The Daughters of Gentlemen: A Frances Doughty Mystery (The Frances Doughty Mysteries) Page 5

  ‘I have visited the school and met Mrs Venn,’ said Sandcourt. ‘She seems like a good sort of woman.’

  ‘You were there on Tuesday, I believe?’ asked Frances.

  ‘I was.’

  ‘It is believed that the pamphlets were placed in the girls’ desks either on the Tuesday or the Wednesday,’ said Frances.

  ‘I hope you don’t suspect Mr Sandcourt!’ exclaimed Lydia. ‘That would be the stupidest thing I ever heard!’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Frances hastily, ‘I only meant —’

  ‘I know what you meant,’ said Sandcourt, cheerily, ‘and I can tell you I saw no one about when I called apart from the maid and Mrs Venn. But it’s not a serious matter, is it? Perhaps it was meant to be an advertisement. There’s any number of little printing works after contracts to produce posters and pamphlets and looking for cheap ways to advertise.’

  ‘But the nature of the material … ‘ queried Frances, ‘and the location…?’

  ‘It has us all talking, though, and trying to find out who did it!’ he said with a chuckle. ‘It’ll be some young business type who’ll come up with a smile and then try to make his name out of it. I should like to meet him.’

  Lydia laughed. ‘I think Miss Doughty put them there on purpose to make a name for herself!’ she said. ‘Then she will blame it on some servant and be in all the newspapers again.’

  Selina allowed a slight frown to ripple across her flawless forehead. ‘Are you feeling well, my dear?’ asked Sandcourt.

  ‘If I may, I would like to rest now,’ she said softly.

  ‘But it’s almost dinner time! You must eat, you know.’

  She nodded. ‘I know. Have a little light supper sent up in about an hour and I will see what I can manage.’

  Sandcourt eased himself out of his chair and escorted his wife to the drawing room door. Frances took the cue to depart. ‘If you don’t mind my mentioning it,’ she said to Selina, ‘I understand that sipping a little aerated water may help the – er – discomfort.’ Selina gave a faint smile.

  That evening, Chas and Barstie returned, freshly suited and booted and almost rosy cheeked with confidence. They had been hard at work on Frances’ commission and were bursting with information, which they imparted over a simple supper of soup, bread, cheese, pickles and cold meat. ‘Mr Fiske professes to be an author, which is a highly unprofitable occupation except for those rare few who catch the public fancy such as Mr Dickens,’ said Chas. ‘His main assets are a string of grocery shops and a clever wife. He also had the great good fortune never to have invested in the Bayswater Bank.’

  Frances, whose recent success in exposing the activities of a scoundrel had precipitated the sudden and disastrous failure of the Bayswater Bank, felt a momentary twinge of guilt, but she quickly reminded herself that had she not revealed the crimes when she did the crash would still have come but much later, and would therefore have been far worse.

  ‘His associate Mr Arthur Miggs is employed by the Grant Publishing Company of Farringdon, but plans to start his own business. He is energetic, ambitious, and, by all accounts, honest to a fault.’

  ‘I became acquainted with Mr Sandcourt today,’ Frances observed. ‘He struck me as very pleasant.’

  ‘Or Sandrovitch, as he was once known,’ said Barstie. ‘He made his fortune in the fur trade. It is said he has warehouses and workshops all over London.’

  ‘I also met Mrs Sandcourt and her younger sister, Lydia,’ Frances added, ‘and I was struck by how unalike they are, both in appearance and character. I can guess that Mrs Sandcourt most closely resembles her father, but I have never seen Mrs Matthews. Is she alive?’

  ‘She is not,’ said Barstie. ‘I believe she was an invalid for some years and was taken to Italy in the hope that she would improve. She regained her strength and even became a mother again, but it was too much for her and she died soon afterwards.’

  ‘Does Miss Lydia have a sweetheart?’ asked Frances, thinking it very unlikely.

  ‘No, but she has set her cap at so many it is all but worn out,’ said Chas. ‘She is like a pickled lime – sharp, and not to everyone’s taste.’

  ‘Surely her father’s wealth will attract a suitor?’ said Frances.

