The Problem of the Surly Servant

by Roberta Rogow

  Mr. Seward herded the trio down the stairs and around the clock tower back to their rooms on the other side of the quad, while Dean Liddell proceeded to his own deanery, where he could compose a suitably worded report for Inspector Truscott that would exonerate Christ Church from any implication of wrongdoing.

  Mr. Dodgson and Dr. Doyle were left alone in the tower sitting room.

  “So now we know why Miss Cahill was being blackmailed and by whom,” Dr. Doyle summed it up. “But we don’t know who killed Ingram … or why?”

  “Oh, I think I know who and why,” Mr. Dodgson said. “Of course, at this point there is no proof, only speculation.”

  Dr. Doyle looked grim. “Then we must get the proof. What next?”

  “You must go across the road and change your dress,” Mr. Dodgson ordered. “And then we shall dine in Hall. I have to consider our next steps very carefully. There is a very desperate person about, Dr. Doyle, and I cannot allow another tragedy.”

  Chapter 25

  The golden afternoon had turned into a blustery evening in Oxford. Tea had been served and ingested, and there was time before dinner to finish the last tasks of the day. Students bent over their final essays and dons scanned the galley proofs of their essays. Farmers packed up their stalls in the Covered Market and led their patient animals back home, where supper awaited them. Shopkeepers rearranged their stock to attract the last customers before closing.

  Inspector Truscott sat in the Blue Boar and moodily contemplated the results of the day’s activities. “We’re no forrader than we were this morning,” he complained to Sergeant Everett.

  “We know Ingram was a wrong ’un,” Everett consoled him.

  “We knew that last night,” Truscott said glumly.

  “And we know that at least one of those lads at Christ Church must have moved that body,” Everett added.

  “And every time we try to question those same lads, the Dean pokes his long nose in or that Dodgson or the Scottish doctor …”

  “Doyle.” Everett furnished the name.

  “Aye. Doyle. He turns up everywhere you look. If it weren’t for knowing that he’s never been in Oxford before, I’d have put him at the head of my list.”

  Constable Effingham approached the pair with a folded note and an expression of suppressed amusement.

  “This just come over from Christ Church,” he announced.

  Inspector Truscott opened the note and snorted in disgust. “Dean Liddell begs to inform me that he’s found the three students who moved the body and is dealing with it according to University principles.”

  “And we know what they are,” Sergeant Everett said. “Did any of ’em admit to killing Ingram?”

  Truscott folded the note and put it into his breast pocket. “The Dean did not see fit to inform the police of that little bit of news.” He took another pull at his beer mug.

  Constable Effingham offered another bit of information. “There was near murder done this afternoon in Christ Church Meadows,” he told his chief. “Three ladies in a punt got in the way of the rowers, and one of ’em nearly drowned. That Scottish chap got her breathing again though.”

  “Doyle again?” Inspector Truscott’s eyebrows rose and fell.

  “He does get about, doesn’t he,” Everett commented. “Does the Dean say who his undergraduate body snatchers are?”

  “He does not,” Inspector Truscott snarled. “But I can guess. Farlow, who is Berwick’s heir.”

  “And I’ll be bound one of the other two is Chatsworth. Youngest son of Lord Digby,” Everett furnished. “Usually seen in company with Farlow.”

  Inspector Truscott threw coins onto the table. “I am going to have a word with those two, and this time I will not be balked!” He strode out of the pub, determined to complete his investigation before dinnertime.

  Mr. Dodgson and Dr. Doyle were at Tom Gate when Inspector Truscott and Sergeant Everett marched down St. Aldgates.

  “I want to see Lord Farlow,” Truscott demanded.

  Before the porter could respond, a major commotion erupted in the street. A small cart, led by a donkey, had cut across the path of the omnibus, with much stamping and snorting on the part of the horses and braying and kicking on the part of the donkey.

  “Wot d’yer think yer doin’, yer young bletherskite!”

  “Get that donkey out o’ here!”

  “What is going on?” Mr. Dodgson asked fretfully, as the boy in charge of the donkey accosted the porter.

