Read The Daughters of Gentlemen Online
Authors: Linda Stratmann
Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #General
The Daughters of Gentlemen (28 page)
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-O
NE
‘S
he is sleeping now,’ said Mrs Gribling softly, ‘the doctor says that it is best for her. We hope she may heal.’ Jonathan hovered in the doorway with a look of anguish, torn between the desire to be at Flora’s side and fear of disturbing her rest. At last he came in and sat by the bed, staring intently at the face of the unconscious woman.
‘What happened to her?’ whispered Frances.
Mrs Gribling rose and drew Frances from the room. ‘We think that she may have surprised a thief in the house. A neighbour who was passing heard my poor girl screaming and knocked at the door. That may have saved her life, as it seems the thief heard the knocking and ran away. When the neighbour went to the back of the house she found the door open. That must have been how the thief got out because Flora would never have left it like that. Flora was lying on the parlour floor – she had been struck on the head with a poker. It seems that she had the presence of mind to pick up a cushion and tried to shield herself with it, and that may have saved her from the worst. There are bruises on her head and arms, but no broken bones. She is very fortunate to be alive.’
‘Has she been able to describe what occurred?’
Mrs Gribling shook her head. ‘She has spoken, but can recall nothing, not only of the attack itself, but, strange as it may seem, for several hours beforehand. The doctor told me that that is sometimes the case with such injuries.’
‘What was the time of the attack?’ Frances asked.
‘It was about two o’clock. She was quite alone. I was at home and Jonathan at his office.’
‘Did the neighbours see any strangers in the area?’
‘The police have asked everyone hereabouts and there were the usual delivery boys and men putting up election posters, but that was all.’
‘Your daughter would not have admitted a stranger to the house,’ said Frances. ‘Was there any sign to show how the thief broke in?
‘There were no locks or windows broken,’ said Mrs Gribling. ‘I can’t account for it.’
‘Was anything stolen?’
‘Not as far as I know. The police asked Jonathan to look around the house but nothing had been either taken or disturbed. There is little enough here to tempt a thief.’
‘Then perhaps he was not a thief,’ said Frances. ‘Your daughter has secrets and there are those who would prefer her not to tell them. I will be open with you, Mrs Gribling, please be open with me. Mrs Quayle has told me of the clandestine wedding in 1874 and has confessed all to Mr Quayle, who stands by her. I am a private detective and he has engaged me to discover the truth so that they will be free to marry.’
‘Oh I do so pray that it will happen!’ said Mrs Gribling with a great gush of relief. ‘My poor girl has been living in fear. But who would know where to find her? Who would know that Flora Quayle is really Caroline Matthews?’
Frances thought about this. ‘Apart from ourselves, only those persons present at the wedding knew of it.’
‘Mr Matthews may have engaged spies to find her out,’ said Mrs Gribling. ‘What with his betrothal to the Duchess, he is the one most afraid of what she has to tell.’
‘Perhaps someone came here appearing to be bringing a packet in the post, and then forced his way into the house,’ Frances suggested, ‘but surely then she would have cried out sooner.’
‘Even my poor dear Harry did not know Flora’s address as she had not long been living with Mr Quayle,’ said Mrs Gribling. ‘He used to send his letters to my house.’ Tears trickled down her face at the thought of her son and she made no attempt to dry them. ‘He called on me last January – I have found that out, now. I had told my servant to admit no one from Mr Matthews. It seems that when I was away from the house Harry called and asked to see Mrs Matthews – meaning Flora. As soon as the girl heard the name she became alarmed and declared that there was no one called Matthews at that address and shut the door on him.’
‘I wondered at the fact that you were not expecting him,’ said Frances. ‘You did not receive a telegram announcing his arrival?’
Mrs Gribling shook her head. ‘I questioned my maid to see if there was anything at all that he had said at the door, and she thought that there was some mention of a telegram, and an apology, but she could not recall exactly what was said.’
Mrs Gribling peered into the bedroom again, where Flora looked peaceful, her devoted lover by her side.
‘It was you who arranged for the printing of the pamphlet “Why Marry?”, was it not?’ said Frances. ‘The printer was near where you once lived. You were not afraid of being recognised there?’
‘I sometimes visit the area to see a sister-in-law, and saw that the printers had a new manager, so I knew that I was safe as long as I gave a false name.’
‘And you took them to the school?’
