Read The Daughters of Gentlemen Online
Authors: Linda Stratmann
Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #General
The Daughters of Gentlemen (19 page)
Earlier that day, Mrs Farrelly had taken Frances to see Constable Clayborn, finding him at ease in his High Street cottage, enjoying a peaceful Sunday afternoon. To do him credit, he at once recognised the seriousness of what the ladies had to say, and transformed himself into a man on duty in an instant. He was too respectful, especially of the Reverend’s wife, to suggest that the report of finding a body in Mr Matthews’ ditch might be due more to over-excited female imagination than any palpable truth, although Frances felt certain from his expression that the thought was in his mind. He accompanied them to the spot, climbed the fence with some agility and, after peering into the muddy trench, agreed with a startled expression that he too could see the remains of a deceased gentleman, and departed immediately for the nearest police station, which was two miles away at Hillingdon.
There was nothing else to be done immediately, so Frances and Mrs Farrelly returned to the vicarage, where Mrs Farrelly handed Benjie to Susan to see to his bath and took it upon herself to ensure that the large battalion of men, who she had no doubt would soon be descending on Havenhill, would not want for tea.
Reverend Farrelly was astonished at his wife’s news and both were in agreement that whoever the unknown person was, he could not have been an inhabitant of the village as no one was unaccounted for.
‘A visitor, then,’ said Frances. ‘And we may be able to estimate when he arrived. I doubt very much that he would have lain there unnoticed while the foundations were being dug. So whatever it was that happened took place after the digging stopped. Do you recall the date when the men last worked there?’
‘They stopped a day or two after the bank crashed,’ said Mrs Farrelly emerging from her larder, where she been searching for cake, and bringing out her largest teapot. ‘I remember that very well because it was the talk of the village.’
‘And when was the fence built?’
‘Not long afterwards,’ said Reverend Farrelly. ‘The weather was very cold and misty all through January, and then came the heavy frosts and snow, and I was worried, because I could see that anyone who walked up to the house from the station, especially if they were a stranger to the area, might easily stray off the path and fall into the diggings and break a leg. So I wrote to Mr Matthews to ask if a fence could be put round, and that was done. It was completed very promptly, within a day or two of my letter. In fact, I may have made a special mention of it in my sermon, thanking Mr Matthews for his kindness. I will consult my book.’ He went to his study and returned after a few minutes. ‘Yes, I have it,’ he said. ‘I spoke of it on the 1st of February, the work having been carried out the day before. It was the Monday before that, which would have been the 26th January, when we saw that the men had not returned to work.’
So, thought Frances, the area had therefore been unattended but open from Sunday the 25th of January to Friday the 30th, Had someone fallen into the trench and been stunned and unable to cry out, and then frozen to death, the body would have been quickly obscured by frost and snow. Mr Matthews’ men could have put the boards in place without realising that anything was amiss. It was possible, of course, for someone to have brought the body there afterwards if he had the key to the padlock, or if more than one man was present, to lift it over the fence, but from what Frances had seen the remains were stuck deep in mud and had been there for some weeks.
‘Since it must have been a visitor, he would most likely have come here by train,’ said Frances. ‘The line terminates at Paddington in the east, so he might have come from London or any station in between, or if from the west —,’ she tried to recall the route.
‘Could be as near as Slough or as far as Bristol,’ said Mrs Farrelly, proudly. ‘Or down the little branch line from Uxbridge. It’s Mr Brunel’s railway and he meant it to be a good one.’
It was nearly dinnertime when the police cart from Hillingdon clattered up the main street bringing an inspector, Constable Clayborn and a doctor. Frances knew that the police would want to speak to her about the discovery, but despite Reverend Farrelly’s considerate suggestion that it might be better for her to wait at the vicarage, she was determined not to sit meekly indoors and miss all the activity. She wanted to see the police at work, and was out of the door and hurrying up the street before he could offer any argument, with Mrs Farrelly impulsively rushing after her.
The arrival of the cart had already caused some stir, and the Sunday afternoon strollers had veered in its direction, followed it down the street, and become a crowd, speculating all the while on what had brought its occupants to the village. ‘What’s the matter, Clayborn?’ asked someone of the grave-faced constable and was told gruffly that he would ‘know soon enough’. Surrounded by excited chatter, the cart turned off the High Street and proceeded up the track to the foundations, where Clayborn alighted and, standing with folded arms and a stern look, became a one-man barrier, making it quite plain that the crowds were to go no further. Everyone gathered as near as they were permitted and gazed in fascination at the unfolding events.
