The Problem of the Surly Servant

by Roberta Rogow

  “And what would they have done with it?” Touie asked.

  “They couldn’t very well give it to Uncle Roswell,” Dianna said. “Uncle Roswell is quite strict. He’s got prints on his walls, of course, framed chromos of Mr. Wesley and copies of famous paintings, but nothing without clothes. Not even angels,” she added.

  “And at the same time, they could not destroy it,” Touie concluded. “So Daisy must have kept it.”

  “And she showed it to someone,” Gertrude said.

  “But who?” Dianna asked.

  “Whom.” Miss Laurel appeared at the door to Gertrude’s room.

  “If you insist,” Dianna said, with a twist of her lips. “What is it, Miss Laurel?”

  “Miss Wordsworth would like Mrs. Doyle to join her in her sitting room before dinner,” Miss Laurel stated.

  “How very kind of Miss Wordsworth,” Touie said, with a smile. She turned back to the girls. “If you can think of anything else, do let me know. Arthur and I must leave in the morning, so we will turn over whatever we find out to Mr. Dodgson. He will inform the police, of course.” Touie stepped aside to let Miss Laurel precede her down the winding staircase.

  “What have you learned about Miss Cahill’s dilemma?” Miss Laurel asked breathlessly.

  “Only that the one who wrote the verses must have been one of the students at Christ Church,” Touie said. “Since the man found behind the college was one of their servants, I suppose he had been involved as a go-between, a messenger, nothing more than that.”

  “You think so?” Miss Laurel asked.

  “Of course,” Touie said carefully, as they reached the bottom of the stairs, “if he was a very wicked person, he might even have taken something written by one of the students as a prank, what they call a rag, and put it together with the photograph himself and threatened someone with it.”

  “But there would be no point to that, would there?” Miss Laurel’s voice had taken on a sharper tone.

  “No. I don’t suppose there would be,” Touie said. “If Miss Cahill was to be removed from Oxford so that someone else could receive Mr. Roswell’s money, then the person who benefits from the blackmail would have to be this other heir. Except that Miss Cahill is quite sure that there isn’t any.”

  “Is she?” Miss Laurel dismissed Miss Cahill with a sniff of disdain. “How would she know anything about it? She was only a child.”

  “Indeed? How would you know that, unless …” Touie looked at Miss Laurel with growing concern. “Unless you were the person delegated to care for the child when she visited without her own nurse.”

  Touie began to chatter, thinking aloud, trying to distract the increasingly agitated woman while she looked around the vestibule for a means of escape. Her thoughts raced frantically. Had Arthur gotten her note? Was he able to act on it? Where was he?

  “I wondered at the name ‘Daphne Laurel,’” Touie went on, trying to sound like a scatterbrained fool and wishing that she could use the mental powers Arthur was so certain existed so that she could communicate with him on the astral plane. “I am not a classical scholar, but Arthur and I have been reading Mr. Hawthorne’s clever adaptation of the Greek stories. Daphne was a nymph changed into a laurel tree to escape the attentions of Apollo.”

  “You know a great deal, Mrs. Doyle,” Miss Laurel hissed. Her sharp features seemed fiendish in the half-light that filtered in through the doors to the garden. A sudden flash of lightning and a crack of thunder made Touie jump.

  Miss Laurel edged closer. “What have you told that interfering husband of yours?”

  “I haven’t had the chance to tell him anything yet,” Touie said, trying to step away from the other woman. “I suspected that you were the maid who took Miss Cahill to Mr. Dodgson’s rooms when I had a chance to think it over last night. You said that she was a clever and pretty child, but how could you know that if you had only met her when she and you came to Lady Margaret Hall? And you just mentioned picking up clothes and washing little boys. A governess would never have to do that, but a nursemaid would.”

  “And what if I have been a maid?” Miss Laurel snapped out. “If a man may better himself, may not a woman do the same?”

  “There is no reason to think otherwise,” Touie told her, hoping that her calm voice would soothe her adversary until rescue arrived. “But you took on the position of governess under false pretenses. You use a name that is not your own.”

  “Many people change their names,” Miss Laurel countered. “Miss Roswell became Miss Mary Rose on the stage.”

  “And her brother cast her aside and would not even see her, even after she became Lady Berwick,” Touie said. She was now backed up against the garden door.

