Read The Daughters of Gentlemen Online
Authors: Linda Stratmann
Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #General
The Daughters of Gentlemen (6 page)
HAPTER
F
IVE
A
t 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?’
Mrs Venn looked relieved. ‘You are not going to inform the police?’
‘I will speak to her family first. There may be some simple explanation. If not, then the police must be told.’
‘She may have gone to her mother,’ suggested Mrs Venn. ‘That is my hope.’ She turned to look closely at Frances and for the first time her expression suggested a measure of confidence. ‘I would go there myself, but —,’ she paused and looked uncomfortable. ‘There is something you should know. May I be assured of your complete discretion?’
‘Of course.’
‘Matilda’s family live in Salem Gardens, near Moscow Road. Her mother is a widow and supports herself by taking in lodgers, which is why Matilda has a room here. She has a brother, I believe, and there is a young man, a friend of his called Davey who wishes to marry her. Also —,’ there was the faintest flush of embarrassment on her cheeks, ‘There is a child living with them.’
‘A child?’ said Frances.
Mrs Venn nodded. ‘There is no easy way to say this. Matilda has a child. A little girl about seven years of age. Her mother cares for her.’
‘And – forgive me if this is an indelicate question, but I need to know all the truth – is her sweetheart the child’s father?’
‘No, she has only known him a year or two. It is the old story, I am afraid. Matilda was very young and trusting, and a man who lodged at her mother’s house promised her marriage. When he realised her unhappy position he abandoned her. The world, Miss Doughty,’ said the headmistress with a sigh, ‘is full of such scoundrels, as it is of innocent girls who suffer the blame while the men go free to ruin others.’
‘If Matilda has a child and a sweetheart and £20 in gold,’ said Frances, ‘it is very hard to understand why she should run away.’ She rose. ‘I will go and speak to her mother. Could you supply me with a letter on the school’s notepaper so that I may introduce myself?’
‘I will do that at once,’ said Mrs Venn. She took charge of the sovereigns and they returned to her study, where she locked the coins in her strongbox and penned the required letter. ‘Miss Doughty,’ she said, ‘I would be very obliged to you if you were to remember at all times the importance of the school’s reputation. We rely absolutely on the confidence and trust which our patrons place in us. They send us their best of treasures – their beloved daughters – and they must know that I will care for the girls as if they were my very own. One tiny suggestion of the smallest stain upon the school’s record would be a disaster of the greatest magnitude. I have already told you more than most people know.’
The unanswered questions trembled upon Frances’ lips, but she did not ask them. If she had simply scored a victory over the headmistress, that would have left them still at defiance, but she now had the opportunity to earn the lady’s trust and respect, and with that would come the confidences she needed.
Salem Gardens was a narrow street of small terraced houses. The ‘gardens’ in question were not apparent to the passer-by, and were presumably at the back of each premises, although Frances doubted that a great deal of gardening as she understood it was being carried out. The sounds of hammering nails, sawing wood, and beating of metal, as well as a strong whiff of laundry soap and borax showed that the enterprising denizens had used the space to establish their own businesses. As she sought out the house of Matilda’s mother she passed a chimneysweep carrying his brushes and poles and wearing the grime of his employment like a black greatcoat, a carpenter striding to work with a canvas bag of tools slung across his shoulder, a carrier with parcels on a handcart, and boys taking barrows of vegetables from door to door. Children too young to be in the parochial school were clustered in doorways, but they were decently dressed, and as clean as could well be expected.
Frances knocked at the door of a tidily kept house and it was opened by a woman of about fifty whose compact figure, dark enquiring eyes and the sharp tilt of her nose at once identified her as Matilda’s mother.
‘Mrs Springett – my name is Frances Doughty and I have come from the Bayswater Academy,’ began Frances. She offered the letter of introduction, and Mrs Springett looked at it with a frown. ‘May I come in?’
Mrs Springett spent a great deal of time reading the letter then bit her lip and looked sorrowful, as if the visit was both unwelcome but expected. At last, she nodded and stood aside. ‘Is it about Tilda?’ she said, resignedly.
‘Yes,’ said Frances, ‘is she here? May I speak with her?
She entered a small narrow hallway with stairs directly ahead leading to the upper floor. The front room, judging from its lace-curtained exterior, was a small parlour kept for Sunday best and special occasions, and Mrs Springett led Frances to the back room, where there was a fire roaring in the grate, a scrubbed wooden table, plain chairs and a simple dresser with pans, kettles, teapots, crockery and flat irons. An armchair stood by the fire, and there was a workbox and a pile of garments to be mended, all of it male working clothes. A door at the rear led to a small scullery, from which Frances assumed the garden space and outhouse could be reached.
‘She’s not here,’ said Mrs Springett, in answer to Frances’ question. ‘She lodges at the school, but you’ll know that if you’ve come from there. She should be there now.’ She stared at Frances with some anxiety and seemed about to ask a question, then changed her mind. ‘I was about to make a cup of tea. Please, sit down.’
Frances sat while Mrs Springett made tea. It was obvious that the lady was not simply flustered but actually alarmed by the visit. It would have been natural for her to ask what Frances wanted with Matilda, but it was fear, not courtesy that prevented her from enquiring.
‘She’s a good girl,’ declared Mrs Springett, bringing the tea things to the table on a tray. ‘She never gave me any trouble. And if there’s things she has done in the past which she regrets, well, we all make mistakes when we are young, and she never meant to hurt anyone.’
‘When did you last see Matilda?’ asked Frances.
