The Problem of the Surly Servant

by Roberta Rogow

  The next day brought clear skies and rising temperatures. For the town, this meant another profitable day. Drapers and men’s furnishers in Turl Street looked over their stocks and anticipated sales of summer suiting, linen shirts, and lightweight accessories for the coming summer. Farmers brought their fresh produce to the Covered Market early so that the housekeepers serving the married professors in North Oxford could select the choicest bits for the day’s meals. Hedgers, thatchers, and other outside workers took up their tools before the heat of midday could overtake them.

  The Oxford Mail had a brief paragraph stating that the body of one James Ingram had been found in the lane behind Christ Church, and that the police were investigating the circumstance; but word-of-mouth was more powerful than the press. Throughout the town the gossip chain hummed with the news that the body of one of the Christ Church scouts had been found dead in the lane behind the college, and that the likelihood was that obstreperous undergraduates had, for some reason, removed it from the river. The stableman in the college mews had told his friend at the White Hart, who had informed the dustman, who had spread the information along with the more fragrant of his offerings on his rounds. Scouts, maids, outside and inside servants, all knew before their masters and mistresses did that there had been a tragedy at Christ Church, and that the eccentric Mr. Dodgson was mixed up in it.

  The passing of a mere scout was not particularly interesting to the scholars behind their college walls. For them, mornings in Oxford began with chapel. All students, of whatever religious persuasion, were expected to file into the space designated by their particular college for the Church of England service, a reminder of those days when the University was run by and for the Church. From Christ Church at the southernmost end of St. Aldgates to Keble at the north end of Park Road, young men flocked into churches, chapels, and small book-lined rooms, their tweed Norfolk suits covered with black fustian gowns, ready to receive religious instruction from their elders.

  Morning service in Christ Church filled the Cathedral with dons, undergraduates, and those scouts and cooks who cared to crowd into the limited space made for them at the rear of the building. Nevil Farlow, Minnie Chatsworth, and Gregory Martin were among the late-coming undergraduates, squeezing into the end of their row of wooden chairs.

  Usually, the service was conducted by one of Dean Liddell’s many substitutes. There was no shortage of clergymen at Christ Church, where most of the dons were ordained into the Church of England. However, this morning was different. A mutter ran through the crowd as Dean Liddell himself mounted the pulpit.

  “What’s he up to?” murmured Nevil Farlow.

  “You don’t think he’s on to us?” Chatsworth squeaked.

  “I knew something like this would happen,” Martin said gloomily.

  The Dean adjusted his gown and frowned down at his congregation. He had thought long and hard over what he had to impart, and when would be the best time to do it. He had come to the conclusion that the best time to address all of the population of his little kingdom was at this morning’s service, ergo, he would do his duty and inform those who did not already know of the tragedy in their midst.

  “Gentlemen,” Dean Liddell began. The hubbub ceased, as the men of Christ Church listened to their leader.

  “As some of you are aware, a most unpleasant incident occurred last night.”

  Another hubbub indicated that some of the congregation had no idea what the Dean was talking about. He held up a hand for silence.

  “The body of one of our scouts was left in the lane behind Tom Quad,” the Dean went on. “One of our own dons witnessed the event. He is certain that the perpetrators of this outrage were undergraduates.”

  Another hubbub, with an undertone of incredulity and outrage, filled the small Cathedral.

  Dean Liddell continued his announcements: “Naturally, we will give the police our fullest cooperation in this matter. The death of any of our little family here at the House is always difficult, and although Ingram was but a scout, he was nevertheless one of our own.”

  “Our own what?” Chatsworth said, just loud enough for his friends to hear.

  Dean Liddell’s voice drowned out any further irreverent remarks. “Inspector Truscott has been put in charge of the investigation. If anyone has any information pertinent to this matter, I strongly advise him to come forward as soon as possible so that this unpleasant business may be concluded and we can all get on with our studies.”

