The Daughters of Gentlemen: A Frances Doughty Mystery (The Frances Doughty Mysteries)
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As Frances took her seat, Mr Fiske arrived, no doubt having been deputed by the school governors, if not his wife. He was followed by Mr Rawsthorne and his clerk, a young individual, thin as a stick, with hair like rusty bed springs and ink-stained teeth. Mrs Springett, Jem and Davey made their own little group of black-clad desolation, accompanied by a man and a woman who were probably Davey’s relatives, as they were busy comforting him. Their solicitor, Mr Marsden, Rawsthorne’s bitterest rival in Bayswater, surveyed the scene with unconcealed ill-humour at having got the meaner bargain. Mrs Venn, who might have been expected in the circumstances to approach the Springetts and utter some words of condolence, was sitting alone with her dignity and refusing to cast her eye in their direction. Frances doubted very much that the headmistress’s bruised feelings would ever permit her to admit just how much money the Springetts had obtained from her over the years for support of the Professor’s supposed child.
The Chronicle had sent Mr Gillan, who was already scribbling busily in his notebook, his expression softening from boredom to pleasure as what must have initially promised to be a dull assignment was transforming before his eyes into a matter of more than ordinary interest. The arrival of Frances placed the crown on his anticipation and he rose quickly to his feet and greeted her. ‘I look forward, Miss Doughty, to an interview as soon as the proceedings have closed,’ he said, noting where she was sitting so as to be sure she would not escape without supplying him with material for another sensational feature.
‘Good morning, Miss Doughty,’ said a familiar voice, and she saw Theodore Paskall taking a seat beside her. ‘Bad business this; father has sent me to keep an eye on things.’
The coroner for Westminster, Mr St Clare Bedford, called the meeting to order. At the last meeting, he said, the deceased had been formally identified as Matilda Springett aged twenty-four, maidservant at the Bayswater Academy for the Education of Young Ladies. He asked the first witness to appear, a constable who had been patrolling in Hyde Park on the evening Matilda had last been seen.
The constable stated that as the night was cool, there had not been a great many people in the park, but he had seen a young woman who might have been the deceased walking alone in the direction of the bridge shortly after eight o’clock. He had also observed several respectably dressed men who all appeared to be walking briskly as if crossing the park, a tall woman strolling down the carriage drive going out of the park, and a couple standing at the western end of the bridge not far from the Magazine, ‘spooning’. His route had then taken him away from the bridge area and he did not return to it for another hour, at which time he saw a man he thought might be a footpad and escorted him from the park.
On the Saturday another constable had spied something lodged underneath the arch of the bridge and alerted a boatman. They had rowed out and recovered the body, which was quite cold. He had taken it to the Receiving House, where it had been examined by Dr Blackett. No attempt had been made to revive the young woman, who was quite clearly dead.
Dr Blackett said that he had been called from his home in Park Lane to examine the body and had later performed a post-mortem examination. At this, Mrs Springett wailed and was soothed by her son. The coroner asked if the lady might like to retire from the room, but Jem frowned and shook his head. ‘If you don’t mind, Sir, this is Matilda’s mother and she has more right than anyone to be here,’ he said.
The coroner indicated that Blackett should continue. The doctor, carefully avoiding gazing at the family group, went on. ‘My preliminary examination suggested that the deceased had been dead for at least a day if not more. She was a healthy and well-nourished female. Although she was found in water she did not die from drowning. There was no water in the lungs, which were in a collapsed state, and the heart was healthy. There was considerable bruising of the tissues of the neck, the marks suggesting that she had been seized about the throat. On dissecting the external integuments of the neck I found a quantity of extravasated blood under the skin, and three of the cartilaginous rings of the windpipe were flattened. I am as certain as it is possible to be that she was already dead when placed in the water. The cause of death was asphyxia as a result of manual strangulation. From the marks on the throat, which show the impression of thumbs at the front and fingers to the side, it is clear that she was strangled by a single assailant, who stood facing her. Apart from the marks of the attack she was quite uninjured, and her clothing was not disarranged.’
‘Are you saying that there was no sign of any struggle?’ asked the coroner.
‘That is correct. I believe she would have been unconscious within moments.’
‘Was the strength required for the attack beyond that of a female?’
‘It would not be impossible for a strong female, especially as the victim was a small person, but in my experience strangling with the hands almost always indicates a male attacker.’
Mrs Venn was called and stated that she had last seen Matilda at about eight o’clock on the Thursday evening. She was not aware that the maid had left the school premises until she was discovered to be missing the following morning.
Inspector Sharrock gave evidence next. He confirmed, pausing frequently to wheeze in an alarming fashion, that the police did not have any information to suggest who might have been in Matilda’s company on the evening of her death.
The coroner summed up, pointing out that the evidence showed beyond any doubt that the injuries could not have been self-inflicted, and that some other person had been present to put the body in the water. The jury had no difficulty in returning the verdict that Matilda had died from manual strangulation, and that it was a case of murder, by a person or persons unknown.
