The Poisonous Seed: A Frances Doughty Mystery (The Frances Doughty Mysteries) Page 17

  Frances and Herbert descended to the little parlour. Sarah brought in a tray of tea things. ‘I thought —,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, Sarah,’ said Frances, gently. ‘It was a good thought.’

  Herbert, declaring manfully that he would do anything to be useful, was sent to get some telegram forms. Frances barely tasted her tea, but held the cup in her hands, taking some reassurance from its familiar shape.

  ‘Mr Keane was arrested today,’ she told Sarah. ‘The charge was fraud but I am certain he will eventually be charged with Mr Garton’s murder. That is the only thing that brings me some comfort. Imagine if the public were still to think my father had poisoned Mr Garton. Imagine what they would now suppose; that feelings of guilt and shame might have led him to —,’ she shook her head. ‘It is too horrible to think about.’

  ‘Miss,’ said Sarah cautiously. ‘I hardly like to say it, but there is something you should know.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, just before Mr Doughty went up to his room he seemed to remember something.’

  Frances sat up. ‘What was it?’

  ‘All of a sudden he turned round and said, “Mr Garton’s medicine, it wasn’t,” and then he stopped.’

  ‘Was that all he said?’ demanded Frances.

  ‘Yes,’ said Sarah regretfully. ‘Mr Munson tried as hard as he could to get him to remember more, but it was no use. It was like as soon as it was said it was all forgotten again. I said as how if he took a rest and slept on it then maybe it would come back to him. So I took him up, but he never said anything more about it.’

  Frances uttered a groan of regret. Had there indeed been something of importance her father had glimpsed before he died, or had it just been an irrelevant fancy? She would never know. Herbert’s well-meaning efforts to try and get her father to remember might well have had the opposite effect to that intended.

  The telegrams were written, and for a time Frances was busy with visitors, and Sarah made more tea. Mr Rawsthorne was the first to arrive, deeply shocked at the death of a man he had seen only a few hours before. He spent a few moments paying his last respects at the bedside, then offered Frances such help and advice as he could. It was agreed that the will would be read on the following day.

  Uncle Cornelius arrived soon afterwards, and as always spread his particular kind of calm. As executor of William Doughty’s will, he proceeded to take upon himself all necessary duties, which Frances was grateful to give up to him. He sensed that the most important thing for him to do that day was to talk to Frances, and so they sat together amiably and exchanged stories of how things had been in better times. She told him of James Keane’s arrest and her expectation that this would put an end to any imputations against her father, and he expressed his great hope that this would be so. The last to arrive was Mrs Scorer, who looked upon the body with an expression which revealed no emotion of any kind, and then glanced about the house taking note of any little items she thought ought to come to her.

  Herbert was there, silent, strained and polite. He, like Frances, declined anything to eat, and eventually retired to his room. In the quiet little parlour there remained, towards the end of the day, only Frances and Sarah, and both sat together almost like friends, taking up a little mending to while away the time, until the moment came when Frances put down her work, and wept.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The next morning, Sarah and Frances were about early. Lack of sleep was a part of both of their lives and they took it in their stride and set about fearlessly cleaning as if royalty itself was about to descend upon them. Frances very much doubted that anyone coming to wait for the outcome of her father’s post-mortem examination would wish to eat either during or afterwards, but it would be impolite not to offer anything, and so Sarah prepared several plates of small sandwiches and little cakes. Herbert took himself away unhappily to his room. The business, bereft of qualified supervision, could not open, and a notice was placed in the window announcing the death of the proprietor.

  With the work done, Frances changed from her everyday clothes into mourning. Elegant ladies, she knew, might have many sets of mourning, the sombreness of the attire depending on the closeness of the relative, or the time elapsed since bereavement. She had but one, and that would have to do. For the first three months after her brother’s death she had worn no adornment, and only lately had she begun to wear the brooch with his portrait. Now she appeared in plain black, her hair simply dressed, her face more starkly pale than ever.