  Dean Liddell gazed around the nave. One or more of those men had moved the body of the late Ingram, but to what purpose? Probably some undergraduate with a misplaced sense of humor, he thought, as he descended to more mundane levels. Three decades of guiding lads just going through the last stages of adolescence had left him with a tolerance for youthful mischief that might have driven a lesser man to drink or rage or worse. The Dean was certain that whoever had moved the body had had no idea of the serious implications of the act. He would have to remind them.

  “I must bring to your attention the fact that interfering with evidence of a crime is also a crime, and that although some students may consider themselves beyond the reach of the law, this is not so in the case of a wrongful death. I repeat, anyone with knowledge of last night’s activities must come forward. Mr. Seward will be in his office, and I shall be in my study should anyone wish to consult us.” Dean Liddell looked over the congregation once more, his penetrating glance aimed at driving home the implied warning.

  “Let us pray.” Dean Liddell opened his prayer book. There was a general rustle of pages, as the men of Christ Church prepared for the morning service.

  In his usual place, Mr. Dodgson considered the repercussions of Ingram’s death as he went through the service almost automatically as he had for nearly forty years. “It is not logical,” he said aloud, causing his friend Duckworth to give him a sharp look and a poke in the side.

  “Eh?” Mr. Dodgson tried to keep his mind on the service, but stray thoughts kept creeping in between the canticles of the psalms. Assuming that Ingram had been stealing small items from Tom Quad, what had he done with them? Had he also been stealing the wine? If so, how had he disposed of it, and how had the suspect bottle gotten into the stock at the White Hart? And what, if anything, did this have to do with Miss Cahill’s photograph and the feeble attempt to blackmail her through it?

  Dean Liddell finished the service. The choir sang their last hymn and the recessional boomed through the small Cathedral as the students burst into the morning sunshine.

  Most of them headed for the Hall, where breakfast had been laid out for those who did not take it in their own rooms. Farlow, Chatsworth, and Martin stepped out of the way of the thundering herd and huddled together in the doorway.

  “That tears it!” Martin said, turning on the other two. “Why did you have to drag me into this mess, Nev? I’m supposed to be ordained in three months!”

  “We needed your brawny arms, Greg,” Chatsworth soothed him. “And besides, how were we supposed to know the fellow had been murdered?”

  “You bally well did know,” Martin retorted. “For all I know, you did it yourselves.”

  “What?” Farlow grabbed his friend by the front of his gown. “What sort of fellow do you think I am, Greg?”

  “The sort who’d move a body for a rag and drag your cousin into it,” Martin retorted. He pulled himself away and adjusted his fustian gown. “Well, hear me out, Nev. I won’t be party to any more of your rags!”

  Chatsworth stood between the two young men, as Mr. Dodgson passed them on the path. All conversation stopped as the don strode by, his eyes on Tom Gate.

  “I say we go to Inspector Truscott and tell him we moved the body,” Martin insisted, once he was certain that Mr. Dodgson was out of earshot. “He’s sure to find out sooner or later anyway, and it will go better with us if we come forward now.”

  “And lay ourselves open to charges of tampering with evidence? Don’t be absurd!” Farlow sniffed.r />
  “It was a rag, that’s all,” Chatsworth said. “We can say I thought it was funny. We can say we were squiffed.”

  “And that would be even worse!” Martin clutched his head with both hands, pulling his sandy hair up into spikes. “Oh, why do I let you chaps talk me into these things?”

  “Because we make your dull life a little brighter,” Chatsworth said, patting his distraught friend on the shoulder.

  The budding clergyman shrugged the soothing hand off, straightened his cap, and rearranged his gown. “I still think we should do the right thing and come forward.”

  Farlow threw his hands up in a gesture of defeat. “Very well, Greg, if you insist. After breakfast you go along to the Bulldog and explain how you were talked into Conduct Unbecoming a Curate by your dreadful cousin Nevil. As for Minnie and me, we’re going to the river, and you can meet us there at the boat-house. You need some exercise! You’re getting fat!” He aimed a punch at Mr. Martin’s substantial midsection. Martin blocked it neatly, sidestepped his companions, and the three of them cheerfully walked around the quad to their breakfasts.