‘No, I —,’ she paused uncertainly. ‘You will excuse me but although I do know who put them there, the recent scandal suggests to me that it would be unwise to reveal the truth. I have seen a publication by a Mr Miggs and I cannot say more.’
‘Was it not Matilda you engaged to place the pamphlets in the girl’s desks?’
‘No, it was not. But I think that under the circumstances it would be as well to allow people to believe that.’
‘Your daughter told me that she wrote the pamphlet to warn young girls against a loveless marriage,’ said Frances, ‘but I feel sure that it was more than that. The pamphlet mentioned the reader being dearer than a sister. That was her cousin Wilhelmina, wasn’t it – I understand that they were very fond of each other. The pamphlet wasn’t a general warning at all, it was a letter to Wilhelmina, in disguise.’
There was a long moment. ‘Flora and Wilhelmina were very devoted,’ said Mrs Gribling. ‘People misunderstood it; they thought that Flora was only friends with Wilhelmina because of her expectations. She will come into a fortune of £40,000 when she is twenty-one or when she marries, whichever is the sooner. But Flora cares nothing for money and anyone who claims she is jealous of her cousin is probably jealous themselves and does not understand true affection. Wilhelmina is a very timid girl and will do as she is told. Flora feared that she might be hurried into a marriage for which she had no inclination so that her husband could acquire her fortune for his own purposes.’
‘Was there any such marriage planned?’
‘Flora thought so; indeed, she had been told that her poor cousin was due to be affianced to a man who cared nothing for her. It was out of the question for her to go and see Wilhelmina. She wanted to write to her with a warning but knew that any letters might be intercepted. Also, she did not wish to reveal that she was still in London. So she devised the idea of writing a pamphlet, something that would seem to be a general address to unmarried girls but which Wilhelmina would recognise as coming from her loving cousin.’
‘As soon as Mrs Quayle is well enough, I would like to speak to her,’ said Frances. ‘When she first told me of the wedding in 1874 I confess I thought it might all have been a dream, but I am now convinced that it did occur.’
‘Have you found the documents?’ asked Mrs Gribling excitedly.
‘No, and there may be none to find. It is my belief that the wedding may have been a sham. If I can find the man who conducted the ceremony then I might be able to prove it, and I am hoping that Mrs Quayle might recall something that would provide a clue.’
‘Come tomorrow,’ said Mrs Gribling. ‘I am sure she will be a great deal better then.’
There was a sigh from the bedroom, and Frances saw that Flora had opened her eyes and was smiling up at Jonathan, who was caressing her hand. Mrs Gribling went to her daughter, and Frances quietly slipped away.
Frances next called at Paddington police station to find if Inspector Sharrock was willing to part with any information about Mr Copley. To her annoyance the desk sergeant greeted her with a snigger more appropriate to a schoolboy than a grown man in uniform. He waved her towards Sharrock’s office with a smile that threatened at any moment to break out into a chortle.
‘Your sergeant has been most impertinent!’ said Frances, walking into the office before she could be announced. Sharrock was at his desk with a pile of papers clutched in his hands, and his young constable was leaning over his shoulder staring at the contents, his eyes standing out of his head like marbles. Both men started in alarm when Frances entered the room and the papers were very quickly turned over on the desk and a ragged blotter moved on top. Sharrock indicated the door with a jab of his thumb and the constable hurried away.
‘Evidence,’ he said. ‘And how may I help you today? We’ve got the murderer of Miss Springett so that’s one up to us.’
‘I can see your cold is improved,’ said Frances, ‘did you try the Friars Balsam?’
‘No, I tried brandy.’
She looked at the papers on the desk. ‘Are those Mr Copley’s drawings?’
Sharrock placed his hands on the pile. ‘And why would you want to know?’
‘I want to know everything, Inspector.’ She removed a large pair of mud-encrusted shoes from a chair, wiped the seat with a handkerchief and sat down. ‘What evidence do you have against him?’
‘Well he deserves to be locked up for his pictures alone. Disgusting.’
‘Does he admit to murder?’
‘Not yet, but a few days in the cells might lead him along the right path.’
‘Was Matilda blackmailing him?’
He leaned back in his chair. ‘Miss Doughty, you seem to think that it is a part of my job to answer your questions about private police matters. Well I have to inform you that it is not. What possible interest can you have? The murder is solved.’
Now that Frances came to think of it, she could have no possible interest. She had not been engaged to find Matilda’s murderer, and had nothing other than a feeling that Copley was not guilty of
that
crime at least. Despicable as he was, he did not deserve to die for a crime he had not committed.
