‘Oh, they’re are all for dress reform, as they call it, and I can see their point. But it’s not something you could walk down the street in and not be made a laughing stock. Wasn’t there this American woman, Bloomer? Made a right spectacle of herself she did.’
‘I am sorry to say it was not a flattering garment,’ said Frances, who had been shown pictures of the lady, ‘but she did try to address the problem we all face. My argument is this; what ladies may do in their own home, or even in convocations of like-minded friends, is one thing, but in public we are meant to squeeze our bodies until we can hardly breathe, and go about in something that would do duty for a theatre curtain. And if we dare to choose something that is good for our health, and does not restrict our movement, we are ridiculed. It is only male prejudice that states what women can and cannot do, and this is maintained by the practice of encasing us in highly impractical clothing. No one, male or female, could ride a bicycle in long skirts. The bicyclists I have seen wear knee britches and stockings.’
‘Well I might see you in that yet. Didn’t Miss Gilbert and Miss John go to some sort of exhibition on new clothes for women?’
‘They did, yes, some months ago. They sent me an advertisement but I was engaged that day. Let me look for it.’
Frances searched through her papers and since they were carefully arranged she soon retrieved a handbill announcing an exhibition of ‘Hygienic Wearing Apparel for women and children’ which had taken place the previous March, a display from which men were to be absolutely excluded. The leaflet was not illustrated but it promised those ladies who attended the sight of beautifully embroidered dresses in the Greek style, garments that removed all temptation for tight lacing, which would impede the delicate classical flow of the draperies.
‘I recall Miss Gilbert saying that she wanted to dress in the Greek fashion while Miss John declared that she would adopt the trouser,’ said Frances.
‘I suppose they know their own business,’ said Sarah, with the implication in her tone that for Frances the selection of either garment for daily wear would be a serious mistake.
There was another style described in the leaflet, however, a novel kind of skirt, which was divided in two sections, each enclosing one leg, in order to give greater freedom of movement in activities such as boating and tennis. The upper part of the costume was said to resemble the polonaise, which had recently come back into fashion, an overdress, cut long over the waist and hips, the effect being to make the new skirt indistinguishable from the usual kind in general wear.
Frances knew that every time she went out dressed as a man she was taking a risk, but this invention was a step in the right direction, a garment that would provide her with greater freedom of movement without the possibility of being arrested for indecency or insulted in the street. She made a note of the name of the maker and determined to pay her a visit without delay.
CHAPTER NINE
That evening Cedric arrived at Frances’ apartments bearing a bottle of port wine and a nice Stilton cheese as a gift for his dear cousin Frank, and a set of written notes for Frances.
It was the perfect complement to her modest supper. She had been reading quietly alone, since Sarah and the Professor were out teaching at the sporting academy, and tempted by the unexpected treat she soon provided plates, cutlery and glasses. Her home had no drinking vessels suitable for port but Cedric said that in such an extremity sherry glasses might serve the purpose, if one could ignore the incorrect shape.
‘Now I don’t pretend to know all the club members well,’ Cedric admitted, sipping his port. ‘They do seem to be decent fellows but then, as you know,’ he pressed the fingertips of one hand lightly to the region of his heart, ‘I am as an innocent babe in such things.’
Frances took a cautious taste of the sweet drink, which she found rather good, and read through the notes in Cedric’s elegant handwriting. She had been musing on the type of person who might indulge in the activities mentioned by the silver-haired gentleman she had met in Hyde Park, and in particular who might be willing to undertake the abominable treachery of selling secrets of the British government to another country. It was very possible that those who actually carried the messages had no idea what it was they were delivering; after all, much of her own work for the government involved the transmission of papers she was trusted not to open, and Tom and Ratty sometimes carried urgent sealed letters for commercial companies. Carriers had only to be paid for their trouble like any messenger, perhaps with a suitable bonus to ensure speed and silence.
