Read The Daughters of Gentlemen Online
Authors: Linda Stratmann
Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #General
The Daughters of Gentlemen (5 page)
HAPTER
F
OUR
O
n her way home Frances called to see Mr Fiske. On being told by the servant that he was in conference with a gentleman, Frances extracted the information that the gentleman concerned was the aspiring publisher, Mr Miggs, and said that this was very convenient as she wished to see them both. After exercising some firmness, she was admitted to their presence. Mr Miggs, she found, was a man of about twenty-five, impeccably dressed but with the most unattractive set of Dundreary whiskers she had ever seen and an intensely serious expression, as if he hoped that by denying his youthfulness he might thereby command greater respect. He professed himself charmed to be introduced to Frances, about whom he had read in the newspapers, and presented her with a crisp little business card which he extracted from a silver case. Mr Fiske, on seeing Frances, was at first hopeful that she had come to say she had resolved the problem of the pamphlets, then disappointed to find that she had not, then astonished that she wanted to question him, puzzled that she wanted to question Mr Miggs too, and finally alarmed that she also wished to speak to Mr Sandcourt. Frances, who had for many years been used to dealing with the petulant and unpredictable mood changes of her father, had no difficulty at all in managing Mr Fiske. She quickly confirmed that neither he nor Mr Miggs had entered the schoolroom on their visit to the Academy, and secured a letter of introduction to Mr Sandcourt.
Julius Sandcourt was what was popularly called a self-made man, though whether he had constructed himself on humble foundations or from the broken remains of other men, Frances did not know. There had been a pretty society wedding a year before, when Selina Matthews, then just twenty-two, had married Mr Sandcourt, whose wealth and age were said to be greater even than those of her father. The Sandcourts lived in one of the superior premises on Inverness Terrace, and kept six servants and two carriages. Frances had intended to present a note asking for an appointment but Mr Fiske’s letter was sufficient to admit her to the drawing room where Mr Sandcourt, his wife and another young lady were engaged in conversation. Frances might once have been impressed by the evidence she saw about her of wealth; the fine furniture, rich upholstery, paintings and porcelain heavy with the dull gleam of gilding, with which the room was almost oppressively filled, but she had learned that money alone did not make for happiness, and resolved to judge only on what she found.
Her first impression of Mr Sandcourt was that he was not, despite his name, an Englishman. The cast of his features; the mouth, nose, cheekbones and brows too large for an already broad face; the wiry grey hair and tint of his skin denoted a more exotic origin. As he rose to greet her she saw that he was several inches shorter than she, and rather stout, nevertheless he had a charming smile. Selina’s face – as white and beautiful as a marble statue – was surmounted by a mass of shining, almost black, hair, elegantly arranged, her features and colouring sufficiently like that of one of the school governors in Mrs Venn’s photograph to proclaim her as his daughter. Her gown was of the latest French fashion, something Frances had only ever seen in shop windows, the elaborate trimmings designed more to display wealth than to please the eye. She would, on her husband’s arm, have appeared as a rich jewel pinned to his sleeve. Selina, when she glanced at her husband, which she did infrequently, did so with a well-practised expression of warm regard.
Their companion was Lydia Matthews, who was aged about twenty and, despite every artifice, could not boast even one tenth of her sister’s beauty. Her parchment paleness gave her a sickly look, and this was not enhanced by hair of an indeterminate shade between light brown and faded red, swept back from sharply pinched features. While Mr Sandcourt was courteous and friendly towards Frances, and Selina gazed on her with curiosity, Lydia regarded the visitor as if he had been a scullery maid, who had ventured where she had no permission to be.
‘Thank you for agreeing to see me,’ said Frances.
‘But I am very pleased to see
you
, Miss Doughty,’ said Sandcourt, with an accent less of Eastern Europe than East London. ‘I read about you in the newspapers, and a very exciting read it was too.’ He signalled to the maid to bring some refreshment. ‘If I ever need the services of a detective, I shall think of you first!’
Out of the corner of her eye Frances saw Lydia’s mouth twitch.
‘I have come on behalf of Mr Fiske,’ Frances began, not sure how to introduce the subject.
‘Oh, it must be about those stupid papers at the school,’ said Lydia loudly. ‘I’m sure I don’t know why he troubles himself!’
Frances realised that Lydia must have heard about the incident from her younger sisters, and thought that Mr Fiske’s hope that the affair might be kept secret was an ambition that had collapsed long ago. It was probably the subject of animated gossip at every tea table in Bayswater.
‘Mr Fiske has supported the school for many years,’ said Selina, her voice altogether more soothing than her sister’s. ‘I expect you know, Miss Doughty, that Lydia and I were both pupils there. It is a fine school.’
‘Oh, it is good enough, I suppose,’ said Lydia, carelessly, ‘but why should we think of it now?’
Selina made a slight gesture, the fingertips of one hand curving in lightly to touch her abdomen. ‘Julius intends to become a patron,’ she said. The maid brought a tray with sherry and sweet biscuits. Selina waved it aside, but Lydia nibbled a biscuit and Frances accepted one, while Sandcourt poured himself a large sherry and took a handful of biscuits without troubling himself about a plate.