‘Not sweet on him, are you?’ insinuated the inspector.
‘Of course not!’ she said angrily. ‘I just need to know, in connection with another matter, whether he ever gave Matilda money.’
Sharrock drummed his thick fingers on the desk. ‘If I tell you, will you go away?’
‘Yes.’
He puffed his cheeks out in exasperation. ‘You’ll finish my career one of these days,’ he said. ‘Well, according to the prisoner she asked him for £5 not to tell what he was up to, but he didn’t give it to her. He says he was about to lock away his pictures in a secure place so as to be safe from blackmail, when she went missing.’
Frances wondered if Mrs Venn had told the Inspector about the £20 found in Matilda’s slipper. There was now surely no reason to withhold the information apart from the difficulty that might ensue from the fact that she ought to have mentioned it before.
‘There are places he could get that for each drawing, I have no doubt,’ Sharrock went on. ‘And by the way,’ he grinned, ‘you might not have been sweet on him, but he was certainly sweet on
you
.’
It was a moment or two before she realised the implication of his words, and Frances quickly took her leave, her cheeks burning red with embarrassment.
Next morning the London dailies advertised a public meeting which was to take place at the Great Western Hotel on Thursday at 6 p.m. to discuss the recent events at The Bayswater Academy. Admission was free of charge and all, including members of the press, were welcome. Frances determined to go, and, in view of the fact that the event might occasion some excitement, decided to take Sarah with her.
Frances returned to Fulham, and was delighted to see Flora out of bed and recuperating by the parlour fire with a cup of cocoa. So far from being in a state of nervous debility as might have been expected, Flora had a new light in her eyes, and a firmer set to her mouth. Both Jonathan and Mrs Gribling were, she knew, inclined to treat Flora as a fragile creature in need of their constant protection, but Frances could not help wondering if the girl was stronger than they realised.
‘I recall so little of Monday,’ said Flora regretfully, ‘although the doctor tells me that it may come back in time. There was a man here from the newspapers yesterday and he was so insistent that I told him a made-up story to make him go away.’ She gave a mischievous smile.
‘Oh he will not mind if it is not the truth as long as the story amuses the public and sells more copies,’ said Frances. ‘I hope, however, that you will tell me all you know.’
‘There is almost nothing,’ said Flora. ‘And what there is seems very confused. There are pictures that come into my head and pass across my eyes and keep changing almost like a magic lantern show, and what happened on Monday and the wedding have got mixed up together and sometimes I can’t tell them apart. Perhaps as the days pass it will all be clearer.’
‘The pamphlet, it was a letter to Wilhelmina,’ said Frances. ‘I know that now.’
‘You are very clever,’ said Flora.
‘But there are a great many things still hidden from me and I know you have the answers. What was it that made you believe that Wilhelmina was about to be forced into a loveless marriage so that her husband could secure her fortune?’
‘She will be eighteen soon, and was due to leave school in a month or two.’
‘That is the prelude to an entry into society, and not necessarily a forced marriage.’
‘There are men who look at her and do not see the young woman. They see only a bank on which they might draw. So many have lost their funds recently with the failure of the Bayswater Bank, and are seeking marriage as an answer.’
‘You describe a general anxiety, which I can understand,’ said Frances, ‘but the action you took suggests to me that you knew of a planned wedding and felt you needed to act with urgency. Is that the case?’
Flora stirred her cocoa carefully, as if hoping that the pause could make Frances forget her question, but she looked up to see no change in her visitor’s expression. ‘Yes, it is,’ she admitted.
‘Do you know the name of the man in question?’
‘No.’
‘I am surprised that Mr Matthews did not claim her himself, but of course his ambitions were already set on the Duchess.’
‘If it is fortune alone that concerns him, she better suits his purpose. The Duchess is fifty and there will be no future obligations as there would be if he married a much younger woman. I was such a child when I married him, and did not understand these things. I really believed that he loved me. Had there been issue of the union, I cannot say what he might have done.’
‘Now, allow me to guess the answer you will give to my next question, and I hope I may be wrong,’ said Frances. ‘I must ask you for the name of the person who told you of the wedding that was being planned for Wilhelmina, and you will refuse to tell me.’
Flora smiled.
‘Can you at least tell me who took the pamphlets to the school and put them in the desks?’
‘I am not at liberty to say. Does it matter?’