The person who directed the actions of this little army was another matter. He knew himself to be a traitor, endangering the safety and prosperity of the country of his birth, and did so with no sense of guilt or regret. If he had ever had a conscience about his actions, it had died long ago, or he could not have continued. Perhaps he gave no thought to the consequences of what he did, the harm that might be inflicted on Britain and its people. A murderer could kill just one person, and be filled with remorse. A traitor might be responsible for the death of thousands, and care nothing.
Frances had met several murderers and was well aware of the common motives that induced people to commit that dreadful crime. Treason was something with which she was unfamiliar, but the more she thought about it the more she came to the conclusion that there was only one possible reason for someone to betray the Queen’s own country, and that was the most sordid reason of all – money. From what Cedric had said, his fellow bicyclists were drawn from the respectable middle ranks of society, young single professional gentlemen. Was there one, perhaps, who had a special need for money? A man who had hidden debts, unusual expenses, or was the victim of blackmail? Or was he simply greedy for the things money could buy?
Her commercially minded friends, Chas and Barstie, directors of the Bayswater Design and Advertising Co. Ltd on Westbourne Grove, had always told her that ultimately all things came down to money. Frances felt that some things at least were down to love, but in this case she thought they were right. If Frances had been pursuing one of her usual cases she would have consulted those gentlemen, who always knew or had the means to discover the financial secrets of Bayswater. On this occasion, however, the constraints of her mission prevented her from using that avenue of enquiry. Both men were, in any case, occupied with their own affairs.
Barstie, who had recently commenced what promised to be a long betrothal, was a little more optimistic since his future father-in-law had finally agreed to set a date for the wedding. It was still some way off but at least he had a page on the calendar that he could stare at wistfully. Chas was in hearty mood, since he had just become engaged to a young lady who was as charming as she was beautiful. She was the daughter of a highly important businessman from Sicily and was often referred to as a princess, though what country she might be princess of was unclear. Still, her father was very rich, and happy to accept an English son-in-law, which he felt gave his family a touch of refinement.
Frances began her questioning at the top of Cedric’s list. ‘Tell me more about Sir Hugo Daffin. Now that I have seen Springfield Lodge all I can say is that while the land must be worth something the house is terribly neglected and sorely in need of attention. Is he one of those gentlemen whose entire fortune is in an estate he cannot afford to maintain? Is he anxious to make a profit from his inventions?’
Cedric, having discovered to his dismay that Frances did not own a cheese scoop, cut some neat cubes of Stilton, arranged them on plates for them both, and ate his by spearing them with a small fork. ‘As to his monetary worth, I can’t say, but Sir Hugo loves the old lodge just the way it is, and appears to be blind to its defects.’
‘You told me he had no family. Has he never married? Does he have heirs?’
‘I don’t know. I have never heard of anyone, not even cousins. The household at the lodge consists of just three persons – Sir Hugo, his housekeeper Mrs Pirrie and the manservant Waterfield, who is seventy-five if a day, perhaps
older. Both servants have been with him for many years, and take excellent care of him. Jack Linnett doesn’t live there; he lodges with the blacksmith, Tom Hicks, in the village. But you’ll meet Mrs Pirrie, I expect. She bakes cakes for the race meetings and helps to serve luncheons and teas on the day. A good soul, she is devoted to Sir Hugo.’
Frances nodded and returned to the notes. ‘The club captain, Rufus Goring. He lives in Bayswater and is a founder member of the Bayswater Bicycle Club.’
‘Ah, yes, of course you saw him earlier today. He is reputed to be the handsomest man in West London, and who shall deny it? It is said that ladies have been known to faint dead away at the mere sight of his moustache, and for myself, I can hardly blame them. In fact,’ Cedric gave a mischievous grin, ‘I think my young cousin Frank was more than a little taken with that delightful appendage, if the truth be known.’
Frances refused to be drawn into making a comment. ‘What are the duties of the captain?’
