in my writing to Freddie as he is newly arrived in London on business, although I understand and indeed earnestly hope that pleasure is also to be involved. He is even now at a tailor’s being measured for several suits at once in which I anticipate he will take the capital by storm. He is staying with me. Whatever indelicacies you wish to whisper in his ear you may do for yourself.’

  Frances left Cedric in Whiteleys, agonising over the choice of a new cravat, and returned home to find that a messenger had brought a reply to the note she had sent Mrs Venn, from which she learned that the headmistress would be at home receiving visitors that morning. Frances went to the school with some trepidation, since the original purpose of the suggested visit had been to offer some friendly comfort and she now had quite another mission.

  Mrs Venn was in her study and appeared, under the circumstances, to be remarkably calm. It was as if the explosion of rancor that had fallen upon her had, now that the event had actually happened, alleviated the stress of anticipation. She was at her desk with a heap of papers in front of her, including letters from Mr Rawsthorne, and insurance documents from Paskall & Son.

  ‘So many things to take care of,’ the lady said with a sigh, although Frances detected that Mrs Venn was happier for being busy, ‘so much to do, but if I am to resign my post, as I fear will be necessary, then I wish to leave everything in the most perfect order for my successor. I trust and hope that it will be Miss Baverstock who is approved, but of course I can have no say in that.’

  Frances hesitated, as there was some difficulty about the question she was about to ask. ‘Mrs Venn, there is a matter of some delicacy I feel it necessary to discuss with you.’

  The headmistress smiled. ‘Oh, do not be reticent, Miss Doughty, it seems to me that in the past weeks we have talked almost exclusively about matters of that nature.’

  ‘I fear that is true,’ said Frances regretfully, ‘and I do hope that a time may come when we may meet and talk of happier things. There is no easy method of introducing this subject, so I will be direct. I have a question for you about Mrs Sandcourt – or Selina Matthews as she was when a pupil here.’

  There was no change in the headmistress’s expression, as there might be no change on a man’s face who was about to be shot, and was making a brave thing of it.

  Emboldened, Frances pressed on. ‘Did she, perhaps during the early part of 1873, shortly before the family departed for Italy, come to you for advice on a personal concern? The kind of advice that she would, under other circumstances, have sought from her mother? I must assure you,’ added Frances, ‘that I have no wish to make public anything you might say.’

  Mrs Venn took a long time to form a reply. ‘I cannot imagine what has prompted you to ask that question,’ she said at last, ‘but of course I believe you would never have broached such a subject unless you already knew or suspected what my answer would be.’

  ‘Then I am correct,’ said Frances. ‘Can you tell me what your advice was?’

  Mrs Venn gazed back at her in wonderment and more than a hint of admiration. ‘You are the most extraordinary young woman,’ she said. ‘You seem to take in your stride things that another of your tender years might feel faint just to hear mentioned.’

  ‘That may be true,’ said Frances. ‘I never had the guidance of a mother, only an aunt who saw me fed and clothed and little else. I had a brief schooling and thereafter educated myself. I never moved in society, to be told what to think, to make myself presentable. My thoughts, such as they are, are my own.’

  ‘Your very presence in this room, your character and address and words challenge all that I have ever believed about the education of girls,’ said Mrs Venn.

  ‘But you educate them to be married,’ said Frances, ‘not to ask questions, which you then try to avoid answering.’

  Mrs Venn gave a light laugh. ‘That is true. Well, Miss Doughty, the answer is that my first action was to call Dr Montgomery, whom I knew to be discreet, as I thought it possible that the girl was mistaken. I had hoped he would reassure her and the matter would go no further. Unfortunately he only confirmed her fears. I advised her to go and see her father and tell him the truth. She was terrified, of course, so I agreed to go with her. His reaction I am sure you may imagine.’

  ‘Did Mrs Sandcourt reveal the name of any individual?’ asked Frances.

  ‘Her father naturally demanded it, and she did mention a name, but I am quite unable to recall it after so long. It was not a name that was known to me.’

  ‘Was this a person who lived at Havenhill?’

  ‘I believe so. Mr Matthews, on first hearing the news, suggested that I had failed in my duty of care – indeed he threatened to have me removed from the school, but Mrs Sandcourt said that the school was not in any way to blame. She said something about a festivity at Havenhill which had been attended by the whole family. Mr Matthews’ expression when he saw that the failure of care was his and not mine, was a picture I shall never forget.’

  Frances nodded. ‘Was Matilda at the school then?’

  ‘Yes, I believe she had not long returned to her position after the birth of her daughter.’

  ‘I assume that Mr Sandcourt knows nothing of these events.’