  “Hypocrites! All of them!” Miss Laurel was working herself into a rage. Touie tried to slide away, but Miss Laurel grabbed her by the sleeve and pulled her around. “After the little girl left, I asked if I could find another nursery place, and Mrs. Roswell sent me off to Berwick to tend the little boy.”

  “Mr. Farlow? The one who tried to push Miss Cahill into the river?” Touie tried to pull away, but Miss Laurel’s grip tightened on her arms.

  “Master Nevil. A naughty boy, always running off, looking about at things he shouldn’t. And the goings-on when my lord and lady were there! But let one of us slip, and we’d be turned off without a character!”

  “I see.” Touie tried once more to bring Miss Laurel back to reality. “You were a servant at Berwick and so was Ingram.”

  “Oh, he was a one!” Miss Laurel laughed harshly. “He had all of us under his thumb, but he promised that I was the only one he truly loved.”

  “And you were caught,” Touie said.

  “By little Master Nevil.”

  “And turned off.”

  “Without a penny to my name!” Miss Laurel’s voice throbbed tragically.

  “And you decided to seek other employment.” Touie tried to slip out of that deathly tight grip on her arm. “But not as a nursemaid. You decided to become a governess.”

  “I’d been sitting there when Master Nevil had his lessons. I’d learned as much as he. I could read and write and figure, and I could take Master Nevil’s book of questions with me as he went off to school.” Miss Laurel shook Touie, as if to make her take notice. “A nursemaid is nothing. A governess is a lady.”

  “And no one questioned your qualifications?” Touie tried to pull away, but Miss Laurel held tight. They revolved around the little vestibule in a weird sort of dance, until Miss Laurel’s back was to the stairs again.

  “Why should they?” Miss Laurel sneered. “I was hired to instruct the little boys in their letters and numbers and set them on the road to school. If it weren’t for Mrs. Toynbee and the Women’s Educational Alliance I’d be doing it still.”

  “But you passed the examination and found a place here,” Touie said. “And your secret was safe.”

  “And then he came!” Miss Laurel’s voice rose to a shriek. “I saw him once when he came with a letter. I knew it was him!”

  “Ingram?” Touie looked over Miss Laurel’s shoulder. Someone was coming down the stairs. Miss Laurel’s grip tightened as she pulled Touie closer.

  “He didn’t know me until he saw me at tea in Mr. Dodgson’s rooms,” she whispered. “Then he told me to meet him under the bridge.”

  “And you killed him,” Touie said.

  “I hit him with the paddle,” Miss Laurel admitted. “And now I have to kill you!”

  She released Touie’s arms and reached for her neck. Touie ducked under the other woman’s outstretched arms as a shaft of lightning seemed to pierce the sky. A clap of thunder resounded through the house, covering Touie’s cry for help.

  Miss Laurel grabbed at Touie again, catching her by the sleeve and turning her around. Touie fended off the other woman’s blows, kicking and scratching whatever she could find. They reeled back and forth in the confines of the hall until Miss Laurel forced Touie against the stairs.

&nbs
p; Touie kicked the other woman’s legs out from under her. They fell on the stairs, unaware of a third pair of shoes on the riser above them.

  Miss Laurel’s strong hands were around Touie’s throat, squeezing. Touie tried to breathe but could not. Suddenly the pressure on her throat was relaxed as Miss Laurel cried out and fell over her.

  Gertrude stood on the stairs, triumphantly waving her cricket bat. “I heard the ruckus and ran back for this!” she announced, as the rest of the girls emerged from their rooms to see what the noise was about.

  Mary and Dianna rushed to support Touie, while Gertrude stood over Miss Laurel, ready to strike if the other woman should show any more indication of violence.

  “What is this disturbance?” Miss Wordsworth had also emerged from her private sitting room.

  Before Touie could answer, there was a knock at the door.

  “It’s Inspector Truscott of the police,” the scout on duty announced, as the rescue party tramped in.

  “Arthur!” Touie ran for the comfort of her husband’s arms.

  “Touie! Are you all right?” Dr. Doyle fussed over his wife’s bruises.

  “Yes, Arthur,” Touie managed to rasp out, “I am quite all right, but Miss Bell hit Miss Laurel on the head with her cricket bat.”