  ‘Ah, well, as to wealth …’ Chas shook his head. ‘There are many kinds of wealth. There is property you may safely dispose of and property which you would rather not. Then there is wealth as land and what lies on it, and wealth you may put in your pocket. There is money you may enjoy freely and money which is already spoken for before you get it.’

  ‘And Mr Matthews’ wealth?’

  ‘He has land and buildings on a nice little estate at Havenhill, not far from Uxbridge, which he uses to produce his income, but he has suffered lately as so many have with the downturn in trade, and he also made large losses when the bank crashed. He is not ruined, and neither is he poor, but he has a large family. One son has gone abroad to make his own way in business and one daughter is married, but there are three boys at school, three girls unmarried and a ward. How is all that to be paid for?’

  ‘One or two wards?’ asked Barstie, thoughtfully. ‘That hardly matters,’ replied Chas. ‘Any number of wards are cheaper than one daughter. Grateful for whatever they are allowed. Related through some cousin or other of his late wife.’

  ‘But there is a rumour —,’ said Barstie with a smile.

  ‘Not just a rumour but a very popular belief —,’ said Chas significantly.

  ‘Practically a certainty —,’ added Barstie.

  ‘That Mr Matthews hopes to mend his fortunes by marriage.’

  Money and marriage, thought Frances. How closely they were related. Even though the law now permitted married women to keep what they earned or inherited after they were wed, it was still believed to be in their own interests that such property as they possessed on marriage should pass to their husbands.

  ‘When is the wedding to be?’ asked Frances.

  ‘Oh, never, if I hear it right,’ said Chas. ‘The lady in question is none other than Mr Paskall’s sister, a duchess no less, and a widow, who has a fortune and a most determined mind of her own.’

  ‘And intends to hold on to them both,’ said Barstie.

  ‘Mr Paskall has alluded in the newspapers to his noble connection,’ said Frances, ‘chiefly when he discusses the coming election, but I had not realised it was so close as a sister. How did that come about?’

  ‘It is a pretty tale,’ said Chas. ‘The lady is Margaret, Duchess of Kenworth, and all by the strangest chance.’ Having ensured the attention of his audience, Chas helped himself to more cold meat and refreshed his teacup before proceeding.

  ‘The first Duke had three sons and she married the youngest one. But it was not a prudent marriage for it was all for love and nothing else. And no sooner were they wed than she found that her husband was addicted to the bottle and had squandered what little fortune he had. Luckily for the lady the two older brothers were sympathetic to her position, but then it suited them to be. To avoid scandal and trouble to themselves they agreed to pay their unfortunate brother an allowance, but only so long as he never touched a penny of it and his wife consented to look after him. Peace of mind and respectability, and all to be had on the cheap, or so they thought, because no one would have given twopence for their brother’s chances of living another six months. But the lady still loved him and devoted herself to him, and under her care he was very much improved, and I am told that when he was sober he was a good husband. They had a daughter, who is said to be very beautiful and delicately brought up. But here is where the hand of fate can be seen. The eldest brother, who was by then the second Duke, married a lady who, while excellent in almost every way, was unable to supply him with an heir. He urged his brother – the second son – to marry, and the poor fellow was on his way to pay court to the lady of his choice when he suffered an unfortunate accident and died. Ten or so years later, the Duke himself passed on, and the youngest brother
– on the longest possible odds – found himself the third Duke, with land and money and plate and paintings, not that he was able to enjoy them for long.’

  ‘And these will all belong to the Duchess’s husband if she marries again?’ asked Frances.

  ‘The landed estate, by settlement, will come to the daughter when she is 21 – she is now 14 – but the rest, and one may only guess the value, is rich pickings for ardent gentlemen. There were suitors paying their addresses even before she was in semi–mourning. Several tried to persuade her that she was not able to manage her fortune, which would be better placed in their hands, but she would not listen.’

  ‘And,’ said Barstie, ‘she has proved herself to be an excellent manager, with clever investments and careful living. Her only ambition now is to give her daughter every refinement and see her married well.’