‘I can hardly know that until I have the answer,’ said Frances with some frustration. ‘One thing I have discovered, however, is that it appears Daisy Trent has recovered her wits. I do not know where she is, but I am hopeful that if I can find her she will clarify her account of Daniel Souter’s death.’
‘She was not mad, Miss Doughty. People thought her mad because she was distraught at the loss of the man she loved, and angry that those who murdered him walked free. If she had been calm and shed a quiet tear when her man was killed so brutally,
then
she should have been locked away as a dangerous lunatic. I spoke to her and though her manner was strange she was very clear in her mind about what had happened, but she was doomed not to be believed. Too many people in Havenhill rely on the market gardens for their livelihood, and would never speak out against Roderick for fear of losing their income and being thrown out of their cottages.’
‘I know she accused Mr Matthews and Jenkins when you spoke to her, but that was more than a year after the murder – did she do so at the time?’ asked Frances.
‘Yes, she did, over and over again, but people said it was the grief speaking. Even Mary Ann, who is Daniel’s aunt, is, I believe, a little bit in love with Roderick, and would not hear a word against him.’
‘But don’t you think that what Daisy
really
meant was not that that they had actually committed the crime, but were responsible because they had sent him into danger.’
‘That is the story that was told in the village. That is why Daisy was not believed. Everyone thought they knew what she had said, and when she did speak her manner was such that people found it easy to dismiss her as a mad woman. Even her own mother used to apologise for what she had said. I was the
only
person who sat with Daisy and talked to her, and when she saw that I believed her she was calmer and her mind was as clear as anyone’s. But there was nothing I could do, so I ran away.’
Frances was impressed by the earnestness of Flora’s address, but knew that allegations fell a long way short of proof. ‘Do
you
know where Daisy Trent is now?’ she asked.
‘I am afraid not.’
‘The difficulty is that it is so well known that she was distracted in the past, that even if she is well now, her words will not be seen as having any value.’
‘So you are set against her, too?’
‘I perceive that there are difficulties, but I will try not to be prejudiced if there is more you can tell me. Is there more?’
Flora set her cup aside and smoothed her dress. ‘On the night of Daniel’s death he and Daisy were due to meet and walk together, but Daniel was told by Joshua Jenkins to take his shotgun and go and look for the young men from East Hill who had been causing damage to the estate. He met up with Daisy as arranged but told her that their walk must necessarily be cut short as he had his duty to perform and did not want to put her in danger. She agreed and after a while they parted company, and he walked on. She was returning home down the footpath to the village. It was night, but there was a full moon. All was quiet but then she heard Daniel’s voice. She could not tell what he was saying but it sounded as if he was challenging someone. Then there was a shot – but it wasn’t Daniel’s gun, it was something more like a pistol, and she thought she heard a cry. A few moments later there was another shot, and this sounded like a shotgun. She was terrified as you can imagine, but she hoped that all that had happened was that Daniel had seen the men and frightened them away. She walked back up the path hoping to see that he was safe, and waited for him at the door of his cottage. Then she saw two men emerge from the woods and walk towards her. They were Roderick Matthews and Joshua Jenkins. Roderick was holding a pistol and, as he drew closer, she saw the expression on his face and it frightened her.
He stopped, and Jenkins spoke to him. “Have courage, Sir,” he said. “The —” he used a word which Daisy declined to repeat, “scoundrel” is perhaps the nearest, “the scoundrel is dead and he deserved what he got. And if the East Hill crew get the blame and hang for it, I won’t lose any sleep!”
Daisy hid in the shadows and saw them go past. Joshua went back to his cottage and Roderick returned to the house. Daisy knew that something terrible had happened, something a man might hang for, and she was afraid that Daniel was involved, but it never occurred to her that someone might want to murder him. So she waited by the cottage, but all was silent. At last she decided to go and look for Daniel. She found his body amongst the trees.’
‘How long did she wait after seeing the two men?’ asked Frances.
‘A few minutes only.’
‘And she saw no one else?’
‘No.’
‘And heard only the two shots?’
‘Yes.’
Frances took out her notebook and looked at the map she had sketched from the newspapers. ‘I should have noticed this sooner,’ she said. ‘Why was it when Daisy found the body she did not run to the nearest house for help, which would have been Jenkins’ cottage or the manor house, but instead went along the path to Havenhill, which was much further away?’
‘People said she did it because she wanted to go to her mother,’ said Flora. ‘But of course she would hardly run for help to two murderers.’
