Read The Daughters of Gentlemen Online
Authors: Linda Stratmann
Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #General
The Daughters of Gentlemen (4 page)
‘She must be very remarkable,’ said Frances, who had once received an unsubtle hint that the business acumen she had gained during the years working in her father’s shop had stirred Mr Knight’s tender interest.
‘Oh, she is, she is. But I have not spoken one word of devotion – nor will I until my fortune is secure!’ He nodded very significantly.
‘Well, gentlemen, if you have not yet found suitable accommodation – I hesitate to mention it as it is hardly more than bare rooms —,’ she saw their faces brighten and pressed on. ‘Although I am leaving very soon, I do have the use of this property for two or three more days before Mr Jacobs brings his effects. You are very welcome to stay until then. There are two quite unoccupied rooms above.’
‘That is very kind of you,’ said Barstie, casually. ‘I think, Chas, we may consider availing ourselves of the offer.’
Chas frowned. ‘Er – as to the question of rent —’
‘Oh please don’t think of it,’ said Frances. She pretended not to notice their palpable relief.
‘Such generosity!’ said Chas, beaming. ‘We accept at once!’
Frances decided not to raise the question of their luggage, which might cause them embarrassment as she was fairly certain there was none. ‘There is, however, one little service you might perform for me,’ she went on. ‘I need information about three gentlemen who reside in Bayswater. Their business and family circumstances.’
Chas and Barstie exchanged worried glances. ‘This is not another case of murder, Miss Doughty?’ asked Barstie anxiously.
‘Oh, no,’ she reassured him, ‘nothing so terrible as that. I would like to know if these gentlemen might have rivals – or enemies, even. Whether justified or not. Even the most respectable of men may make enemies who envy them their success.’
Chas and Barstie both nodded sagely as if they had whole armies of envious rivals. ‘Let us know their names and we will find out everything we can,’ said Chas.
‘They are Mr Algernon Fiske, who is an author I believe, Mr Roderick Matthews, a market gardener, and Mr Bartholomew Paskall, property agent.’
‘They are known to us by repute only, though not personally,’ said Chas.
‘I would also like to know something of the circumstances of Mr Julius Sandcourt, who is married to Mr Matthews’ eldest daughter, and an associate of Mr Fiske’s called Miggs,’ Frances added. ‘I will meet any expenses of your enquiries of course.’ She paused. ‘In advance – why not?’ She found a few shillings in her purse and handed them over. ‘Now, gentlemen, I have an appointment very shortly, but if you were to join me for supper at seven, I would be delighted.’
The arrangements completed, Frances returned to Chepstow Place, where Matilda admitted her to the school and asked with a smirk if she had solved the puzzle yet.
‘Not yet,’ said Frances, ‘unless there is something
you
can tell me.’
‘Oh I’ve said all I know, which isn’t anything,’ said Matilda. ‘Mr Copley’s waiting for you. Now I’d be very surprised if
he
didn’t know something.’
Frances was ushered into the art room, where she found Mr Copley carefully arranging chairs in the largest circle the room would permit. In the centre of the circle was a small table on which sat a cut-glass vase, which held a fresh posy of spring flowers. Copley, a small sprucely dressed man of about thirty with a prematurely receding hairline, looked up with a smile as Frances entered the room.
‘Ah, Miss Doughty, how may I assist you?’ he enquired brightly, flapping his hand at Matilda by way of dismissal. She turned and flounced back to the kitchen.
‘I was hoping you would be so good as to answer some questions,’ said Frances.
‘Of course! Of course! And you may assist
me
, Miss Doughty,’ he said, placing a chair beside the little table, ‘by seating yourself here.’
Frances sat and took out her notebook while Mr Copley bustled about, checking the view of the table from each of the seats in the circle. ‘I understand that you do not lodge in the school,’ Frances asked.
‘Oh dear me, no, that would be quite improper. I have my own rooms in the Grove. Some might call my humble abode an attic, but to me, Miss Doughty, it is a place near to heaven. There I have a little studio where the light illuminates my work and I may grow my garden of precious flowers near the window. If I might impose on you, Miss Doughty, could you lean a little more to the left? Just so!’
Frances, trying to accommodate him while also writing in her notebook, said, ‘And what classes do you teach here?’