  “I’ve got a card ’ere for a Mr. Dodgson,” he announced. “A lady up by Norham Gardens give it me and said I was to deliver it to Mr. Dodgson and ’e would give me a penny.” He thrust the card at the astonished porter, who passed it over to Mr. Dodgson, who duly rewarded the boy and examined the offering carefully.

  “This seems to be one of your wife’s calling cards,” Mr. Dodgson said.

  “There’s something on the back,” Dr. Doyle noticed.

  “‘Miss Laurel knows something. Come quickly.’” Mr. Dodgson read. “Oh dear. Inspector, you must go to Lady Margaret Hall immediately.”

  “And why should I do that, sir?” Inspector Truscott asked truculently.

  “Because this communication from Mrs. Doyle leads me to suspect that she has found out something that may be of the greatest importance to your investigations!” Mr. Dodgson began to sputter, a sure sign of mental agitation. “It is imp-perative that you t-take a carriage and get t-to Lady M-Margaret Hall as quickly as p-possible!”

  Inspector Truscott frowned. “If you have information, sir, you should go through the proper channels …”

  Dr. Doyle interrupted him. “Mr. Dodgson, I thought you told me that Touie would be in no danger.”

  Mr. Dodgson looked more and more distressed. “I was mistaken. I did not realize that a certain person could be that desperate.”

  “If any harm comes to my wife because you are deliberately being obstructive, Inspector …” Dr. Doyle ignored the lowering clouds and started loping up St. Aldgates to rescue his lady from whatever was about to attack her at Lady Margaret Hall.

  “Very well, sir, if you will have it so. Everett!”

  Sergeant Everett saluted. “Yes, sir?”

  “Call out the carriage and take it to … where is this Lady Margaret Hall?”

  “At the north end of the College Park Gardens, in Norham Gardens,” Mr. Dodgson told him. “And hurry!”

  Hurry was the last thing possible at that hour. St. Aldgates was filled with carts and carriages, bath chairs and walkers, as the wind began to blow in earnest and clouds boiled up over the horizon. Rain was imminent, and the most important thing was to get under cover.

  Inspector Truscott hurried after the impetuous Dr. Doyle. “You don’t know where you’re going, sir,” he pointed out.

  “Show me the way, then!” Dr. Doyle exclaimed. “And if this town’s police allotment does not run to a carriage, I’ll take a hack!”

  “There’s no need to be in such a state, sir,” Inspector Truscott said.

  Dr. Doyle turned on him fiercely. “My wife is in danger,” he repeated. “I can walk, or I can ride; but I will go and get her! Now!”

  “Then you’d best come with us, sir,” Sergeant Everett said, leading the frantic husband around the lanes to the stable, where the Oxford Constabulary’s sole brougham stood, with a stolid-looking horse ready to be harnessed.

  Dr. Doyle had to watch as the horse and the carriage were put together, while he imagined the worst that could happen to his beloved. What were they doing in that women’s college that could lead Mr. Dodgson to conclude that Touie was risking her life?

  “Step up, Doctor,” Inspector Truscott announced. There was only room for a police driver on the box. Dr. Doyle and the two policemen had to sit in the malodorous interior, meant for carting obstreperous drunkards or rioting students to the town lockup.

  The streets of Oxford were jammed with vehicles, as the rain began in earnest. Umbrellas startled the horses,
which made the tangle of carts, carriages, omnibuses, and drays nearly impassable. A stream of water gushed down High Street, as the horse splashed mud and muck over the passersby. Students of all ages, working-men and tradesmen, all added to the hubbub by shouting, which agitated the horse even more.

  “Can’t this thing go any faster?” Dr. Doyle shouted out. “I’d do better on foot!”

  “The rain’s got the drains backed up,” Sergeant Everett reported. “Once we get clear of Turl we should do better.”

  Dr. Doyle listened to the rain beating on the roof of the carriage and fretted. What did Miss Laurel know that made it so important to speak to her? How did she fit into this Wonderland of blackmail and murder.