‘I have visited the school and met Mrs Venn,’ said Sandcourt. ‘She seems like a good sort of woman.’
‘You were there on Tuesday, I believe?’ asked Frances.
‘I was.’
‘It is believed that the pamphlets were placed in the girls’ desks either on the Tuesday or the Wednesday,’ said Frances.
‘I hope you don’t suspect Mr Sandcourt!’ exclaimed Lydia. ‘That would be the stupidest thing I ever heard!’
‘Not at all,’ said Frances hastily, ‘I only meant —’
‘I know what you meant,’ said Sandcourt, cheerily, ‘and I can tell you I saw no one about when I called apart from the maid and Mrs Venn. But it’s not a serious matter, is it? Perhaps it was meant to be an advertisement. There’s any number of little printing works after contracts to produce posters and pamphlets and looking for cheap ways to advertise.’
‘But the nature of the material … ‘ queried Frances, ‘and the location…?’
‘It has us all talking, though, and trying to find out who did it!’ he said with a chuckle. ‘It’ll be some young business type who’ll come up with a smile and then try to make his name out of it. I should like to meet
him
.’
Lydia laughed. ‘I think Miss Doughty put them there on purpose to make a name for herself!’ she said. ‘Then she will blame it on some servant and be in all the newspapers again.’
Selina allowed a slight frown to ripple across her flawless forehead. ‘Are you feeling well, my dear?’ asked Sandcourt.
‘If I may, I would like to rest now,’ she said softly.
‘But it’s almost dinner time! You must eat, you know.’
She nodded. ‘I know. Have a little light supper sent up in about an hour and I will see what I can manage.’
Sandcourt eased himself out of his chair and escorted his wife to the drawing room door. Frances took the cue to depart. ‘If you don’t mind my mentioning it,’ she said to Selina, ‘I understand that sipping a little aerated water may help the – er – discomfort.’ Selina gave a faint smile.
That evening, Chas and Barstie returned, freshly suited and booted and almost rosy cheeked with confidence. They had been hard at work on Frances’ commission and were bursting with information, which they imparted over a simple supper of soup, bread, cheese, pickles and cold meat. ‘Mr Fiske professes to be an author, which is a highly unprofitable occupation except for those rare few who catch the public fancy such as Mr Dickens,’ said Chas. ‘His main assets are a string of grocery shops and a clever wife. He also had the great good fortune never to have invested in the Bayswater Bank.’
Frances, whose recent success in exposing the activities of a scoundrel had precipitated the sudden and disastrous failure of the Bayswater Bank, felt a momentary twinge of guilt, but she quickly reminded herself that had she not revealed the crimes when she did the crash would still have come but much later, and would therefore have been far worse.
‘His associate Mr Arthur Miggs is employed by the Grant Publishing Company of Farringdon, but plans to start his own business. He is energetic, ambitious, and, by all accounts, honest to a fault.’
‘I became acquainted with Mr Sandcourt today,’ Frances observed. ‘He struck me as very pleasant.’
‘Or Sandrovitch, as he was once known,’ said Barstie. ‘He made his fortune in the fur trade. It is said he has warehouses and workshops all over London.’
‘I also met Mrs Sandcourt and her younger sister, Lydia,’ Frances added, ‘and I was struck by how unalike they are, both in appearance and character. I can guess that Mrs Sandcourt most closely resembles her father, but I have never seen Mrs Matthews. Is she alive?’
‘She is not,’ said Barstie. ‘I believe she was an invalid for some years and was taken to Italy in the hope that she would improve. She regained her strength and even became a mother again, but it was too much for her and she died soon afterwards.’
‘Does Miss Lydia have a sweetheart?’ asked Frances, thinking it very unlikely.
‘No, but she has set her cap at so many it is all but worn out,’ said Chas. ‘She is like a pickled lime – sharp, and not to everyone’s taste.’
‘Surely her father’s wealth will attract a suitor?’ said Frances.
‘Ah, well, as to wealth …’ Chas shook his head. ‘There are many kinds of wealth. There is property you may safely dispose of and property which you would rather not. Then there is wealth as land and what lies on it, and wealth you may put in your pocket. There is money you may enjoy freely and money which is already spoken for before you get it.’
‘And Mr Matthews’ wealth?’
‘He has land and buildings on a nice little estate at Havenhill, not far from Uxbridge, which he uses to produce his income, but he has suffered lately as so many have with the downturn in trade, and he also made large losses when the bank crashed. He is not ruined, and neither is he poor, but he has a large family. One son has gone abroad to make his own way in business and one daughter is married, but there are three boys at school, three girls unmarried and a ward. How is all that to be paid for?’
‘One or two wards?’ asked Barstie, thoughtfully. ‘That hardly matters,’ replied Chas. ‘Any number of wards are cheaper than one daughter. Grateful for whatever they are allowed. Related through some cousin or other of his late wife.’