There was no niceness about preserving Mr Matthews’ fence, part of which was torn down to give access to the site, the doctor being far too stout to permit him to climb over it. He squatted beside the trench with much grunting, and after a while, arose with an effort and pronounced the remains to be human, adult and male, but beyond that he was unable to say without closer examination. A portion of the fence was employed as a kind of pallet, on which the mud-encrusted corpse was laid, and two of Mr Matthews’ men volunteered to carry it down the track, where it was deposited in a stable attached to the Havenhill Arms, the villagers, all dressed in their gay Sunday best, forming a cortege like mourners at an unconventional funeral.
The medical man, who was called Naresby, briefly questioned both Frances and Mrs Farrelly about how they had discovered the remains, but seemed less impressed with the merits of Benjie’s detective instincts and fine nose than the dog’s owner.
‘What will happen now?’ asked Frances.
‘I have notified the coroner and Mr Matthews has been sent for by telegram, since the body was found on his land and he may know the identity of the deceased. In the meantime, anyone who wishes to view the remains and suggest who it might be is free to do so. The body will remain where it is, and I will engage an assistant and make a full examination on Monday afternoon. Under the circumstances I don’t expect the inquest to open until Tuesday. Please leave your name and address with the police, who will let you know when and where to attend.’
There were many late dinners in Havenhill that Sunday. The police remained on hand to supervise the queue of people waiting to see the body. Both Mrs Farrelly and her husband felt obliged to look, and Frances, too. Someone had brought dried flowers to strew around the stable to hide the worst of the smell, and some villagers fetched lavender bags and bunches of herbs to carry. One lady, green-faced but determined, held an open jar of cloves under her nose, and Mrs Farrelly refreshed herself with a smelling bottle. The body, still on its pallet, was laid out on the straw. The face had been washed, but it was very swollen and dark, the features distorted by decay and could not have looked as it had in life. Frances braced herself for the sight, but it resembled a broken thing more than it did a man, and she felt more sorrow than revulsion. The clothing was undoubtedly male, but she thought that the coat was of an unusual cut. There was a subtle difference about the shape of the collar that made it unfamiliar to her. It was not the kind of coat gentlemen were wearing in Bayswater and she wondered if it was a country fashion.
Frances and the Farrellys returned to the vicarage where, they had been told, the inspector would shortly visit them, and an overcooked dinner was served, for which no one had much appetite. Inspector Eaves was polite, intelligent and gentlemanly, quite a contrast, Frances thought, to Inspector Sharrock, but then she supposed that Hillingdon was not quite as active in the sphere of crime as Paddington, and he had fewer matters of importance pressing upon him. Informing the Farrellys that the body had not yet been identified and was, almost certainly, that of an outsider, he consumed prodigious amounts of tea and several fruit buns, promised Frances to send a telegram notifying Sarah of her late return, made a fuss over Benjie and then departed. The Farrellys promised Frances to write with any news and walked her to the station for the evening train to Paddington.
On their way home, Sarah recounted to Frances the details of her very successful day’s detective work, although she was almost as outraged by the state of the fashionable lady’s kitchen floor as she was by the unexplained absence of her silver. Sarah had identified the transgressor, who was not the suspected servant but a member of the lady’s family. Under the circumstances she had chosen not to denounce the thief, but had instead laid a trap, which would be sprung the following morning and offer undeniable proof.
The following morning Frances received a letter from Miss Gilbert assuring her that she quite understood Frances’ hasty departure, which she was sure was on a mission of very great importance. She had made enquiries about the Soho Printworks in Dean Street but had not discovered anyone who could supply any information. She added that she would be greatly honoured if Frances and Sarah could accompany her to a meeting at Westbourne Hall at 7 p.m. on Tuesday. There was to be a platform discussion about the forthcoming election at which the Conservative candidates were to appear. It was her intention to distribute leaflets in the hall, and question the candidates about their position on female suffrage, asking whether, if elected, they would vote for it in parliament. Frances, hoping that she might discover something to further her enquiries, replied saying that she would attend.
At nine o’clock that morning she again appeared at the boardroom of the Infirmary in Mount Street, where the inquest on Matilda Springett was due to reconvene. The boardroom was not large, with seating for about twenty, which would normally have been more than adequate for an enquiry into the death of a maidservant whose body had been pulled from the Serpentine, but that morning was an exception and the room was becoming more crowded by the minute. Inspector Sharrock was already there when Frances arrived, as were two constables and a medical man.
As Frances took her seat, Mr Fiske arrived, no doubt having been deputed by the school governors, if not his wife. He was followed by Mr Rawsthorne and his clerk, a young individual, thin as a stick, with hair like rusty bed springs and ink-stained teeth. Mrs Springett, Jem and Davey made their own little group of black-clad desolation, accompanied by a man and a woman who were probably Davey’s relatives, as they were busy comforting him. Their solicitor, Mr Marsden, Rawsthorne’s bitterest rival in Bayswater, surveyed the scene with unconcealed ill-humour at having got the meaner bargain. Mrs Venn, who might have been expected in the circumstances to approach the Springetts and utter some words of condolence, was sitting alone with her dignity and refusing to cast her eye in their direction. Frances doubted very much that the headmistress’s bruised feelings would ever permit her to admit just how much money the Springetts had obtained from her over the years for support of the Professor’s supposed child.