  Shortly before ten, Frances inspected everything, and finding it to her satisfaction, entered her father’s room for a final farewell. There had been a mad hope in her heart that it had all been a mistake, and she would see him stir and open his eyes, and declare what a refreshing sleep he had had, but his face was sunken and greyer than before, and the still cold of death could not be denied. Looking at him she could not help but recall Frederick’s face after the long months of his decline, shrunken and aged with weariness, for the two had been very alike in features, if not in character.

  Promptly at ten, Dr Collin arrived with his colleague whom he introduced as Dr Stevens, a much younger man clad in a new black suit and a strong sense of his own importance. His true role in the examination was apparent by the fact that he was clutching some sheets of paper and a pencil.

  The doctors declined any refreshments and ascended the stairs to the bedroom, Collin carrying a stout brown leather bag, which Frances knew must contain specimen jars. Her Uncle Cornelius appeared shortly afterwards, and he reassured Frances that he had asked the undertakers to call at eleven to arrange and coffin her father’s body. Everything necessary had been provided, and the funeral would be at ten on Tuesday. Herbert joined them and behaved very decently, shaking hands with Cornelius and thanking him warmly for his assistance. He seemed to be racked with emotion which he was barely controlling and this made him unusually quiet, as if he was afraid to say too much. Frances realised that she knew very little of Herbert and his family and wondered if there was some sadness in his own life which had made him unusually attached to her father who, it seemed, had had a place in his heart not unlike that of a parent.

  Mrs Scorer arrived, outfitted in black crêpe with a heavy veil, and carrying a larger than usual bag, which she placed on her lap and clutched with an air of determination. Frances decided to watch her carefully in case she anticipated the distribution of assets. Mr Rawsthorne followed, rather later than expected, looking grim and distracted. Frances could not be sure if this was solely due to distress at her father’s passing or if there was some other trouble that weighed heavily on his mind. He carried a leather folder of papers, which he held on his lap, and every so often some of them spilled out onto the floor and he was obliged to rescue them and push them back where they had come from, only not as neatly as they had been before, until the corners stuck out at peculiar angles.

  There was little conversation. No one seemed inclined to eat at first, and Frances decided to place her visitors more at their ease by taking a sandwich, after which Cornelius gamely followed suit and Mrs Scorer boldly heaped a plate with food and gobbled it down. Only Herbert and Mr Rawsthorne ate nothing. There was little to say, but the waiting must have been a thirsty business, for everyone kept Sarah busy making tea and coffee.

  Eventually Dr Collin and Dr Stevens reappeared. All eyes gazed at them anxiously. ‘My preliminary examination of the body of Mr William Doughty confirms my original supposition that he died of inhaling an excessive amount of chloroform,’ announced Dr Collin. ‘Further tests which I will carry out today will indicate if there was any fatty degeneration of the heart which would have made him unusually susceptible to its effects.’ He paused, and weighed his remaining words carefully. ‘Nothing that I have observed to date suggests that the administration of the excessive dose was anything more than an accident. Assuming that my tests do not indicate otherwise, and there is no reason why they should, that is the opinion which I will put before th
e inquest on Monday. I will not intrude upon you any further. The sooner I begin my work, the sooner this sad business may be concluded. I wish you all good-day.’

  Frances shook his hand and thanked him, and he and his colleague hurried away.

  ‘As if it would have been anything else!’ said Mrs Scorer, contemptuously.

  ‘I doubt that anyone in this room would have thought so, but of course, the gossips will have their say,’ observed Cornelius. ‘Thankfully, they will soon be silenced.’

  Everyone nodded emphatically.

  ‘Well,’ said Mr Rawsthorne, heavily, ‘if everyone is content with my proceeding to read the will? I would prefer to do it now as you are all present, and there are other urgent matters which will require my attention today.’

  ‘Please begin, Mr Rawsthorne,’ said Frances.