‘But there is a rumour —,’ said Barstie with a smile.
‘Not just a rumour but a very popular belief —,’ said Chas significantly.
‘Practically a certainty —,’ added Barstie.
‘That Mr Matthews hopes to mend his fortunes by marriage.’
Money and marriage, thought Frances. How closely they were related. Even though the law now permitted married women to keep what they earned or inherited after they were wed, it was still believed to be in their own interests that such property as they possessed on marriage should pass to their husbands.
‘When is the wedding to be?’ asked Frances.
‘Oh, never, if I hear it right,’ said Chas. ‘The lady in question is none other than Mr Paskall’s sister, a duchess no less, and a widow, who has a fortune and a most determined mind of her own.’
‘And intends to hold on to them both,’ said Barstie.
‘Mr Paskall has alluded in the newspapers to his noble connection,’ said Frances, ‘chiefly when he discusses the coming election, but I had not realised it was so close as a sister. How did that come about?’
‘It is a pretty tale,’ said Chas. ‘The lady is Margaret, Duchess of Kenworth, and all by the strangest chance.’ Having ensured the attention of his audience, Chas helped himself to more cold meat and refreshed his teacup before proceeding.
‘The first Duke had three sons and she married the youngest one. But it was not a prudent marriage for it was all for love and nothing else. And no sooner were they wed than she found that her husband was addicted to the bottle and had squandered what little fortune he had. Luckily for the lady the two older brothers were sympathetic to her position, but then it suited them to be. To avoid scandal and trouble to themselves they agreed to pay their unfortunate brother an allowance, but only so long as he never touched a penny of it and his wife consented to look after him. Peace of mind and respectability, and all to be had on the cheap, or so they thought, because no one would have given twopence for their brother’s chances of living another six months. But the lady still loved him and devoted herself to him, and under her care he was very much improved, and I am told that when he was sober he was a good husband. They had a daughter, who is said to be very beautiful and delicately brought up. But here is where the hand of fate can be seen. The eldest brother, who was by then the second Duke, married a lady who, while excellent in almost every way, was unable to supply him with an heir. He urged his brother – the second son – to marry, and the poor fellow was on his way to pay court to the lady of his choice when he suffered an unfortunate accident and died. Ten or so years later, the Duke himself passed on, and the youngest brother – on the longest possible odds – found himself the third Duke, with land and money and plate and paintings, not that he was able to enjoy them for long.’
‘And these will all belong to the Duchess’s husband if she marries again?’ asked Frances.
‘The landed estate, by settlement, will come to the daughter when she is 21 – she is now 14 – but the rest, and one may only guess the value, is rich pickings for ardent gentlemen. There were suitors paying their addresses even before she was in semi–mourning. Several tried to persuade her that she was not able to manage her fortune, which would be better placed in their hands, but she would not listen.’
‘And,’ said Barstie, ‘she has proved herself to be an excellent manager, with clever investments and careful living. Her only ambition now is to give her daughter every refinement and see her married well.’
‘So Mr Matthews is a fortune hunter,’ said Frances, ‘and cares nothing for the lady.’
‘I think he is,’ said Chas, airily, ‘as are all men in one way or another. If the daughter was 21 I hardly think he would have troubled himself about the mother.’
‘What does Mr Paskall think of Mr Matthews paying court to his sister?’ asked Frances.
‘Ah, what did I tell you, Barstie?’ said Chas with a smile of triumph. ‘Miss Doughty sees all that there is to see!’
‘Oh, I wish that was true,’ sighed Frances.
‘Mr Paskall and Mr Matthews are, like Barstie and me, old friends, who first became acquainted at school. And a wonderful pair of
harum scarum
rascals they were in their youth, always up to pranks, though they wouldn’t want to be reminded of that
now
.
‘Mr Paskall, who, as I am sure you know, hopes to be voted in for the Conservatives at the next election, was one of the many who made losses when the Bayswater Bank collapsed, though he has kept very quiet about it and would deny it to your face if asked. He would dearly love to lay his hands on his sister’s fortune, but she will let him have none of it, even as a loan. She is afraid that he will lose it, as he lost the rest. Not one penny will she let him have, for she knows that once she has weakened and allowed him some then he will be constantly returning to her for more.
But
supposing she was to marry Mr Matthews, her fortune would then become his and
he
would be very amenable to lending Mr Paskall the funds he requires.’
‘And what of the daughter?’ exclaimed Frances. ‘His own niece? Would he leave her poor?’
‘She will have enough to meet Mr Paskall’s ambitions,’ said Barstie. ‘He would rather she marry a tradesman with money than a title with none.’
‘But I expect her mother wants her fortune to attract a husband in the high life,’ said Frances. ‘How has the daughter been educated?’
‘By private tutor, in keeping with her mother’s desires.’
‘Oh, and one more thing,’ said Chas. ‘Matthews, Paskall and Fiske are the governors of the Bayswater Academy for the Education of Young Ladies, where those scurrilous pamphlets were left the other day. But I expect you already know that.’ He winked at Frances.