‘On Sunday, at church. She comes here every Sunday and then afterwards she walks out a while with Davey – he’s her intended. He lodges here.’ Mrs Springett poured the tea and then sat down, her eyes full of questions.
‘That was five days ago,’ said Frances. ‘Have you heard from her since then – received a note from her, or sent her one?’
‘No.’ There was a sharp, nervous gasp. ‘Miss Doughty – what has happened? What has she done?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Frances. ‘It may be nothing. She was at the school yesterday as usual during the day, but it seems that she went out at night and has not yet returned. I saw her with a note and wondered if she had an appointment.’
Mrs Springett lowered her cup, the tea untasted. Her hands began to shake. ‘I don’t know. She didn’t come here.’
‘Can you think of somewhere she might have gone? She has a brother who lives here, doesn’t she? Perhaps he knows where she is.’
‘Yes – Jem. But he’s said nothing to me about Tilda, and nor has Davey.’
‘Is there family elsewhere that she might have gone to visit?’
Mrs Springett shook her head. ‘None hereabouts.’
‘I understand she has a child,’ said Frances gently.
Mrs Springett took some time to stare at the table and rubbed her hand over its surface back and forth as if trying to smooth out the grain of the wood. ‘That is true,’ she said at last. ‘A little girl.’
‘Is she here?’ asked Frances, but she could see no signs of a child in the house, and wondered if the girl had been one of the little group playing outside, although none had looked the right age.
Mrs Springett shook her head. ‘At school,’ she said at last.
‘Is she a boarder or a day scholar? Might Matilda have gone to see her?’
‘She won’t have gone there,’ said Mrs Springett, quickly.
‘Can you be sure of that?’
She nodded. ‘Yes. Very sure.’
Frances hesitated and chose her words carefully. ‘Mrs Springett, we had a curious incident at the school recently. Quite harmless – someone playing a prank – some pamphlets were put in the girls’ desks. I was asked to find out who did it, and several people have said that it might have been Matilda. If she thought that we suspected her she might have been afraid and run away to hide. I would like to find Matilda; not to blame her or cause her any disquiet, but because Mrs Venn has a high regard for her and is concerned for her safety. If you should happen to hear from your daughter, please could you ask her to write to Mrs Venn and reassure her that she is safe? I am sure that if she was to return the matter could be resolved quite easily.’
A great many contrasting emotions were passing across Mrs Springett’s face, but Frances’ comments appeared to have calmed her initial anxiety. ‘Yes – I will. Pamphlets, you say? What kind of pamphlets are they?’
‘I have not seen them but I have been told they were a discourse addressed to young women on the subject of marriage,’ said Frances, deliberately avoiding further description so as to judge Mrs Springett’s response. ‘Have you seen any such pamphlets in Matilda’s possession? Has she ever mentioned them to you?’
Mrs Springett shook her head. ‘I suppose someone might have given her something on the subject as she is due to be married soon, but I have not seen one.’
‘I expect Matilda is looking forward to the wedding,’ said Frances, now confident that Mrs Springett had not seen any pamphlets. ‘When is that to be?’
‘In April. There’ll be lodgings coming free in Moscow Road, and they’ll live there. Davey’s a good young man; he’s a carpenter and has worked up quite a nice little business in the area.’
‘I think I ought to speak to your son and also to Davey. They may have heard from Matilda since last night. And if you could let me know the name and address of the school your granddaughter attends —’
‘No. I’ve said. Tilda won’t have gone there.’
‘How old is the little girl?’
‘She’s —,’ Mrs Springett appeared to be struggling to remember. ‘Seven – yes, seven.’
‘And her name?’
‘Edie.’ She suddenly leaned forward. ‘Miss Doughty – we never mention the child in front of Davey. It upsets him.’
Frances, knowing that Davey was not the child’s father, suspected that he had not even been told of Edie’s existence, and guessed that Mrs Springett was understandably concerned that should he learn of it, a cloud might be cast over the forthcoming wedding. She wondered what was being hidden and if it had any connection with Matilda’s disappearance. There were, she knew, places which did not deserve the name of schools where unwanted children could be minded for a fee. Had the child been sent to such a place and was Mrs Springett ashamed to admit it? Perhaps the little girl was one of those sad mites born with some disease or deformity yet which nature had somehow kept alive, and was being kept from the eyes of the world? She knew that it would be hopeless to press Mrs Springett further at this juncture but thought it possible that she might have to do so in future. She would very much have liked to search the house and garden, to see if there were any signs that Matilda had been there recently, but did not feel that this was something she was in a position to insist upon.
‘I will abide by your request, of course,’ said Frances, finishing her tea. She wrote her address on the letter of introduction. ‘If you should hear anything at all, or if you should discover one of the pamphlets in the house, please send me a note. I will return this evening to speak to your son and to Davey.’
Mrs Springett nodded dolefully.
Frances wondered if she might ask Chas and Barstie to keep a lookout for Matilda, but it seemed improbable that they would recognise her, as their substantial memories only extended to persons with rather more capital than £20.
‘I don’t suppose,’ Frances asked Mrs Springett, ‘that you have a portrait of Matilda?’
‘No,’ said Mrs Springett, ‘we’re going to have one done special, for the wedding.’
That was a disappointment, but Frances suddenly thought where she might obtain an image to assist in the search.
She returned to Westbourne Grove via the imposing terraces of Kensington Gardens Square, and sat and looked at her notebook again. Not only was there still a long list of people to whom she had not yet spoken, but the pamphlet itself was eluding her, forever out of her grasp, like something that had existed only in storybooks. What, she wondered, if the copies Mrs Venn had burnt were the only ones ever to be printed, and the answers to all her questions lay in ashes?