  Dr. Doyle and his wife had made their morning ablutions and had drunk an early cup of tea before crossing the road to Tom Gate, where they waited expectantly until Mr. Dodgson hurried over to greet them.

  “I see you have deferred your journey,” Mr. Dodgson said, as Dr. Doyle and Touie were let into the quad. “After our difficulties last night, I feared you would prefer to continue north to your family.”

  “I can’t rest until I get to the bottom of this mystery,” Dr. Doyle admitted. “And Touie has some notions of her own.”

  “Indeed? We shall discuss them in my rooms,” Mr. Dodgson said, as he led the way up the stairs.

  Telling himself had seen to the catering this time. A small table had been set up with chafing dishes for eggs, bacon, and sausage, and a rack of toast with a plate of butter pats and a jar of marmalade had been placed on Mr. Dodgson’s dining table. Coffee was hot in the pot, and a tea urn was boiling so that Touie could procure her morning beverage.

  “Telling,” Mr. Dodgson said, before the chief scout could leave, “I would like a word with you when you come to clear the plates.”

  “On the subject of the late Ingram, sir?” Telling was already ahead of him.

  “I wondered that you had taken on such a surly fellow,” Dr. Doyle said. “I had heard about the independent ways of Oxford scouts, but he seemed to go beyond what was properly eccentric.”

  Telling glanced at Mr. Dodgson, as if asking for permission to tell tales out of school.

  “Dr. Doyle has offered to assist the police in their inquiries,” Mr. Dodgson explained. “He has acted as a consultant to the Portsmouth Constabulary.”

  Telling’s disapproving expression softened slightly. “Ingram was a temporary,” he said. “I was going to hand him his notice after we broke up for the summer. I did not consider him suitable for the House.” Telling’s raised eyebrows spoke louder than his carefully chosen words.

  “But surely,” Touie put in, “he came with references.” Even a lowly kitchen maid had references, that all-important “character” that would follow her throughout her career in service.

  “There was a letter from a club in London,” Telling said finally. “It stated that Ingram had been with them for some time and had given satisfaction. And, as I told Inspector Truscott last night, he had been sent over from Vincent’s, where he had first applied.”

  “That should have been good enough.” Dr. Doyle looked at his wife, who shook her head.

  “Nothing said about his honesty?” Touie asked delicately.

  “Not in so many words,” Telling replied.

  “And nothing said about previous employment? Before the London club, I mean?”

  Telling frowned. “As I told Inspector Truscott last night, Ingram was not particularly forthcoming on that subject,” he said. “However, from some things he said, I would think he had been in private service for a time. He stooped, but when he stood straight he would have been six foot tall. Tall enough for a footman.”

  “Indeed.” Mr. Dodgson nodded. “That might explain his attitude. Footmen are said to be rather haughty, particularly those from distinguished households.”

  “I know very little about servants,” Touie said meekly, “but I do wonder how you get so many of them here. I mean, how do they know there is a position open? I should think it a great honor to be in service at one of these grand colleges, with all this history behind them.”

  Telling’s forbidding look softened at this feminine dithering. “We do not advertise,” he told her. “But from time to time there are places, and they are usually filled by persons recommended by other servants. Family members and such.”

  Mr. Dodgson frowned. “We must have been quite short of staff to take on a person otherwise unknown to us.”

  “Quite so, sir.” Telling was back to the official face again. “However, considering the references he carried, and the good word put in for him by my colleague at Vincent’s, I made an exception. I shall not do so again.”

  “Have his rooms been examined?” Mr. Dodgson asked.

  “Ingram did not have rooms in the college,” Telling reminded him. “He lodged in the street opposite us, at Mrs. Perkins’s establishment.”

  “I daresay the police will have been through the place by now,” Dr. Doyle said, buttering a muffin.

  “Perhaps you will be able to get into his rooms on some pretext,” Touie said brightly. “I’m sure you will find a way.”

  “I should like to know whether any of the small objects removed from Tom Quad might have been found in those rooms,” Mr. Dodgson said. “Unfortunately, Dean Liddell has requested that I not leave University grounds until this dreadful business has been cleared up to everyone’s satisfaction.”