‘Botany twice a week, drawing twice and painting twice. All at 3 p.m. There is a school in Kensington where I have classes every morning. I also have other employment illustrating books, and in my leisure moments I am inspired by my own notions of Art. Perhaps if you might place your left hand on the table?’ He rotated the vase about an inch, stepped back to gaze at it, and sighed. ‘The most beautiful thing in the world to me is the flower. The delicate fragile petals, as they just begin to open, the hint of dewy moisture within. So innocent! So pure! How it lifts my spirits to see it.’
Frances took a moment from her new occupation as artist’s model to make a note. ‘Please could you tell me exactly where you were between midday on Tuesday the second of March and nine the following morning?’
He gazed at her. ‘You are very young, Miss Doughty.’
‘I am nineteen,’ she said. ‘And I would be obliged if you would answer my question.’
He licked his lips. ‘Barely more than a schoolgirl yourself.’ He sat down. ‘Let me see. On Tuesday I was as usual at the school for boys in Kensington, where I taught two classes in botany and draughtsmanship, the first at nine o’clock and the second at eleven o’clock. The hour between classes I spent in the staffroom looking at the pupils’ work. I was then permitted to take a light luncheon with the pupils and staff. I was here from two o’clock, preparing the room for my class. I took class between three and four and then I returned home, where I remained until the next morning. On the Wednesday morning I was again in Kensington.’
‘When you were here on Tuesday, did you have any occasion to enter the schoolroom?’ asked Frances.
‘None at all.’
‘And did you see anyone enter or leave, or was there perhaps some person standing in the hallway?’
He pondered this. ‘If I had seen one of the staff or pupils or servants enter or leave it would not be so unusual that I would remember it particularly. I have no recollection of seeing any visitors that day.’
Frances paused, for she was about to pose a question which she would never formerly have considered asking a single man. ‘If you would forgive me for asking a question which may seem impertinent – what is your opinion of marriage?’
Mr Copley’s eyes opened wide and there was a flush of colour in his cheeks, then he straightened a little in his chair. ‘I – I believe marriage to be the highest and most holy of aspirations,’ he said at last. ‘I hope to be married myself one day.’
‘You did not see any of the pamphlets that were placed in the girls’ desks?’
‘No, I did not.’
‘Can you suggest why someone might want to place them there?’
He made an expressive gesture of helplessness. ‘I cannot possibly imagine.’
‘I am asking everyone the same question.’ Frances waited for a reply.
Mr Copley thought for a while and then uttered a sorrowful sigh. ‘There are individuals in this world who, sadly, cannot see a thing of purity and perfection without wanting to besmirch it. I both despise and pity such persons.’
‘Can you name a suspect?’ asked Frances hopefully.
‘I spoke in the abstract, of course. I have no acquaintanceships in such circles. I expect, however, that they would already be known to the police.’
Frances thought of Matilda’s hint about Mr Copley. Did the girl really know something or was she simply amusing herself with groundless insinuations? ‘As an artist,’ she said, ‘you are more skilled than most in observation. Is there no one here whose behaviour or expression has seemed different lately?’
He shook his head. ‘I am sorry, Miss Doughty, it is as much a mystery to me as it is to us all.’
Frances thanked him, and though he had not been able to help, one comment had led to a thought. While the placing of the pamphlets was not in itself a crime, perhaps the culprit had committed other acts which were of a criminal nature. She determined to pay a visit to Paddington Green police station in the near future. Even if she learned nothing there, it would be an opportunity for some agreeable conversation with Constable Brown.
Frances rang for Matilda, who did not trouble herself to attend promptly but arrived in her own time, and advised her that Mrs Venn had set aside the common room for the remaining interviews. Matilda then left Frances to make her own way upstairs.
Mlle Girard was seated comfortably before a good fire warming her toes, which were encased in embroidered slippers. Some papers lay piled on a table nearby, which Frances could see were exercises in translation, and her needlework box was open at her feet. She was engaged in crochet work, which, from her expression of contentment, was a far more pleasurable activity than correcting the clumsy French of girls for whom the language held no charm. Mlle Girard interested Frances because she had not, as far as she could recall, ever met a French person and was curious as to what a French lady’s manners might be. Her father had never spoken a great deal about the French, largely because if the subject ever arose in the newspapers he dismissed it as beneath his contempt.
Mlle Girard arose and greeted Frances most politely, although Frances thought that the teacher regarded her as not quite an equal. She was a trim young woman with eyes that always seemed to be asking a question.
‘Thank you for agreeing to speak to me,’ said Frances.
‘Oh but I am delighted to do anything that might help,’ said the teacher in a softly pretty accent, settling herself again. Her fingers, slim as spider’s legs, moved nimbly as she worked a delicate blue and white scalloped edging around a dainty handkerchief.