  Dr. Doyle bent over the fallen woman. “A wicked shot,” he pronounced. “Miss Laurel should recover her senses soon enough.”

  As if in answer to his diagnosis, Miss Laurel groaned and tried to pull herself into a sitting position. Gertrude stood ready to defend her new friend, but there was no need. Miss Laurel looked about, saw the horrified expressions on the faces of the women around her, and buried her face in her hands in abject humiliation.

  “Whatever is going on?” Miss Wordsworth looked at the male invasion of her feminine domain.

  “I am very sorry to tell you that it was Miss Laurel who killed that man, Ingram,” Touie said.

  “What!” “Why?” “Miss Laurel?” The girls on the stairs burst into startled speech. Miss Wordsworth faced the police with her usual aplomb.

  “I think you had better come into the sitting room, gentlemen, and explain yourselves.” Miss Wordsworth eyed the disheveled combatants. Touie’s hair had come down in the struggle, and she was now attempting to put it right again. Miss Laurel had tucked her bodice into her skirt band and smoothed down her hair.

  Miss Wordsworth led the policemen, Dr. and Mrs. Doyle, and Miss Laurel into her private sanctuary. “Now,” she said, taking her favorite seat, “will someone please tell me what is going on here?”

  Chapter 27

  Inspector Truscott bowed slightly toward Miss Wordsworth. “Mr. Dodgson of Christ Church sent us. He seemed to think that Mrs. Doyle might be in some danger.”

  All eyes turned to Touie, who was still trying to put her hair straight after the strenuous activity had tumbled it down. “It was Miss Laurel who sent that man, Ingram, into the river,” Touie explained.

  “And she tried to kill Mrs. Doyle,” Gertrude burst out, from her position at the door. Miss Wordsworth pointedly rose, closed the door in the faces of the eager students, and resumed her seat.

  “There is no need to upset the undergraduates,” she said firmly. “Now, Miss Laurel, why did you attack Mrs. Doyle?”

  Miss Laurel had recovered some of her customary reserve. “I apologize to Mrs. Doyle,” she said at last. “I was overwrought.”

  “Then you did attack my wife!” Dr. Doyle was incensed.

  “It was a momentary madness,” Miss Laurel protested.

  “Momentary madness?” Dr. Doyle echoed.

  “I found out she wasn’t a governess,” Touie said hoarsely.

  “That’s no reason to try to kill my wife!” Dr. Doyle turned on the other woman fiercely.

  Miss Wordsworth put up a hand for silence. “Miss Laurel, have you anything to say in your own defense?”

  Inspector Truscott cleared his throat apologetically. “I must warn you, Miss Laurel, that anything you say now may be used against you in a court of law.”

  “Is she being arrested?” Miss Wordsworth demanded.

  “Mrs. Doyle has made an accusation, ma’am. We must question this woman as to her involvement in the death of James Ingram,” Truscott stated.

  “But must it be in a police station?” Miss Wordsworth asked, her voice rising in disdain.

  “Perhaps we could question Miss Laurel in Mr. Dodgson’s rooms at Christ Church,” Dr. Doyle offered. “Dean Liddell will want to be present and so will Mr. Seward, the proctor, acting for the University.”

  Miss Wordsworth literally rose to the occasion. “In that case, I shall accompany you to Christ Church, Inspector. Mr. Dodgson is a good friend, and I cannot imagine why he would accuse one of my undergraduates of a heinous crime.”

  “He hasn’t accused her,” Dr. Doyle pointed out.

  “She told me herself that she hit the man with a punt paddle,” Touie added.

  Miss Wordsworth was already giving orders. “Miss Johnson, you may take my place at dinner. I am going out.”

  “Now, ma’am?” Her second-in-command was aghast.

  “There is no time to be lost. Since no one else will come to her assistance, it is clearly incumbent upon me to escort Miss Laurel to Mr. Dodgson’s rooms and, if necessary, to procure legal aid for her.”

  “But … dinner?” Miss Johnson could not conceive of anyone leaving before dinner.

  “I will have a light supper when I return,” Miss Wordsworth said grandly. “Inspector, if you do not have room in your carriage, I shall have to call a hack.”

  “I think we can squeeze you in, ma’am. Sergeant Everett will have to ride on the box, with the driver.” Inspector Truscott glanced at Miss Laurel, who refused to acknowledge his presence.