The
Chronicle
had sent Mr Gillan, who was already scribbling busily in his notebook, his expression softening from boredom to pleasure as what must have initially promised to be a dull assignment was transforming before his eyes into a matter of more than ordinary interest. The arrival of Frances placed the crown on his anticipation and he rose quickly to his feet and greeted her. ‘I look forward, Miss Doughty, to an interview as soon as the proceedings have closed,’ he said, noting where she was sitting so as to be sure she would not escape without supplying him with material for another sensational feature.
‘Good morning, Miss Doughty,’ said a familiar voice, and she saw Theodore Paskall taking a seat beside her. ‘Bad business this; father has sent me to keep an eye on things.’
The coroner for Westminster, Mr St Clare Bedford, called the meeting to order. At the last meeting, he said, the deceased had been formally identified as Matilda Springett aged twenty-four, maidservant at the Bayswater Academy for the Education of Young Ladies. He asked the first witness to appear, a constable who had been patrolling in Hyde Park on the evening Matilda had last been seen.
The constable stated that as the night was cool, there had not been a great many people in the park, but he had seen a young woman who might have been the deceased walking alone in the direction of the bridge shortly after eight o’clock. He had also observed several respectably dressed men who all appeared to be walking briskly as if crossing the park, a tall woman strolling down the carriage drive going out of the park, and a couple standing at the western end of the bridge not far from the Magazine, ‘spooning’. His route had then taken him away from the bridge area and he did not return to it for another hour, at which time he saw a man he thought might be a footpad and escorted him from the park.
On the Saturday another constable had spied something lodged underneath the arch of the bridge and alerted a boatman. They had rowed out and recovered the body, which was quite cold. He had taken it to the Receiving House, where it had been examined by Dr Blackett. No attempt had been made to revive the young woman, who was quite clearly dead.
Dr Blackett said that he had been called from his home in Park Lane to examine the body and had later performed a post-mortem examination. At this, Mrs Springett wailed and was soothed by her son. The coroner asked if the lady might like to retire from the room, but Jem frowned and shook his head. ‘If you don’t mind, Sir, this is Matilda’s mother and she has more right than anyone to be here,’ he said.
The coroner indicated that Blackett should continue. The doctor, carefully avoiding gazing at the family group, went on. ‘My preliminary examination suggested that the deceased had been dead for at least a day if not more. She was a healthy and well-nourished female. Although she was found in water she did not die from drowning. There was no water in the lungs, which were in a collapsed state, and the heart was healthy. There was considerable bruising of the tissues of the neck, the marks suggesting that she had been seized about the throat. On dissecting the external integuments of the neck I found a quantity of extravasated blood under the skin, and three of the cartilaginous rings of the windpipe were flattened. I am as certain as it is possible to be that she was already dead when placed in the water. The cause of death was asphyxia as a result of manual strangulation. From the marks on the throat, which show the impression of thumbs at the front and fingers to the side, it is clear that she was strangled by a single assailant, who stood facing her. Apart from the marks of the attack she was quite uninjured, and her clothing was not disarranged.’
‘Are you saying that there was no sign of any struggle?’ asked the coroner.
‘That is correct. I believe she would have been unconscious within moments.’
‘Was the strength required for the attack beyond that of a female?’
‘It would not be impossible for a strong female, especially as the victim was a small person, but in my experience strangling with the hands almost always indicates a male attacker.’
Mrs Venn was called and stated that she had last seen Matilda at about eight o’clock on the Thursday evening. She was not aware that the maid had left the school premises until she was discovered to be missing the following morning.
Inspector Sharrock gave evidence next. He confirmed, pausing frequently to wheeze in an alarming fashion, that the police did not have any information to suggest who might have been in Matilda’s company on the evening of her death.
The coroner summed up, pointing out that the evidence showed beyond any doubt that the injuries could not have been self-inflicted, and that some other person had been present to put the body in the water. The jury had no difficulty in returning the verdict that Matilda had died from manual strangulation, and that it was a case of murder, by a person or persons unknown.
Once the proceedings were closed Frances approached Sharrock. ‘Inspector,’ she said, ‘I strongly advise you to go home and rest.’
‘I’ve got six babbies at home,’ he growled. ‘I get more rest at the station with the villains of Paddington!’ He stamped away, coughing loudly.
Frances looked around to see Mr Gillan by her side, notebook and pencil at the ready. ‘Good morning Miss Doughty, and what, may I ask, brings you here?’
‘I was acquainted with the deceased,’ said Frances. ‘I have been engaged as a teacher at the school.’