  He unfolded the papers, and shuffled them into order. ‘Before I do I need to tell you all that this will was made some three years ago, shortly after Mr Frederick Doughty achieved his majority. There is, as far as I am aware, no subsequent will. During Mr Frederick’s long illness I suggested to Mr Doughty several times that he should consider making some amendments to take into consideration the possibility that his son might predecease him. He refused to do so. After Mr Frederick’s death I frequently entreated Mr Doughty to make a new will, but he would not, and indeed his mental state was then such that he would have found such a task very difficult. Mr Martin, I believe you also approached him on the subject.’

  ‘I did,’ agreed Cornelius, sadly, ‘but he would not be persuaded.’

  ‘Well, to begin,’ said Rawsthorne. ‘Mr William Doughty appointed two executors, his brother-in-law Mr Cornelius Martin, and his son Mr Frederick Doughty.’

  ‘I am more than willing to perform all the duties that befall me as executor,’ said Cornelius.

  ‘I am very grateful for that assurance,’ said Rawsthorne.

  ‘It seems to me,’ interrupted Mrs Scorer, ‘that if the will assumes that Frederick is living then it can’t be valid.’

  ‘It is perfectly valid,’ Rawsthorne assured her.

  ‘Well, we’ll see about that,’ she said, unconvinced. Frances guessed exactly what her aunt was thinking, that intestacy might result in her receiving more of the estate than might otherwise have fallen to her.

  ‘Really, Maude, let Mr Rawsthorne speak,’ said Cornelius.

  ‘The will provides four specific bequests,’ Rawsthorne went on, ‘To Miss Sarah Smith, the sum of ten pounds. To Mr Cornelius Martin, the sum of two hundred pounds. To Mrs Maude Scorer, the sum of two hundred pounds. To Miss Frances Doughty, the sum of two hundred pounds to be held in trust by Mr Frederick Doughty until she should reach the age of twenty-one. All the remainder of the estate is bequeathed to Mr Frederick Doughty.’

  ‘Well!’ said Mrs Scorer in astonishment. ‘Mr Rawsthorne, what does this mean? Is Frederick’s portion to be divided between the family?’

  ‘No, his portion will pass to his nearest heir, that is, Miss Doughty.’

  ‘Hmph!’ snorted Mrs Scorer, not best pleased. ‘And what is the value of the estate?’

  ‘That is yet to be ascertained,’ said Cornelius. ‘But I know that William was always a very frugal man. I cannot imagine it will be less than five thousand pounds in all.’

  Frances was silent, and found herself somewhat shocked by what she had heard. Money meant little to her, as long as she was able to live respectably, but even though the will had been made when she was sixteen, she could not help but feel a little slighted by it. Cornelius sensed what she was feeling and patted her hand. ‘Do not distress yourself, my dear. I am sure that William always intended that Frederick would look after you, and I have no doubt he would have well merited that confidence.’

  ‘I think William meant you to be poor,’ said Mrs Scorer. ‘He never liked women to have money of their own. Poor – and dependent on a man – that was what he planned for you – not this!’

  ‘Now then, Maude, I think that is a little harsh,’ said Cornelius. ‘If he did not intend Frances to have the inheritance why did he not change his will?’

  ‘Because he could never accept that Frederick was dead,’ she retorted. ‘I know my brother’s mind. In the last few months he has done nothing but live in a past time when Frederick was alive and in health. It was as if Frederick had simply stepped into the next room and would reappear at any minute. To change the will would have disinherited him.’

  Rawsthorne, apparently unnerved by this potentially embarrassing family discussion, was hurriedly gathering up his papers. ‘If there is anything I can do to assist you, Mr Martin, do not hesitate to let me know,’ he said. ‘My deepest condolences to you all. Mrs Scorer, Mr Munson, I wish you well. Miss Doughty, please accept my best wishes for your future. I hope that the years in which I have represented the interests of your father will be followed by many more years in which I continue to serve your family.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Rawsthorne,’ said Frances.

