The Daughters of Gentlemen: A Frances Doughty Mystery (The Frances Doughty Mysteries) Page 3

  The list provided by Mrs Venn showed that only three pupils boarded, the daughters – aged twelve, thirteen and fifteen – of a gentleman called Younge. The only servant who boarded was the housemaid, Matilda, and of the teaching staff, only Mrs Venn, Miss Baverstock and Miss Bell. Mlle Girard and Mr Copley (botany, painting and drawing) resided elsewhere.

  She was deep in thought when Mrs Venn returned. ‘I would like to view the rest of the premises and see where those who reside here are accommodated,’ said Frances.

  ‘Of course,’ said Mrs Venn with glacial politeness.

  Mrs Venn, Frances found, slept in a small but comfortably appointed room that adjoined her study, which also served as a washroom and dressing room. On the same floor was a bedroom for the accommodation of Miss Baverstock and Miss Bell, a water closet, a wash room, and a common room where the girls did needlework and informal study and had tea. On the second floor was a girls’ dormitory, a storeroom, and a small room for Matilda. The basement was divided into two, a kitchen and a room where meals were taken. There were twelve places set at a long table for the pupils and a smaller table for the teaching staff. The servants, after bringing in the meals, ate in the kitchen. Frances thought it very possible that one of them might have been able to slip away to the schoolroom for a few minutes without arousing suspicion.

  Matilda and Mrs Robson were working in the kitchen, the former stirring a pot of soup and the latter, with heavily floured arms, putting the finishing touches to a large, thick-crusted pie of savoury aspect. Mrs Robson stopped what she was doing as the headmistress and Frances entered, and stood respectfully by the table, but Matilda simply looked around briefly and went on stirring.

  ‘I trust that that is all you need to see?’ enquired Mrs Venn.

  ‘It is,’ said Frances, sitting down. ‘And after such hard work I would welcome a cup of tea.’

  Mrs Venn paused a little longer than was necessary. ‘Matilda,’ she said at last, ‘please provide Miss Doughty with a cup of tea before she departs.’ Without a word, Matilda put her spoon down and went to fetch the teapot.

  Frances glanced at the timetable. ‘I will return after two o’clock to speak to Mr Copley, Mlle Girard, Miss Baverstock and Miss Bell. I would be grateful if a private room could be provided. At five I would like to see the three girls who board here.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Mrs Venn, with an effort at being accommodating, ‘I will make the arrangements.’

  ‘This is all about those silly papers in the girls’ desks, isn’t it?’ said Mrs Robson, when Mrs Venn had left. ‘I hope you don’t think we had anything to do with it?’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Frances. ‘But you may be able to help me by letting me know what visitors came to the house between twelve on Tuesday and nine the next morning?’

  ‘Mr Sandcourt came on the Tuesday,’ said Matilda, bustling with the teapot, which Frances saw was being filled for more than one, ‘and then Mr Fiske with Mr Miggs.’

  ‘And they all had appointments?’

  ‘They did, and I took them straight up to see Mrs Venn, and showed them out when they went.’

  ‘No one else was here? No one who might have waited in the hallway?’

  Matilda shook her head. Mrs Robson put the pie in the oven and opened a box of currant biscuits and they all sat down to tea.

  ‘Were there any visitors on the Wednesday morning?’ asked Frances.

  ‘Not at the front door, no,’ said Matilda.

  ‘There were the usual delivery men at the kitchen door, and Mrs Armstrong, who collects the linens to go to the washhouse,’ said Mrs Robson, ‘but none of them even came inside let alone went upstairs.’

  ‘And Davey came to see me,’ said Matilda with a superior smile. ‘My intended. I gave him a cup of tea.’

  ‘Mrs Venn has no objection to your young man calling here?’ asked Frances with some surprise.

  ‘None at all,’ said Matilda, firmly.

  ‘Can you think of anyone who might have had the opportunity to put something in the girls’ desks – or who might have wanted to do such a thing?’

  Both the servants shook their heads. ‘I can’t see what all the fuss is about,’ said Mrs Robson.

  ‘What was in the papers?’ asked Matilda, with a sly little laugh and a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. ‘It wasn’t one of those romance stories with pirates and brigands? Can I see one?’

  ‘They were not stories at all, so I understand,’ said Frances, ‘but they have been burnt so I have not been able to examine one.’ Matilda looked disappointed.