  Miss Wordsworth and Miss Laurel were handed into the carriage ceremoniously by Sergeant Everett. Dr. Doyle sat with Touie, glaring at the woman who had dared to choke his wife.

  The traffic had thinned out, as the rain turned into a chilly drizzle that penetrated even the carriage. Touie shivered, as much from the sudden cold as from the realization that she had nearly been choked to death.

  Telling met the carriage at Tom Gate. He blandly accepted the presence of three women within the all-male preserve of Christ Church at the unheard-of hour of seven-thirty at night.

  “Mr. Dodgson’s compliments and would you please go directly to his rooms? Dean Liddell and Mr. Seward are waiting for you.” Telling’s eyes widened as he saw the rotund form of Miss Wordsworth, followed by the tall, lean Miss Laurel.

  Inspector Truscott nodded to the driver. “Wilkins, tell Effingham his wife’s wanted. Have her come over here as quickly as she can.” He turned to Miss Wordsworth. “Mrs. Effingham is a very respectable woman, ma’am. The wife of one of our constables. She can take this, um, lady, in charge.”

  Telling led the way up to Mr. Dodgson’s rooms, maintaining his professional dignity with great difficulty. He opened the door to announce the late visitors: “Inspector Truscott, Dr. and Mrs. Doyle, Miss Wordsworth, Miss Laurel.”

  Mr. Dodgson blinked as Miss Wordsworth bustled into the room. “Miss Wordsworth? What are you doing here?”

  “I am looking after the welfare of one of my students, Mr. Dodgson,” Miss Wordsworth said, with immense dignity. “Miss Laurel has been accused of a crime, and I am here to see justice done.” She looked about for a seat and defiantly took the second armchair next to the one in which Dean Liddell was enthroned, beckoning Miss Laurel to stand near her.

  “This is rather difficult …,” Mr. Dodgson began.

  “You summoned me here, before dinner, to tell me that you had solved this problem,” Dean Liddell reminded him. “We are expected at the High Table, Mr. Dodgson.”

  “I am very sorry, but this could not wait.” Mr. Dodgson turned to Miss Laurel. “You see, it was to you that Ingram addressed that extraordinary speech yesterday.”

  “I?” Miss Laurel echoed.

  “What
was it, precisely, that he said?” Mr. Dodgson turned to Dr. Doyle for elucidation.

  “I believe the exact words were, ‘I don’t take pictures of little girls, and I don’t pretend to be what I’m not.’”

  “A most unusual accusation,” Mr. Dodgson said. “I have not pursued my photographic interests for many years, certainly not while Ingram was in residence, and I have never pretended to be anything other than what I am.”

  “There’s the matter of your pseudonym,” Dr. Doyle pointed out.

  “That is not a matter of pretense,” Mr. Dodgson rebutted. “That is a matter of privacy. It occurred to me that Ingram was not addressing me at all but someone behind me.”

  “That could have been anyone,” Miss Laurel said, with some of her previous aplomb.

  Mr. Dodgson ignored the interruption. “But who, precisely, was behind me? None of the three young ladies was anything other than what she was supposed to be. I am acquainted with Miss Talbot’s family. Miss Bell’s origins are equally well-known. As for Miss Cahill, her parentage is vouched for by none other than our dean.” Dean Liddell bowed in acknowledgement. “But what about Miss Laurel? What do we actually know about her?”

  Miss Wordsworth bristled. “Miss Laurel was recommended to me by Mrs. Toynbee, who is a personal friend and a benefactor of Lady Margaret Hall. She told me that Miss Laurel had been with Lady Berwick, among others.”

  “But not as a governess,” Touie broke in. “She was the nursemaid. And her name’s not Daphne Laurel either. It’s Daisy something.”

  “I was born Daisy Lowell,” Miss Laurel admitted defiantly.

  “Is this true?” Miss Wordsworth gazed on her star pupil in growing horror and disbelief. “How could you!”

  Miss Laurel’s defiance melted under that reproachful look. “I couldn’t go on the streets,” she pleaded. “I had no other choice.”

  Touie regarded Miss Laurel with sympathy. “It may sound dreadful, but I must applaud you, Miss Laurel, for your fortitude. You were in a dreadful pickle, and there are so many others who would have become something far worse.”