  ‘So Mr Matthews is a fortune hunter,’ said Frances, ‘and cares nothing for the lady.’

  ‘I think he is,’ said Chas, airily, ‘as are all men in one way or another. If the daughter was 21 I hardly think he would have troubled himself about the mother.’

  ‘What does Mr Paskall think of Mr Matthews paying court to his sister?’ asked Frances.

  ‘Ah, what did I tell you, Barstie?’ said Chas with a smile of triumph. ‘Miss Doughty sees all that there is to see!’

  ‘Oh, I wish that was true,’ sighed Frances.

  ‘Mr Paskall and Mr Matthews are, like Barstie and me, old friends, who first became acquainted at school. And a wonderful pair of harum scarum rascals they were in their youth, always up to pranks, though they wouldn’t want to be reminded of that now.

  ‘Mr Paskall, who, as I am sure you know, hopes to be voted in for the Conservatives at the next election, was one of the many who made losses when the Bayswater Bank collapsed, though he has kept very quiet about it and would deny it to your face if asked. He would dearly love to lay his hands on his sister’s fortune, but she will let him have none of it, even as a loan. She is afraid that he will lose it, as he lost the rest. Not one penny will she let him have, for she knows that once she has weakened and allowed him some then he will be constantly returning to her for more. But supposing she was to marry Mr Matthews, her fortune would then become his and he would be very amenable to lending Mr Paskall the funds he requires.’

  ‘And what of the daughter?’ exclaimed Frances. ‘His own niece? Would he leave her poor?’

  ‘She will have enough to meet Mr Paskall’s ambitions,’ said Barstie. ‘He would rather she marry a tradesman with money than a title with none.’

  ‘But I expect her mother wants her fortune to attract a husband in the high life,’ said Frances. ‘How has the daughter been educated?’

  ‘By private tutor, in keeping with her mother’s desires.’

  ‘Oh, and one more thing,’ said Chas. ‘Matthews, Paskall and Fiske are the governors of the Bayswater Academy for the Education of Young Ladies, where those scurrilous pamphlets were left the other day. But I expect you already know that.’ He winked at Frances.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  At eight the following morning Frances returned to Chepstow Place, painfully aware that, as yet, she had no suspects, very little idea of what the pamphlets had contained, and no clues at all as to why inappropriate reading matter had been put in the girls’ desks. She had no grand plan in mind but there were pupils to whom she had not yet spoken and she supposed that she should interview everyone, including Mr Fiske’s fellow governors, before she admitted defeat.

  She was met at the door not by the housemaid, but by Miss Bell, who was clutching a handkerchief and looked flustered. ‘Miss Doughty,’ she said, ‘I am so sorry, we are all at sixes and sevens today. Please come in, Mrs Venn would like to see you at once. She has something very particular to impart.’

  Miss Bell was unusually silent on the reason for her agitation, which suggested to Frances that the headmistress had reserved for herself the pleasure of revealing the information. After showing Frances up to the study, Miss Bell hovered for a moment on the landing as if unsure which way to turn, then, with a sudden little lurch of decision, hurried downstairs.

  As Mrs Venn greeted her visitor there was a smile playing around her lips, but it was not the kind of smile Frances cared to see. Dignity was obviously required and she braced herself.

  ‘Good morning Miss Doughty,’ said Mrs Venn genially. ‘You will be pleased to know, as I am, that your work here is complete. We have discovered the culprit. It was the housemaid, Matilda Springett.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Frances, ‘has she confessed?’

  Mrs Venn looked less happy for a moment, then she recovered her air of superiority. ‘As good as. She has run away. Her bed was not slept in last night and she has not appeared for duty this morning. Clearly the result of a guilty conscience.’

  ‘Only yesterday,’ Frances reminded her, ‘you told me that Matilda has been employed by you since the school opened. If you had any reason to complain of her you did not mention it to me. You obviously regarded her as trustworthy.’

  Mrs Venn did not like to be reminded of her earlier statement. ‘I did, until now,’ she said firmly.

  The two women looked at each other for a few moments. ‘I expect you have many other duties, as do I,’ said Mrs Venn, rising as if to conduct Frances from the room.