‘The pistol that Daisy saw Mr Matthews with – where did he obtain it? What did he do with it afterwards?’
‘It may have been the ornamental one that usually hung in a glass case on the wall of his study. I suppose he put it back.’
‘And his son Freddie – he saw nothing?’
‘I told him what Daisy had seen, and I did feel that he knew something, but he would never speak of it. But he, too, left home as soon as he came into his money.’
Frances felt certain that any case against Matthews was lost almost before it was begun. Daisy, even if she could be found, would not be a believable witness, while the accused would be able to cite the activities of the East Hill gang in his defence. And there was another issue. A prosecution did not, she understood, have to prove motive but any defence would make the very sound point that there was none.
‘What reason does Daisy give for Daniel’s murder?’ asked Frances. ‘If he had been found stealing, for example, and I don’t suggest that he had, the usual consequences would be dismissal. Why go to such lengths?’
‘I don’t know, and Daisy doesn’t either. Perhaps Joshua had a reason.’
‘No, if Joshua had some reason to murder Daniel he would have done it by himself. Mr Matthews is not a man who undertakes other people’s tasks for them, in fact he hardy likes to undertake his own. If he did kill Daniel there is some reason why it gave him a very particular satisfaction.’ She thought carefully. ‘Who was living at the manor house at the time of the murder?’ She consulted her notebook. ‘It was on the 14th of March 1873. That cannot have been long before the family went to Italy.’
‘No, they went later the same month. Only Roderick and Freddie were at Havenhill then, and Mary Ann, of course. Freddie was there because Roderick wanted to instruct him in the business, but he didn’t take to it. Selina and Lydia and Wilhelmina were at school, as was I, and the younger boys and girls were at the townhouse. Mrs Matthews was at a resort on the South Coast for her health.’
‘So the family went to Italy in March, where Horace was born and Mrs Matthews died there the following August.’
‘Yes, that is correct.’
Frances recalled the wasted consumptive Cedric had seen in Florence and an unpleasant thought crossed her mind. It shocked her that she could have entertained such an idea and she wondered if she had over the last few weeks been so exposed to evil that the most depraved imaginings were now commonplace to her. There was, she felt sure, just one thing that could have stirred the normally indolent and apathetic Roderick Matthews to commit murder. ‘When is Horace’s birthday?’
‘In the summer – July, I think – his mother died just weeks after he was born.’
‘Did you or Mrs Sandcourt or the other children spend much time at the manor house?’
‘Very rarely, why?’
Frances did her best to grapple with her horrid thoughts. ‘Was there a harvest festival or something very like it in the village, which all the family attended in the October before they went to Italy?’
Flora, puzzled by the question, gave it some consideration. ‘Yes, there was, I remember it now. There were church services and a great gathering, and a merry dance. Why do you ask?’
‘Was Mrs Matthews there?’
‘No, she was too weak to travel. She had been at the South Coast for some time.’
Flora seemed to find nothing strange about this and Frances realised that, as she had mentioned in the pamphlet, the school taught the girls everything they did not need to know and nothing that they did. She was thankful that her years of toil in the chemist shop had given her a more realistic understanding of the experience of women.
‘You seem very troubled,’ said Flora.
‘I am sorry,’ said Frances, ‘I know I am tiring you with too many questions. And sometimes I find that the most tiring thing is the answers.’ She rose to leave.
‘But Miss Doughty, you haven’t told me —,’
‘And there are things that
you
have not told me,’ said Frances, ‘so I know that you will understand.’
There was, thought Frances, as she made her way home, only one circumstance that explained both the abrupt removal of Selina abroad for several months and the impossible fiction that Horace was the son of Agnes Matthews. Horace was undoubtedly a Matthews, but not, as she had at first supposed, because Roderick was his father but because Selina, who had inherited her father’s height and colouring, was his mother. In March 1873, sixteen-year-old Selina, knowing that she could not hide her shameful plight much longer, must have confessed all to her father, and named the author of her shame as Daniel Souter.
Matthews would not have countenanced for a moment the public exposure that would have resulted had the culprit been arrested and brought to trial, but neither could he have tolerated leaving the crime unpunished, and the criminal free to tell his secrets. Frances could picture the stricken and agitated father, a man unused to physical confrontation, holding the ornamental pistol in trembling hands, shooting Daniel Souter in the back, wounding but not killing him, and Jenkins coolly finishing the task.