  ‘Well,’ said Mrs Robson, ‘If Mrs Venn has burnt them then it must be for the best.’ She gave a firm nod, gulped the rest of her tea and went back to work.

  There was no more to be discovered so Frances finished her tea and departed. Thus far, she reflected as she walked home, her enquiries had resulted in the conclusion that those people who had the opportunity to put the pamphlets in the desks were the very ones who had no motive to do so. She was left with two very important questions. At some point in the future she would firstly have to ask Mrs Venn for the real reason she had destroyed the pamphlets, and, secondly, what it was that she was afraid of, but that time had not yet come.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Frances returned to her almost desolate rooms in Westbourne Grove and ate a simple dish of boiled eggs, then Sarah conjured a wonderful pudding from old bread, apples and sugar. She had not yet succeeded in finding a suitable apartment, and Frances gathered from Sarah that the cost of respectable lodgings for two was greater than she had supposed and more than Frances could reasonably spare from her carefully hoarded resources. Nevertheless, when the meal was done, Sarah voyaged forth again with a tangible air of optimism, leaving Frances to study the notes of her interviews. Alone, with her few possessions packed in boxes around her, Frances contemplated her future, and hoped that she had not given Sarah false hopes of success. One commission was all very well, but she had not given any thought as to how she was to find another. She wondered about the cost of putting an advertisement in the Bayswater Chronicle. ‘Lady detective. Discretion assured.’ If nothing else that would attract the ladies in Bayswater who had bad husbands, and Frances felt confident that there would be many of those.

  For the present her thoughts revolved around the possible motives for the placement of the pamphlets in the school. Mr Fiske had already told her of Mrs Venn’s impeccable history, but she wondered if there was something to be learned from the circumstances of the three governors – not what they proudly showed to the world, but those matters on which they preferred to remain silent.

  When Sarah returned she brought with her two unexpected visitors. Charles Knight and Sebastian Taylor. ‘Chas’ and ‘Barstie’, as they were familiarly known, were two businessmen, as inseparable as brothers, who had befriended Frances very recently. She had wisely decided quite early in the acquaintance not to ask them the nature of their business. While their fortunes ebbed and flowed, sometimes with startling suddenness, the one thing that remained constant was their abject fear of an individual who they knew only as ‘The Filleter’. Frances had only encountered him once, a black-clad, repellently odorous and greasy young man with a thin sharp knife at his hip. The mere mention of his name was enough to put them to flight.

  When Frances had last seen them, they were smartly dressed, but leaving Bayswater as fast as their legs could carry them. Today, while glad of their company, she was sorry to see that they were clad in garments which, while once worn proudly by gentlemen of fashion, would nowadays be rejected by all but the most desperate pawnbroker.

  Frances greeted them warmly, and, noticing a jaded look which they were polite enough to try and conceal, sent Sarah to bring them tea, bread and potted meat, which they consumed with considerable relish.

  ‘I will be taking new apartments soon,’ declared Frances. ‘When I am settled, I would be very pleased for you to call. I hope that you intend to remain in Bayswater?’

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nbsp; ‘We are even now in search of suitable accommodation in this immediate area,’ replied Barstie, waving a languid hand as if all the amenities of the district were laid out for his choosing. ‘Bayswater is quite the pinnacle of gentility for those of us who prefer to live useful lives.’

  ‘We have the strongest possible reasons to be drawn to its opportunities, its multitudes and its delights,’ said Chas. The tea and food had restored his strength and his rounded face glowed pink with energy. ‘My friend has an ardent romantic nature and wishes to lay his heart at the feet of a young lady with considerable financial expectations. The young lady, sadly, is immune to his protestations – in short, she will not have him. But he will not abandon his quest.’

  ‘Now don’t pretend that your heart is unengaged,’ said Barstie. ‘Bayswater also holds the key to your happiness.’

  ‘Happiness is a full purse, and something in the bank,’ said Chas. ‘All my business is here, and no man, not even a certain person whose name I will not mention for fear of soiling my lips, will keep me from it. I mean to make my fortune, Miss Doughty, and then I hope to be worthy of a young lady of exceptional qualities. A young lady who knows the value of things – who I can entrust with my heart, my life, even my books of account.’

  ‘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.