  ‘In all probability. I think that such a man might be prepared to forgive a pretty young wife, but I doubt that she would wish to test that assumption. He is, however, a man of the world. I do recall hearing a rumour that Mrs Sandcourt had been briefly married while in Italy, no doubt a fiction to persuade Mr Sandcourt that his bride was a widow and not a spinster.’

  ‘Have you eve
r seen the boy – he is called Horace.’

  ‘No, I have not. It would hardly be appropriate for Mrs Sandcourt to bring him here.’

  ‘I saw him when I chanced to meet the family out walking in Hyde Park,’ said Frances.

  ‘Chanced,’ said Mrs Venn, nodding. ‘Do you rely on chance a great deal?’

  ‘It has its uses,’ Frances admitted. ‘I think the boy will be a credit to the family. He is a true Matthews, tall and dark-haired and with a very intelligent, thoughtful look about him. He will be a great man of business some day, or a politician or a scholar.’

  It was as those words left her lips that Frances realised in a great explosion of thought what she had failed to observe earlier. Her gaze moved to the pictures displayed on the wall of the study and she was both shocked and disgusted when she saw that she was right, and knew what it meant.

  ‘Miss Doughty?’ asked the headmistress anxiously.

  Frances, almost numb with dismay, rose to her feet. ‘I – have just recalled something I had forgotten and must take my leave of you. Forgive me for this sudden departure.’

  ‘Not at all.’ Mrs Venn rose and proffered her hand. ‘When this is all settled I will write and let you know where I am living and we will take tea.’

  ‘Oh, I hope we might!’ said Frances.

  She hurried away, this time her steps taking her in the direction of the Matthews’ townhouse.

  The maid was astonished to see her standing on the doorstep in a state of some emotion. ‘Master is out,’ she said.

  ‘It is not him I wish to see, but Miss Lydia,’ said Frances. ‘Is she at home?’

  She could hear in the distance the sound of a very fine piano being played very badly. ‘Miss Lydia is taking a music lesson,’ said the maid, unnecessarily. A reedy voice began to commit a crime of violence on a sentimental song.

  ‘You will not, I think, mind my interrupting,’ said Frances, walking in and heading down the hallway.

  ‘Oh but —,’ exclaimed the maid, scurrying after her.

  It was not difficult to locate the source of the noise and Frances threw open a door, behind which she found a beautifully appointed drawing room. Lydia sat at the piano and beside her a lady teacher, with a fixed expression of great patience not unmingled with pain.

  ‘What is this?’ exclaimed Lydia, turning to view the intruder. ‘How dare you force your way in here!’

  ‘I need to speak to you,’ said Frances. ‘Privately.’

  ‘This is outrageous! I will inform my father!’

  ‘Oh, I think he will know about this without your assistance very soon,’ said Frances.

  The music teacher rose. ‘I will return tomorrow,’ she said, nervously.

  ‘But my lesson!’ protested Lydia.

  ‘The world of music can wait a little longer,’ said Frances as the teacher, with a look of fright, hurried away.

  Lydia almost jumped to her feet. ‘I will call a footman and have you escorted from the house,’ she said, flushing with the expectation of excitement.

  ‘Oh, but aren’t you even a little bit curious about what I might have to say?’

  Lydia hesitated and her mouth twitched. ‘Really, Miss Doughty, do you take me for a common gossip?’

  ‘As a matter of fact,’ said Frances, sitting down, ‘I do.’

  Lydia gasped. She had been reaching for a bell-pull but withdrew her hand and sat down again. ‘Very well, say your piece and begone, but you will not hear the last of this!’

  ‘When we last spoke you mentioned a meeting with Matilda Springett. You said that she had made some impertinent comments about Horace.’

  ‘And what of it?’

  ‘You did not say what those comments were.’

  Lydia snorted. ‘They were scarcely important, and indeed hardly comprehensible. It was a stupid incident and I did not note it.’

  ‘I think you did and I will not leave until you tell me,’ said Frances.

  ‘It meant nothing!’ insisted Lydia. ‘Selina said that the girl was quite addled in the head and she had to humour her or she might have had a brainstorm.’

  ‘Then it must have been memorable,’ said Frances.

  ‘Oh very well,’ said Lydia reluctantly. ‘I recall that she praised Horace, saying he had a very intelligent look, or some such words. Then she said that his mother must be very proud of him – which only shows the girl’s ignorance as the boy has no mother – but I saw no point in correcting her.’

  ‘But Mrs Sandcourt spoke to her?’

  ‘The girl said some nonsense about how there were twenty good reasons to be proud of him and she thought there would be more in future. Selina said she thought there might be fifty, and the girl said she thought more nearly a hundred. It was like some stupid parlour game.’