Frances was not an admirer of ornament for its own sake, but knew that there were many who were; ladies who used it to draw attention to their beauty and men who decorated their wives to demonstrate their own prosperity. She sat down, placed her hands on her lap and laced her long fingers. For the briefest of moments Frances wondered if, had she not been fated to grow tall enough to look men in the eye, her life now would be different from the way it was, and if that would be a good thing or bad? She had never longed for beauty, but thought how useful it would be as an enchantment to persuade people to tell her the truth.
‘I see you are admiring my craftwork,’ said Mlle Girard with a sweet smile. ‘It is very elegant, is it not? A pattern given to me by my grandmother.’
‘How long have you been teaching here?’ asked Frances.
‘Two years.’
‘And do you have any thoughts as to why someone might have wanted to play this curious trick on the school?’
The teacher gave a slight shrug. ‘No, it has never crossed my mind. It was upsetting for the girls and of course Mrs Venn, but I imagine it was what you call a practical joke, something from the English sense of humour. I have noticed, especially amongst young men, but sometimes girls as well, a fondness for jokes which can be cruel and cause much unhappiness, and for no other reason than pleasure in the joke itself. I find it very strange, but that is the way.’
‘Between midday on Tuesday and nine on Wednesday morning, did you see anything that you thought was unusual – someone in the school who is not normally here – or someone you expected to be here but was not behaving in their usual manner?’
‘No, nothing of that kind at all.’
‘On the Wednesday morning, when the pamphlets were found, what were you doing?’
‘I do not lodge here, you understand, I have my own apartments where I also on occasion take private pupils for lessons in the French language. I came here at nine, and was arranging some displays of the girls’ needlework in the art and music room. I knew nothing of the affair until Miss Baverstock asked me to take charge of the girls in the common room while she spoke to Mrs Venn on an urgent matter. Of course I complied.’
‘And how did the girls behave?’
‘They seemed very – unsettled. I saw that Charlotte had gone with Miss Baverstock, and I asked them what had occurred. They said that Charlotte had found something in her desk and was being questioned about it. I asked if they knew what this thing was and they said it was a paper, but they had not seen what kind. I think, although they are girls and have as much mischief in them as any young lady, they were concerned about Charlotte and were wondering if she might be punished.’
‘I doubt that one of the girls was responsible,’ said Frances. ‘It is hard to see how a pupil might have come by twelve copies of such a pamphlet.’
‘That is what I think,’ said Mlle Girard. ‘It is someone who does not usually come here – you need to look outside the school and not inside.’ Frances suspected that she was right.
‘I hope you will not think me impudent, but I would like to ask your opinion of marriage,’ said Frances.
Mlle Girard smiled. ‘It is not something that may be enjoyed in comfort and happiness without money. A sensible person will take care not to marry before he or she is provided for. There is a gentleman in Switzerland – we hope, in a year from now, to be united.’
The interview completed, Mlle Girard put away her crochet, took up her papers and departed, to be replaced by Miss Baverstock, a tall lady of about fifty with a severe expression and, as suited a teacher of deportment, a back as straight as a ruler. Her hair, the colour of wet clay, was braided and wrapped about her head in long coils. Frances decided not to ask her about marriage.
‘I believe that you have taught at the school since it began,’ said Frances.
‘I have. Prior to the opening of the school I took private lessons, here in Bayswater.’ Miss Baverstock studied Frances disapprovingly, and shook her head. ‘May I say, Miss Doughty, that your carriage leaves something to be desired? Do you do a great deal of reading? There is nothing wrong in that, of course, if the material is suitable, but I find that girls who read often have slumped shoulders, and there is almost nothing as bad in a young lady as slumped shoulders.’
‘Oh,’ said Frances, immediately adjusting her posture.
‘That is better,’ said Miss Baverstock with a nod. ‘Let us proceed.’
‘Can you tell me in your own words about how you discovered the pamphlet in Charlotte’s desk? I would like you to start your account from when the class began.’
Miss Baverstock briefly pursed her lips. ‘You have a tidy mind, Miss Doughty. I admire that. Very well, I will do as you request. The girls were in their places just before nine, and once I had checked and corrected their postures they began their work. I was engaged in some correspondence. Then one of the girls – Helena Younge – came to ask me about the method of making a decorated garland. We spoke for a minute or two then, as she returned to her place, she must have brushed against the booklet in Charlotte’s hand, and it fell. As it did so, I heard Charlotte give a little gasp and I saw the paper fall to the floor. It looked unfamiliar and I went to look at it. I think you can imagine my feelings on seeing its true nature.’