  “That seems quite unfair,” Touie commented. “How can you clear your name if you are not allowed to leave the grounds?”

  Mr. Dodgson slathered marmelade on toast. “I have been gated! Like an unruly undergraduate!” he burst out.

  Dr. Doyle set his cup down and had a last bite of his muffin. “In that case, sir, I am at your disposal,” he announced, as Telling collected the cups and saucers. “Where do we begin?”

  “I believe you should attend the autopsy on Ingram,” Mr. Dodgson decided. “After which, you might find out whether the White Hart purchases their wine from our wine merchant. It is possible that I overreacted yesterday and that a natural mistake was made. If necessary, you could consult Snow, who has a stand in the Covered Market. We order most of our wine from him.”

  Touie cleared her throat. “Mr. Dodgson?”

  Mr. Dodgson turned to see who had interrupted his train of thought.

  “Mr. Dodgson, I think I may be of some use in this business,” Touie said. “It occurred to me last night that I am much the same age as the young ladies of Lady Margaret Hall, and they might be able to speak to me of matters that they would never discuss with a gentleman.”

  “Excellent idea, Touie!” Dr. Doyle applauded. “But you will be careful, won’t you? I don’t want you running into any danger. If there’s a murderer on the loose, I don’t want you anywhere near him.”

  Touie laughed and patted her husband’s hand. “I won’t be in any danger at all, Arthur. Who would want to hurt me?”

  “Dr. Doyle is quite right,” Mr. Dodgson said severely. “Someone is desperate enough to have killed once. We must be on our guard, Mrs. Doyle.”

  “And what will you be doing while Arthur and I are running about finding things for you, sir?” Touie asked Mr. Dodgson, as her husband helped her on with her jacket.

  “I think I shall have a word with one or two of my colleagues regarding the authorship of this piece of, ahem, literature.” Mr. Dodgson picked up the loathsome page and read it again, his face screwed into an expression of the utmost repulsion. “Last night’s adventure indicated to me that undergraduates of Christ Church are involved
in this escapade, and perhaps some of my colleagues here at the House may recognize either the hand or the style. Well, Dr. Doyle, Mrs. Doyle, shall we get on with it?”

  Dr. Doyle adjusted his tweed deerstalker cap. “The game is afoot!” he proclaimed, and left his wife with Mr. Dodgson, while he descended into Tom Quad, eager to be the first one at the mortuary to observe the autopsy.

  The news of the tragedy at Christ Church reached Lady Margaret Hall with the delivery of the milk. Miss Wordsworth frowned as the scouts whispered behind the door to the dining room, where the students were gathered for breakfast.

  “What is the matter?” she asked, as the maid allowed the toast to spill off the platter and onto the table.

  “Oh, ma’am, there is such news! One of the scouts at Christ Church found in the lane behind the college! Discharged in the middle of the street, they say, and took his own life!” the girl blurted out.

  “Nonsense!” Miss Wordsworth snapped. “Where did you ever hear such a thing?”

  “Milkman says he got it from the dustman, and he got it from the stableman at the White Hart, who saw it all,” the maid sniveled.

  “I agree it is a dreadful thing but not the sort of news one expects to get at breakfast,” Miss Wordsworth said severely. “Besides, it has nothing to do with us. None of you stands in any danger of such a fate,” she added, with an eye on the door to the lower regions of the house.

  “But suppose there’s some murderer out there …,” the maid began.

  Miss Wordsworth held up her hand for silence. “I am going to Christ Church myself for luncheon with Dean Liddell and his wife,” she said. “I shall find out all there is to know about this dreadful affair. Will that suffice?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The maid bobbed a curtsey and darted back to the sanctuary of the kitchens. The girls continued to eat their porridge and drink their coffee, pretending they had not heard the news.

  Miss Wordsworth tapped her cup for attention. “I regret that you had to hear that exchange,” she said. “However, as I told Betty, it is nothing to do with any of us. You will study this morning as you always do. Who is to go to tutorials?”