Once the proceedings were closed Frances approached Sharrock. ‘Inspector,’ she said, ‘I strongly advise you to go home and rest.’
‘I’ve got six babbies at home,’ he growled. ‘I get more rest at the station with the villains of Paddington!’ He stamped away, coughing loudly.
Frances looked around to see Mr Gillan by her side, notebook and pencil at the ready. ‘Good morning Miss Doughty, and what, may I ask, brings you here?’
‘I was acquainted with the deceased,’ said Frances. ‘I have been engaged as a teacher at the school.’
‘For appearances only, surely?’ he said with a knowing smile.
‘For a salary,’ Frances replied.
‘Ah, but I hear whispers that more is involved. It seems that you are setting yourself up as a veritable Dupin and the Paddington police may soon be out of business altogether!’
‘I hope you will not publish that,’ said Frances, sternly.
He affected a sad expression. ‘My editor is a hard man and he will have his hundreds of words and column inches, no matter what. And if I cannot find a story to engage his interest then I am expected to conjure one up from nothing at all. It is very trying.’
‘I believe,’ said Frances, ‘that the composition of material for the newspapers is very taxing upon the imagination.’
‘Which is precisely why I prefer facts,’ said Gillan. ‘Have you any for me? This may surprise you, Miss Doughty, but I do have principles, and I can be as discreet as the next man when it is called for. I am not in the business of libel, neither do I wish to cause pain. I only wish to inform.’
Theodore Paskall appeared at her shoulder. ‘I hope this fellow is not annoying you, Miss Doughty?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Did you know he is from the Chronicle?’
Frances smiled. ‘Mr Gillan and I are already acquainted,’ she said.
‘Then you will know to take good care of what you say to him,’ said Theodore. ‘And Mr Gillan will take care what he writes or Mr Rawsthorne will know of it.’ He gave a curt nod and walked away.
Frances knew that Gillan would write his piece for the newspaper whether she spoke to him or not, and considered whether it would be to her advantage to maintain a friendly dialogue. Information could, after all, pass in more directions than one.
‘I have many good friends in the police force,’ said Gillan. ‘They are a worthy body of men. It is a matter of great regret to me that it is expressly forbidden for police officers to give information to the press, even though sometimes it is in the public interest to do so.’
Frances felt sure that a small libation would quell any difficulty on that point. ‘But you may not know anyone in the Hillingdon police,’ she went on. ‘I assume, therefore, that you have not been informed that yesterday morning I was visiting friends in Havenhill and chanced to discover the body of a man. It appears he may have stumbled into foundations being dug on Mr Matthews’ property and expired.’
Gillan was clearly astounded. ‘My word, you are a calm young lady,’ he exclaimed. ‘Does nothing discompose you?’
‘Only lies, Mr Gillan. Let us find a suitable place to talk and I will tell you all my story. But for my part I shall ask you to tell me the things that you know which other people keep from me. Are we agreed?’
He gave a smile of great satisfaction. ‘We are indeed!’
It was a short stroll to Hyde Park, where at its eastern tip, large crowds had assembled to hear the political speakers, making so much noise that scarcely a word of what was being said could be heard. There were banners in profusion snapping in the wind, and eddies of leaflets whirling up into the air. They stood on the bridge gazing into the Serpentine, and Mr Gillan rested his notebook on the parapet and wrote his looping notation as Frances gave him the full story of her adventures on the Sunday.
‘I suppose,’ he said, ‘you are disinclined to tell me the real reason you were visiting Havenhill?’
‘It would be unwise of you to speculate,’ said Frances.
‘The gossip in these parts is that the girls at Mrs Venn’s school were given literature of a scandalous nature to read and that your true position there is not that of teacher but detective. Since Mr Matthews is a governor of the school, it seems reasonable to me to assume that your visit was in connection with that enquiry.’
‘I advise you to tread carefully,’ said Frances. ‘You know better than I the consequences of slander and libel. I have given you enough, and wish to have your assurance that you will wait until I think it safe to say more.’
‘Very well,’ Gillan said grudgingly.
‘And now I hope you will keep your part of our bargain. I would be interested to know what actions the police have been taking concerning the death of Miss Springett. Although it has only just been declared to be murder, I know that they have believed that to be the case from the start.’
‘They have, and many persons have been interviewed, but no suspect has emerged. I too have been making my enquiries. I even interviewed Mr Paskall under the guise of writing about his candidacy, and I found him to be very exercised about the business. He believed the girl to have been a courier employed by his political enemies who has been silenced because she knew too much about their plots. I pointed out that if he believed that the girl was working against him, that would make him an excellent suspect, and he became very unhappy and threatened to have me arrested if I wrote it down. But of course everyone knows the Paskalls are almost chained to their desks at present, and most unlikely to have spare moments for murdering housemaids even if they were inclined to.’
‘I only wish,’ said Frances, ‘that I had the freedom to ask people any question I liked, irrespective of their rank in society or whether they considered it polite. Since we can assume that Matilda was killed during the evening of the 4th of March, or possibly the morning afterwards, what I would dearly like to do is ask everyone who might have known her where they were at that time.’