‘What happened then?’ asked Frances.
‘I naturally asked Charlotte what this meant and she said she had discovered the paper in her arithmetic book but was at a loss to know how it had come to be there. I decided to take her to see Mrs Venn, and then – and how glad I am that I did – I wondered if the other girls had received similar missives. I asked them if they had and they assured me that they had not, but it then occurred to me that they might not yet have discovered anything, so I asked them all to go up to the common room.’
‘Where they were supervised by Mlle Girard?’
‘Exactly. I then took Charlotte to see Mrs Venn and afterwards Mrs Venn and I looked in all the desks, where we were horrified to find an identical pamphlet in every one.’
‘Do you recall which books they were hidden in?’ asked Frances, without much hope that she would.
‘I am afraid not. Is that important?’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps not. But all the papers were very well hidden?’
‘Oh yes. It is quite possible that some of the girls might not have found theirs until the next day.’
‘Did you at any time from about twelve the previous day to the time the pamphlet was found see anyone in the school who ought not to have been there? Or someone in or near the schoolroom who did not usually go to that part of the house?’
‘No one at all.’
‘You have not observed anyone behaving in an unaccustomed manner?’
‘I have not.’
‘You lodge here, I believe?’
‘Yes, I share a room with Miss Bell. I slept soundly that night as I usually do and noticed nothing unusual or out of place.’
Frances looked at her notes again, Miss Baverstock observing her calmly. The teacher made no comment on Frances’ youthfulness and lack of experience of the world but she did not need to speak to do so.
‘Have you any thoughts you might share with me as to who might have done this – or why?’ asked Frances.
Miss Baverstock made a sour grimace. ‘I will not name any names, Miss Doughty, but I will say this – there are persons in this world who, unhappily, take a malicious delight in causing upset to other people. They do it for pleasure, Miss Doughty, and it is disgraceful! I will say no more.’
When Miss Baverstock had departed Frances sat silently for a time wondering if there was anything of importance she had missed, any question she had omitted to ask which might have provided greater enlightenment. It was one thing to ask and learn nothing because there was nothing to learn, quite another to feel, as she did, that she had failed to learn something because she had not explored sufficiently.
Miss Bell arrived, a lady in her early thirties, who, from her appearance, was still living in hope that she would not always be in the single state. There was too much lace on her bosom, one too many frills on her cap, and a faded flower pinned above her heart. She dabbed at her eyes with a colourfully embellished handkerchief. ‘The poor, poor girls!’ she exclaimed. ‘What a dreadful thing to happen. I see them all as if they were my very own, you know. Not,’ she gave a little laugh, ‘that I am old enough to have such large daughters, but I feel for them as if they were my family.’
‘Charlotte must have been very distressed,’ said Frances.
‘Oh she was! I have never seen a girl cry so. She thought she would be blamed for it all, you see, though why she might think so I really can’t say. The other girls found her distress very alarming.’
Miss Bell, like Miss Baverstock, had seen nothing at all suspicious during the time when the pamphlets must have been put in the girls’ desks. ‘As to who might have done this thing – I really can’t imagine! Why warn the girls against the married state when it is the pinnacle of a woman’s happiness! I wonder if some lady who hoped to marry but could not find a husband wished to deter her rivals so that she might have a better chance. I can think of no other reason.’
Frances’ interview with the three Younge sisters was similarly unhelpful. They stood quietly in a row like a set of china dolls, regarding her with large, brown, reproachful eyes, as if her questions were an affront to their merit. None of them had seen or heard anything of note and Helena, while agreeing that her apron might have brushed by Charlotte as she returned to her desk, seemed astonished that anyone should invest this incident with any significance.
Before she left, Frances spoke briefly to Mrs Venn to advise her that she had completed her enquiries for that day, and would be reporting her conclusions in due course. In fact Frances had no conclusions, nor, on the basis of what she had learned, did she think was she likely to have any, but she was not about to admit it. Mrs Venn showed no interest in the results of Frances’ endeavours, but expressed a hope that her work would be over very soon, and rang for Matilda. The housemaid was looking even more pleased with herself than usual. There was the edge of a paper protruding from her apron pocket which, Frances thought, had not been there before. When the maid saw that Frances had noticed it, she pushed it deep into her pocket, out of sight.