  Dr. Doyle wished he could contact Touie through the medium of thought projection. Since he could not, he sat in the carriage and worried. He wanted to rush to her side, to protect her from danger, and instead he was cooped up in the carriage with the two policemen, while the rain poured down.

  “Take St. Giles!” Truscott ordered. “It’s not as direct, but there’s no getting through Longwall at this hour.”

  The driver turned the carriage, and the horse broke into an animated trot up the broad avenue that led toward the newer sector of Oxford. Here were the houses that had been built to accommodate those dons who had chosen to marry and raise families, once they had been given the dispensation to do so. Dr. Doyle peered out the grimy window of the police brougham.

  “Is it much farther?”

  Inspector Truscott patted his arm. “We’ll get there, sir, no fear. What harm can come to your lady in a women’s college?”

  Chapter 26

  Once she had sent her note, Touie had joined her new friends in the small garden behind the house. Neat herbaceous borders marked the edges of the lawns. A tall hedge shielded the ladies from the view of rowers on the Holywell Mill Stream.

  “What a charming spot!” Touie enthused.

  “Yes, isn’t it?” Dianna agreed.

  “Miss Wordsworth is very strict about our using the gardens,” Mary said. “We may walk, but we must always wear our hats and gloves.”

  “Such a bother,” Gertrude declared. “It’s not as if we were flaunting ourselves out in the streets.”

  “Gertrude!” Mary turned to Touie with a smile. “Gertrude is something of a firebrand, Mrs. Doyle. She’s always doing something outrageous.”

  “Like accosting Mr. Dodgson in the Cathedral,” Dianna said. “Or punting on the Cherwell instead of the mill stream.”

  “So that was her idea,” Touie said. She looked up at the sky. Gray clouds were racing across the previously clear expanse of blue. “Oh dear, it looks as if it is coming on to rain!”

  As if to answer her, the wind picked up Mary’s straw hat and sent it wheeling across the lawns.

  “We’d better get indoors before we all catch our deaths,” Touie said, clutching at her hat. “Oh dear, here comes the rain!”

  Sure enough, the first fat drops sent the girls running through the door that led from the gardens to the vestibule behind the stairs to the upper floors of the house. Touie hesitated, as Gertrude, Mary, and Dianna headed for the stairs.

  “Come on up, Mrs. Doyle,” Gertrude invited her. “We have to change for dinner, and you can talk to us while we do.”

  Miss Laurel shook her head at them in disapproval as they dashed toward their rooms. “You look like a set of hoydens,” she scolded. “What must Mrs. Doyle think of you?”

  “Tush!” Gertrude pushed her red-gold hair out of her eyes. Mary’s neatly pinned chignon did not seem to be the worse for wear, but the wind had given Dianna’s curls the general aspect of Medusa’s mop of snakes.

  “Come up and talk to us,” Gertrude invited, and Touie followed them to the upper reaches of the house, where each girl had her own chamber. The three gravitated to Miss Bell’s room, a large corner suite dominated by a four-poster bed. A dressing table with a mirror stood between the two windows that looked out on the gardens, while a wardrobe held Miss Bell’s clothing. The room seemed to be cluttered with books, papers, and sporting equipment. A pair of foils and a cricket bat were propped up in one corner, while a tripod and box camera lurked in the niche between the door and the wardrobe. The extreme modernity of the house was demonstrated by the nearby commode and bathtub. Clearly, Lady Margaret Hall was a new addition to the architectural hodgepodge of Oxford.

  Touie edged into the bedroom with a smile and perched on Miss Bell’s bed. “I hope you do not mind,” she said apologetically. “But I would like to dress my own hair, and I wish I had my evening dress. One likes to change for dinner, even if it is only to put on another pair of gloves.”

  “You’d have to ask Miss Laurel for gloves.” Gertrude laughed. “She’s got so many pairs!”

  “It’s her hands,” Mary explained, in her soothing murmur. “She must have had a dreadful life as a child. Her hands are quite red and chapped.”

  “Oh, the poor thing,” Dianna said with true compassion.

  “I notice, you always address her as ‘Miss,’ whereas you refer to each other by your Christian names,” Touie remarked.