‘And then you will have your murderer,’ said Gillan. ‘And I will have another chapter of your story, only to be found in the Chronicle. I’ll see what I can do.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Sarah had completed her business that morning and returned home with a strong sense of justice done. The thief had been unequivocally revealed as the fashionable lady’s cherished only son, who had pawned the family silver to pay his gambling debts, thus showing that he had a greater sense of responsibility to his bookmaker than his mother. Frances wondered if the client, who was currently too distressed to discuss remuneration, was entirely satisfied with the outcome. Any problem that could be solved by the dismissal of a servant was by definition a trivial one, but one which took the heart out of her own family was a hurt from which she might never recover. Frances decided to wait awhile before she sent a gentle reminder about payment. Before attending the inquest she had sent a note to Mr Matthews’ townhouse asking for an interview, and on her return from seeing Mr Gillan received a reply that he was from home that morning but would be available to speak to her at two o’clock. In the meantime, Sarah was eager for further employment, and so Frances decided to send her to Somerset House to look at the marriage registers. It was something she had felt daunted by the first time she had gone there, as she had had no advisor to explain where she should go and what she must do, so she made sure to instruct Sarah carefully.
There was just time to meet the lady with the Hyde Park romance, who was an unprepossessing spinster of fifty-five with attractive investments. Her devoted swain had told her only that he worked in the City and boasted considerable expertise in finance. Frances discovered when the next tender assignation was to take place, warned the client not to part with a farthing, and sent a note to Tom asking if he could track the ardent gentlemen back to his lair.
After a luncheon of bread and cheese, Frances hurried to Roderick Matthews’ townhouse on Gloucester Terrace and was shown into the study, where she was unsurprised to discover its occupier striding up and down, with a glass of brandy in his hand and very much out of humour.
‘I have just had to go down to Havenhill this morning,’ said Matthews irritably, ‘where I was obliged to look at a most disgusting object and I suppose I have you to thank for that, you and that unpleasant little dog.’ He swallowed the rest of the brandy at a gulp and put the glass down. The thought of offering any refreshment to his visitor did not occur to him any more than he might have offered it to his parlourmaid.
Frances had not warmed to Benjie but was far from terming him ‘unpleasant’, neither did she feel personally responsible for the body in the trench. She could see, however, that Matthews, a man who felt that stirring himself to make an effort was a task best delegated to others, might have been annoyed.
‘Did you recognise the man?’ she asked.
‘No,’ he replied brusquely, ‘and nor does anyone else.’
‘He must have come there after the workmen had stopped digging but before the fence was built,’ said Frances. ‘That was in the latter part of January. Were you at Havenhill during that time?’
Mathews flung himself into a chair and fidgeted. ‘What is all this about?’ he said. ‘What has all this to do with you? Or me for that matter! Why do I have policemen tramping all over my land, not to mention an artist from the Illustrated Police News. He wanted to go into the stables and make a sketch of the body! The impudence!’
‘I know that I am supposed only to be investigating the incident with the pamphlets —,’ said Frances.
‘Yes, how is that progressing?’ he said, insolently.
Frances maintained a patient demeanour. ‘I have some clues, which I cannot reveal at present,’ she said, ‘but the issue of the pamphlets may be more complex than at first thought and I have to take into consideration anything unusual connected with the school, its pupils, its staff and its governors. Miss Springett’s death, for example. I attended the inquest this morning, where it was declared to be a case of murder.’
‘Oh, Paskall won’t be happy about that!’ exclaimed Matthews, with a derisive snort.
‘And it is possible that the man found dead on your land was in some way involved with the subject of my enquiries. Were you there in J
anuary? I understand that the last day on which digging was carried out was Saturday the 24th.’
‘That sounds about right.’ He pulled his cigar holder from his pocket, contemplated it and pushed it back in again. ‘I went down there with Paskall on the Monday after, and we had a look at how much had been done and discussed whether or not we should stop or go on. We decided to stop until we knew more about how the work was to be paid for. The weather was against us in any case.’
‘What was the weather like that day?’
‘Abominably cold, even colder than London. Frost almost as thick as snow, ground solid as a rock.’
‘Do you think, if the body had been there then, you would have seen it?’
‘Yes, I’m sure of it. Paskall had a better look than I did, and he saw nothing.’ Frances had a mental picture of Bartholomew Paskall tramping about the site while Matthews hovered impatiently nearby, muffled up warmly and taking sips of brandy from a flask.
‘And after that visit, did you go straight back to London?’
‘No, Paskall did as he had people to do business with. I stayed at the house that night. There were some estate matters to attend to.’
‘And you had no visitors?’
‘No, nor was I expecting any. Had I been, I would have sent a man with the dog cart to fetch them from the station.’
‘When did you return to town?’
‘Early the next morning. My manager drove me down to the station. It was still dark, and if there had been a body there then it would have been impossible to see it.’
‘And then, I understand, not long afterwards, Reverend Farrelly sent you a letter asking for a fence to be put up so no one could stumble into the open trenches.’