‘For appearances only, surely?’ he said with a knowing smile.
‘For a salary,’ Frances replied.
‘Ah, but I hear whispers that more is involved. It seems that you are setting yourself up as a veritable Dupin and the Paddington police may soon be out of business altogether!’
‘I hope you will not publish that,’ said Frances, sternly.
He affected a sad expression. ‘My editor is a hard man and he will have his hundreds of words and column inches, no matter what. And if I cannot find a story to engage his interest then I am expected to conjure one up from nothing at all. It is very trying.’
‘I believe,’ said Frances, ‘that the composition of material for the newspapers is very taxing upon the imagination.’
‘Which is precisely why I prefer facts,’ said Gillan. ‘Have you any for me? This may surprise you, Miss Doughty, but I do have principles, and I can be as discreet as the next man when it is called for. I am not in the business of libel, neither do I wish to cause pain. I only wish to inform.’
Theodore Paskall appeared at her shoulder. ‘I hope this fellow is not annoying you, Miss Doughty?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Did you know he is from the
Chronicle
?’
Frances smiled. ‘Mr Gillan and I are already acquainted,’ she said.
‘Then you will know to take good care of what you say to him,’ said Theodore. ‘And Mr Gillan will take care what he writes or Mr Rawsthorne will know of it.’ He gave a curt nod and walked away.
Frances knew that Gillan would write his piece for the newspaper whether she spoke to him or not, and considered whether it would be to her advantage to maintain a friendly dialogue. Information could, after all, pass in more directions than one.
‘I imagine,’ she said, ‘that you are on good terms with the Paddington police.’
‘I have many good friends in the police force,’ said Gillan. ‘They are a worthy body of men. It is a matter of great regret to me that it is expressly forbidden for police officers to give information to the press, even though sometimes it is in the public interest to do so.’
Frances felt sure that a small libation would quell any difficulty on that point. ‘But you may not know anyone in the Hillingdon police,’ she went on. ‘I assume, therefore, that you have not been informed that yesterday morning I was visiting friends in Havenhill and chanced to discover the body of a man. It appears he may have stumbled into foundations being dug on Mr Matthews’ property and expired.’
Gillan was clearly astounded. ‘My word, you are a calm young lady,’ he exclaimed. ‘Does nothing discompose you?’
‘Only lies, Mr Gillan. Let us find a suitable place to talk and I will tell you all my story. But for my part I shall ask you to tell me the things that you know which other people keep from me. Are we agreed?’
He gave a smile of great satisfaction. ‘We are indeed!’
It was a short stroll to Hyde Park, where at its eastern tip, large crowds had assembled to hear the political speakers, making so much noise that scarcely a word of what was being said could be heard. There were banners in profusion snapping in the wind, and eddies of leaflets whirling up into the air. They stood on the bridge gazing into the Serpentine, and Mr Gillan rested his notebook on the parapet and wrote his looping notation as Frances gave him the full story of her adventures on the Sunday.
‘I suppose,’ he said, ‘you are disinclined to tell me the real reason you were visiting Havenhill?’
‘It would be unwise of you to speculate,’ said Frances.
‘The gossip in these parts is that the girls at Mrs Venn’s school were given literature of a scandalous nature to read and that your true position there is not that of teacher but detective. Since Mr Matthews is a governor of the school, it seems reasonable to me to assume that your visit was in connection with that enquiry.’
‘I advise you to tread carefully,’ said Frances. ‘You know better than I the consequences of slander and libel. I have given you enough, and wish to have your assurance that you will wait until I think it safe to say more.’
‘Very well,’ Gillan said grudgingly.
‘And now I hope you will keep your part of our bargain. I would be interested to know what actions the police have been taking concerning the death of Miss Springett. Although it has only just been declared to be murder, I know that they have believed that to be the case from the start.’
‘They have, and many persons have been interviewed, but no suspect has emerged. I too have been making my enquiries. I even interviewed Mr Paskall under the guise of writing about his candidacy, and I found him to be very exercised about the business. He believed the girl to have been a courier employed by his political enemies who has been silenced because she knew too much about their plots. I pointed out that if he believed that the girl was working against him, that would make
him
an excellent suspect, and he became very unhappy and threatened to have me arrested if I wrote it down. But of course everyone knows the Paskalls are almost chained to their desks at present, and most unlikely to have spare moments for murdering housemaids even if they were inclined to.’
‘I only wish,’ said Frances, ‘that I had the freedom to ask people any question I liked, irrespective of their rank in society or whether they considered it polite. Since we can assume that Matilda was killed during the evening of the 4th of March, or possibly the morning afterwards, what I would dearly like to do is ask everyone who might have known her where they were at that time.’
‘And then you will have your murderer,’ said Gillan. ‘And I will have another chapter of your story, only to be found in the
Chronicle
. I’ll see what I can do.’