  Frances smiled, because while Mrs Venn had assumed that her investigation was ended, she felt suddenly sure that it had only just begun. To Mr Venn’s astonishment, therefore, Frances did not follow her to the door, but remained where she was. The headmistress was understandably unused to her direct orders being resisted, and Frances was in the mood to challenge her.

  ‘I do have one pressing duty,’ said Frances, ‘and that is to complete my investigations to my own satisfaction. And now I would like to see Matilda’s room. If she has run away she may be in some trouble and there could be some indication there as to where she is.’

  Mrs Venn paused, and appeared to be struggling with the good sense of this suggestion. ‘Very well,’ she said at last. ‘Follow me.’

  Matilda’s room was on the second storey, small and plainly furnished with a bedstead and washstand and a wooden clothes chest. A small box was underneath the bed. The ashes in the tiny fireplace were as cold as the room. Mrs Venn stood by the doorway, her expression stern and watchful as Frances examined the contents of the chest. She found a plain gown suitable for Sunday best, shoes, a shawl and underlinen, but no coat or bonnet, which suggested that Matilda had gone out wearing her servants’ gown, coat and boots. The apron was folded on the bed and Frances searched the pockets but found nothing. The note she had seen earlier, whatever it was, had gone. She lifted the small box onto the bed and sat beside it. It was unlocked, and, throwing the lid back, Frances found inside a small purse which contained a few copper coins, a nosegay of dried flowers, a letter from Davey assuring Matilda that she would always be his Valentine, and a cheap brooch. Frances felt uncomfortable about rummaging through another person’s possessions but knew that there were times, as in a court of law, when delicacy would not assist justice. In the bottom of the box was a pair of old leather slippers, the soles worn into holes. Frances was wondering if these were a keepsake, as they seemed to have no other use, when she noticed something stuffed into the toe of one slipper – a handkerchief. She pulled it out and, as it opened, a cascade of coins fell out onto the bed. They were gold sovereigns. She looked up at Mrs Venn, who was as astonished as she.

  ‘And what are Matilda’s wages?’ asked Frances. She picked up the coins and counted them, then piled them neatly on the lid of the box.

  Mrs Venn stared at the unexpected hoard. ‘£20 a year, due quarterly. But the money is not paid at that time. Neither servants nor staff are permitted to keep anything of value in their rooms. Wages are placed to the individual’s account in my strongbox and small amounts handed out weekly.’

  ‘There is £20 here. Do you know where Matilda might have obtained such a sum?’ />
  Mrs Venn sat down on the bed, her face creased with thought. ‘She may have saved it over a number of years, I suppose, but why keep it in her room – why not with me, where it would be safer?’

  Frances examined the coins and shook her head. ‘These are recently minted. They were not saved over a long period of time.’

  ‘Perhaps she saved the money in a smaller denomination and then changed it?’ Mrs Venn suggested.

  ‘But again, why hide the savings in her room?’ asked Frances. ‘There was no reason to keep it from you. Or was there?’

  Consternation and even a little fear was in the headmistress’s expression as she shook her head. ‘No, none at all.’

  ‘So this cannot have been come by honestly. Indeed, it may have been payment for putting the pamphlets in the desks, although it does seem excessive for such a trivial commission. Which suggests that either the matter is not trivial or there have been others. What do you have to say to that?’

  ‘I am sorry but I really don’t know what to say,’ said Mrs Venn unhappily.

  ‘So we have two difficulties now,’ declared Frances, ‘and the conundrum is far from solved. If Matilda has indeed run away, why would she leave so large a sum of money behind? And if, as we now suspect, it was she who placed the pamphlets in the desks, it was not for any reason of her own but for payment, and so the real culprit is as mysterious as before.’

  Frances had pressed her advantage and now had some leisure to feel sympathy for the headmistress, who had clearly received a shock. ‘Mrs Venn, I wish you to be perfectly frank with me. Nothing must be hidden. Matilda may be in danger and I can see that you are concerned for her welfare. Tell me first of all – does she have family or friends who might have seen her?’