  The three girls exchanged looks. “It’s just that she’s so much older than we,” Mary said at last. “And she’s very shy. She never walks out with the rest of us. I suppose it comes of having been a governess. The governess in a great house is always at a disadvantage.”

  “It must be quite difficult for them,” Touie said sympathetically. “After all, a governess is a lady and cannot associate with the other servants.”

  Gertrude made a rude noise through a mouthful of hairpins. “It’s grossly unfair,” she said. “My cousin’s tutor always sits at table with company, but my governess was obliged to eat her meals alone in her room or with me in the nursery.”

  Touie considered the plight of the governess as she took down her hair and began to rearrange it. “It seems quite different in novels,” she said. “Of course, writers must make things interesting. My husbands writes stories, you see, and he reads them to me.”

  “But does he put a governess in them?” Dianna wanted to know.

  Touie had to admit that governesses did not appear frequently in Dr. Doyle’s adventure tales. She turned to Dianna. “Miss Cahill, a thought has occurred to me. Is it possible that the maidservant who took care of you at Mr. Roswell’s house might have gone on, so to speak, to another nursery?”

  “I suppose she could have,” Dianna said blankly.

  “Because, you see, the question still remains: Who knew about the photograph and what became of the one Mr. Dodgson sent to your uncle’s house?” Touie went on. “Arthur told me that the man who was found behind Christ Church, the scout, had collected a number of incriminating documents, things that people had thrown away, that could be used for blackmail.”

  “Do you mean that the person behind the verses that Dianna got was a scout? I don’t believe it!” Gertrude said scornfully.

  “I don’t think he wrote the verses,” Touie said. “He probably acted as a courier, coming here with the letters and taking the copy to the printer. But he must have known that there was a photograph, even though he did not have a copy himself, otherwise, why should he remove Mr. Dodgson’s copy from his albums?” She looked at the girls, who nodded in agreement.

  Touie shoved in one last hairpin and put her hands in her lap. “Now, let’s look at this logically, as Mr. Dodgson would say. What are the facts?”

  “Only that the photograph was taken when I was six, and no one even knew about it but me and Mr. Dodgson,” Dianna quavered.

  “And the maid,” Gertrude reminded her.

  “Can you recall anything about that visit that you haven’t told us?” Touie pleaded with the girl. “Anything at all?”

  Dianna screwed her face up in an agony of thought. “It was so long ago!” she protested. “Mostly I remember being very cold. My uncle Roswell was very strict about having fires in bedrooms. He thought it was wasteful and led to a
weakened constitution.”

  “Mr. Dodgson’s tea party must have been like heaven,” Gertrude giggled. “He keeps his rooms very warm. Otherwise you would never have been able to take your clothes off.”

  “What about the maid? The one who acted as your nurse for the time of your visit?” Touie prompted her. “Think!”

  Dianna sighed and closed her eyes again. “Let’s see … she wasn’t all that old, although I suppose she seemed ancient to me. She had some kind of flower name …”

  “Rose?” Gertrude questioned her. “Lily?”

  “Daisy!” Dianna cried out triumphantly. “That was it! Daisy!”

  “Well that is something,” Touie said, with great satisfaction. “Her name was Daisy, and she worked for Mr. Roswell fifteen years ago.”

  “Not much to go on.” Gertrude sighed.

  “It is enough for the police,” Touie said. “They can find out what happened to this Daisy person.”

  “Do you think she might be here in Oxford?” Dianna asked.

  “It is certainly possible,” Touie said. “If Daisy knew about the photograph, would she have told anyone about it?”

  “Servants always gossip,” Mary said, with the air of one who is totally familiar with the ways of the downstairs staff.

  “So that the servants in Mr. Roswell’s house would have also known about the photograph,” Gertrude pointed out.

  “Perhaps,” Touie said. “Daisy would have eaten in the kitchen with the rest of the servants, but as a very young maid, she would hardly have been in a position to speak to them. She might well have kept this adventure to herself.”

  “Except that the copy of the photograph was sent to Mr. Roswell’s house,” Gertrude pointed out. “So the servants would have seen it then.”