‘He directs the weekly rides. When we go out, we travel in single file for safety, and he rides at the head of the line, looking out for any difficulties. He carries a bugle and a whistle and signals us when to stop and start. And of course, he has to be an all-round good fellow, too. Experienced rider and trustworthy.’
‘Is he?’
‘I believe so. Solid man by all accounts. His father is something on the stock exchange and Goring is likely to go that way.’
‘Then he is rich, I suppose?’
Cedric nibbled cheese and grinned again, accompanied by a suggestive flutter of the eyebrows. ‘Rich as any man in his position, I believe. Owns several bicycles, if that is anything to judge by.’
‘Do you judge a man by the number of bicycles he has?’
‘It’s certainly a question one should always ask. Goring keeps the usual ones at home for practice spins along the leafy boulevards of Bayswater, but his lightweight racing machines are in East Acton. He is a strong, sound rider with a good many prizes to his name. But,’ sighed Cedric, ‘we fear that his days as a bicyclist may be numbered.’
‘Why is that?’
‘It is well known that he is highly interested in Miss Adela Farrow, only daughter of General Farrow. I know this because Miss Farrow’s brother George is a keen bicyclist and a member of our club. Just recently he intimated that Goring may be selling off his bicycles and going in for a sociable instead. A sure sign of an impending engagement.’
Frances felt a slight prickle of disappointment, but quickly pushed it aside. She had to admit to herself that she had not been unimpressed by Mr Goring’s good looks, but knew that even had she been clad in her best gown and taken the trouble to trim her bonnet such a man would not have given her a moment’s glance.
‘Now young Farrow is a splendid example of the power of the bicycle to improve a man. Last spring he was sent down from university for wild behaviour. Quite how he transgressed I have never found out, and I suspect that no one ever will, but I believe he was a grave disappointment to his father, who is rather strict. But since he took an interest in the wheel, he has steadied himself wonderfully and has a whole host of respectable new friends. His father is very pleased with him.’
‘Does Mr Farrow have an occupation?’
‘No profession as yet; he lives off an allowance, as do many young men when they have rich fathers. Not a great exerciser of the brain, but the General is prepared to be generous if his son behaves himself and looks about for something. I’m sure that in time he’ll be found a suitable post that isn’t too arduous.’
Frances addressed herself to the list once more. ‘Henry Ross-Fielder, of Holland Park, he is the club vice-captain, and I believe the man who discovered the body of the unfortunate Mr Vance?’
‘Yes, that was a nasty shock. Ross-Fielder is quite a sensitive fellow and he and Vance had been on good terms for some years. Finding his friend dead in such unpleasant circumstances was something from which he may never recover. As you might deduce, the vice-captain’s duty is to bring up the rear of the line when we go out, to ensure that no one falls behind. He is also club treasurer.’
‘Does the club have substantial finances to look after?’
‘Quite modest, I believe. The members pay a fee, and there is income from race meetings and hiring out machines. Expenditure is on prizes and the club magazine, and then there are social events held during the winter months.’
‘Even so, a man who has been put in charge of money should always be trusted not to treat it as his own.’
‘He is. Father is a respected clergyman, though Ross-Fielder doesn’t intend to go into the Church, he has a brother who is taking on that filial duty and who feels for some reason that bicycle riding is incompatible with piety. Ross-Fielder is studying to be an accountant. The only slight blot on the family happiness is his father being attacked in the street by a beggar recently. I suppose you know all about that.’
‘I do. Does he talk about it?’
‘Only to say that his father was badly bruised and shaken but is himself again.’
Frances nodded and read on. ‘Now I met Mr Aaron Toop, the club secretary, on my visit this morning. He too is a Bayswater man. If I have learned nothing else about bicycling, I now appreciate that length of leg is an important factor in success, so I assume that he is not a champion racer?’
‘No, but he is still very eager to ride when he can show off his machine. You’ll recognise his when you see it, smaller front wheel, of course, and all the latest features that money can buy. Best quality ebony handles, nickel-plated cyclometer, double-lever spoon brake. He likes to make a good impression. Keeps his machine in East Acton and takes it out to polish it, but doesn’t ride it in races in case it gets damaged.’