  The solicitor departed, and Frances returned from seeing him to the door to find Mrs Scorer examining the sugar tongs with more than a passing interest. ‘They’re plate,’ she said curtly, and her aunt coloured slightly and put them down on the table. ‘There are some personal items of my father’s which I will ensure are passed to you. I promise I will dispose of nothing until I have had the opportunity to go through his effects.’

  ‘Two hundred pounds!’ said Mrs Scorer contemptuously. ‘After the years I spent as little more than a servant in this place!’

  ‘Come, Maude, I will convey you home,’ said Cornelius. ‘You will not get your money today as I am sure you know. Frances, I have a little business to attend to but if it is convenient I would like to return this afternoon to go through William’s papers.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Frances. ‘There is a writing desk in his room where I think you will find everything you need.’

  After her aunt and uncle had departed, Frances returned to the parlour to find Herbert sitting quietly with an untasted cup of coffee in front of him. He looked so miserable that she could not help but feel sorry for him. ‘I am sure,’ said Frances,’that had my father made a more recent will he would have remembered you. He always had the highest opinion of your abilities. I know that there are some items he would have liked you to have, and I will see that they are yours.’

  ‘Thank you, Miss Doughty,’ said Herbert, gratefully. ‘I suppose that you must have anticipated that you would be his heir.’

  ‘It seemed very probable,’ Frances admitted, ‘though I could not be certain until I had heard the will.’

  He paused. ‘Please forgive me if this discussion is premature, but – I was wondering if you had given any thought as to the future of the business?’

  She nodded. ‘I understand your concern. It is my determination to do as my father would have wished and continue the business in the family name. Of course, it will be necessary to obtain the services of someone qualified to oversee the dispensary.’

  ‘Oh, I am very happy to hear you say it!’ he exclaimed. ‘Your father would be proud of you indeed! And I think I can see a way in which I may be of service. Would you allow me to make all the necessary enquiries about a suitable man for the post?’

  ‘Man or woman, Mr Munson,’ she reminded him. ‘As long as the individual is not Mr Ford, whom I admit I dislike.’

  ‘It would only be until I am qualified, of course. And I understand that you were studying for your examinations before family duties prevented you. Would you consider resuming your studies?’

  Frances had not given this any thought, but now he had mentioned it, she saw that it was possible again. ‘I think that very likely.’

  ‘Just imagine, when we are both qualified we could manage the business together!’ he said, excitedly. ‘How comfortable that would be! And – excuse me Miss Doughty for even alluding to such a subject at this sad time – but I had been thinking that perhaps – one day – in the ful
lness of time —’.

  ‘I pray you, Mr Munson, do not go on,’ said Frances. ‘It is not appropriate.’

  He grew serious again. ‘No. No, of course not. I am very sorry, I forgot myself. But I hope you may give me leave to refer to the matter again,’ he added hopefully.

  Frances had no intention of discussing the matter at this or any other time, but he looked so crestfallen that she did not want to add to his misery, and was as kind as was commensurate with a refusal. ‘As you wish, but I offer you no hope of a favourable reply.’

  How many young women would think her foolish now, thought Frances. A fortune of five thousand pounds and the offer of marriage from a respectable man with excellent prospects. She saw the years that lay ahead of her, years of solitude and study, perhaps in time having a shop of her own where she could train other young women in the profession that had scorned them for so many years. That would be her gift to society. There was, in her imagination of the future, no marriage, no children. She had never met a man in whose company she felt so content that she might have wished to marry him – at least none that was single.

  Once the undertakers had come and placed her father’s remains in a coffin, Frances began the task of tidying his room and sorting through his personal effects, of which there were few. From time to time, friends and customers, seeing the notice in the shop window, called to pay their respects, and Frances was kept busy, accepting their good wishes and sympathy without appearing to be wearied.

  Shortly before five o’clock Cornelius returned. Frances pressed him to stay for supper and he agreed, then he retired to her father’s room to examine the papers.

  Frances and Sarah were preparing supper when another visitor arrived, Constable Brown.