  Or, thought Frances, the negotiation of blackmail. ‘And was that all?’

  ‘I believe so.’

  ‘And the words that Matilda used – that the boy had an intelligent look – were those her actual words?’

  Lydia grimaced at having to soil her lips with a common expression, an action that neither enhanced not detracted from her natural beauty. ‘I think she said he looked like a proper little Professor.’

  Later that afternoon Frances was preparing to go to the meeting at the Great Western Hotel when Jonathon Quayle arrived in a very distressed state.

  ‘Oh Miss Doughty – is Flora with you?’

  ‘No, I have not seen her since my visit yesterday. Is she not at home?’

  ‘Oh dear, oh dear!’ he exclaimed, ‘I don’t know what to do! She seemed so very much better this morning – quite her old self – indeed more than her old self if you see what I mean, but then she read the newspapers and became very excited and rushed out and we have not seen her since. I thought she might have come to see you.’

  ‘I am afraid not. But does she know of the meeting at Paddington?’

  ‘Of course, but she would scarcely have gone there, it is hardly the kind of event she would choose to attend. She is such a timid soul.’

  ‘There will be a great many people there, most of them connected in some way with her old school,’ Frances observed. ‘Perhaps if you were to go you might find someone who knows where she is. I am taking a cab – you may come with me.’

  ‘I will do that,’ he said, ‘but if I learn nothing I will alert the police.’

  They were about to depart when a letter arrived postmarked Hillingdon, and Frances opened it. It was from Mary Ann Dunn and she read it eagerly. ‘Wonderful!’ she exclaimed. She thrust the paper and some coins into Sarah’s hands. ‘Sarah, I want you to hire a cab and go to the address in this letter. You must fetch Daisy Trent – admit of no denial – and take her at once to the meeting at the Great Western Hotel.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  As the cab rattled its way towards Praed Street Jonathan Quayle, almost hysterical with anxiety, enumerated all the places he had been to in search of Flora. ‘I tried all the neighbours first, but none of them had seen her, and Mrs Gribling’s house, and then I wondered if she had gone to Miss Gilbert and Miss John and so I went there, but they were out and the maid on a half day holiday. And then I thought, of course I am being very foolish, it was something in the newspaper that alarmed her, although whether that would have sent her to a place or from a place, I really didn’t know.’ He pulled a crumpled copy of the Illustrated Police News from his pocket and stared helplessly at the front page. ‘I looked at all the pictures and I didn’t know what to think, so I tried as many things as I could – I went to Westbourne Hall, but that was boarded up, and the school but they were closed. Mr Paskall’s office, only he was out of course, but the young gentleman was very sympathetic and said if anyone of Flora’s description came there he would alert Mrs Gribling at once. And then of course I thought she might have come to you.’

  ‘Did she seem afraid when she ran out?’

  ‘No,’ he said, with a puzzled look, ‘and that is the strangest thing. For the
first time since I have known her she didn’t look afraid. She seemed – I suppose I would say that she seemed determined.’

  Frances considered the possibilities. ‘Did the suffrage society hold a meeting today?’ she asked.

  ‘I am not sure.’

  ‘Does Mrs Quayle receive literature from the society?’

  He nodded emphatically. ‘Yes, she does, very often, and reads it with great attention.’

  ‘Then,’ said Frances, ‘if there is a meeting today she would have known about it and might have gone to the place where it was being held. And Miss Gilbert and Miss John would be there and not at home.’

  ‘Oh – I didn’t think of that!’ he said, brightening. ‘Yes, of course, you may be right.’

  ‘Do you know where they hold their meetings?’

  ‘There are many halls in Bayswater which they might have used, depending on the numbers expected.’

  ‘If she is with those ladies she will be quite safe,’ Frances reassured him.

  He mopped his brow with a handkerchief. ‘I did learn one thing before Flora ran away. She said she wanted to confess everything to me, so that we might have no secrets. It seems that she is the author of the pamphlet you came asking about. I was very surprised as she has never done anything like this before, and she told me all about how she came to write it. And of course it is those very pamphlets which have caused all the excitement at the school.’

  ‘Did she tell you who took them to the school?’

  ‘Yes, it appears that it was Mrs Sandcourt.’

  ‘Mrs Sandcourt?’ said Frances, with very great surprise.

  ‘Flora told me that they had been corresponding using Mrs Gribling’s address, although she was careful to maintain the impression that she was living abroad. It was Flora and Mrs Sandcourt, who thought of the plan to write the pamphlets. Mrs Gribling had them printed and then delivered them to Mrs Sandcourt who took them to the school.’

  ‘However did the correspondence commence?’ asked Frances. ‘And why? I don’t believe they were very great friends at school.’