‘But can he afford it? Are such embellishments expensive?’
‘Oh yes. Toop’s father owns an engineering company. Toop’s on the board of directors, and will be in charge one day no doubt. He’s an organising kind of man, bustles about, here there and everywhere, always very busy, makes himself useful. He may strike you as thinking a lot of himself, but he is also a good friend to his fellow man, always ready to help others.’
‘This next name on your list sounds familiar; James Jepson. That is the surname of the surgeon who gave evidence at the trial of Sam Linnett.’
‘Yes, he’s the son, a medical student up at Barts. Father has a practice in Acton. And there’s a pretty sister called Maud, who likes to attend the races. Quite a few of the fellows find her interesting. I don’t myself, that is not the kind of beauty I admire, but she’s a nice enough girl for those who like that sort of thing.’
‘And there are some names here I don’t know – Paul Iliffe, another Bayswater resident. You say he is the club’s champion rider and a professional wheelman.’
‘Yes, he enters competitions all over the country. Anyone who competes for money is deemed to be a professional and is not allowed to ride in amateur races. He’s another man with several machines, some of them prizes. There’ll be a special race for professionals at the meeting, the main rivalry being between Iliffe and Babbit of the Oakwood Bicycle Club. Very keenly anticipated. I wouldn’t mind predicting there’ll be heavy bets laid on it.’
‘Is there a lot of betting on bicycle races?’
‘Oh there’s bound to be some, usually private wagers between gentlemen, although I believe there are a few sharp customers running illegal betting books who have taken notice of the possibilities of the wheel world recently, and strayed from the racecourse where they belong.’
‘How does Mr Iliffe make his income when he isn’t on a bicycle?’
‘He gives lessons to amateurs, and publishes a magazine. Wheelmen of England.’
‘No “Wheelwomen”?’ asked Frances teasingly.
Cedric smiled over his port. ‘Ah, no. Although there is a magazine for tricyclists of whom many are ladies. We will see more ladies on wheels in future I am sure, and they are always very well represented in the crowd at
gentlemen’s races. In fact, Iliffe talks about opening a new sports ground, just for bicycle races. Most of the London ones have tracks that are very poor. Hard gravel surfaces, dangerous corners, spectators wandering back and forth across the course without looking where they are going. Iliffe wants to improve on that.’
‘That would be an extremely expensive undertaking.’
‘It would. I don’t expect him to succeed very soon.’
‘What about his rival, Mr Babbit? Where does he live and what does he do?’
‘Babbit lives in Hammersmith, and has a small post in a City office. So small it is hardly visible and he never talks about it. The two are not at all friendly by the way. They have never yet come to blows, but if looks could kill, one or the other would be dead long ago.’
‘Is that the same Mr Babbit who caused the accident that injured Jack Linnett?
‘It is.’
‘Is there any ill will between Babbit and Linnett? I could understand it if there was.’
‘I’ve never noticed it. But then the two rarely see each other. I rather think Linnett has put all that behind him. He’s not one to bear a grudge.’
‘I assume Linnett doesn’t ride a bicycle?’
‘No, well there’s yet to be a machine made for a man with one leg shorter than the other.’
Frances returned to the list of names. ‘Phineas Vance? Is he related to Morton Vance?’
‘Yes, he’s the older brother. He was once very devoted to bicycling but his heart went out of it after his brother’s death, and he gave it up. He was vice-captain last year, before Ross-Fielder succeeded him. He still comes to social events to meet up with his friends. Oh, and there’s a younger sister, Sybil. Strange girl. Rather excitable. She took her brother’s death very hard, and Phineas still has to keep an eye on her. There was a time we thought she and Goring might make a match, but it wasn’t to be.’
‘Is the Vance family very prominent? Perhaps I ought to ask how may bicycles they have?’
Murder at the Bayswater Bicycle Club Page 7