The Daughters of Gentlemen (2 page)

T
he door was opened by a diminutive maidservant with a pointed chin, sharp nose, sparkling eyes and more bounce in her manner than Frances would have thought appropriate.

‘Miss Doughty to see Mrs Venn,’ said Frances.

‘You’re expected,’ said the maid tartly. ‘Follow me.’

Frances, realising that her position in the house ranked just a fraction above tradesperson, entered a narrow high-ceilinged hallway, the walls adorned with botanical prints and pastel-shaded maps, and followed the maid up a flight of stairs to a heavy polished door, the brass plate announcing ‘Mrs H. Venn, Headmistress’.

As Frances was ushered into the study, the headmistress rose to meet her with a coolness of manner which was more than mere formality. Frances recognised at once to her considerable dismay that she was not wanted there, and the tight-lipped politeness of Mrs Venn’s greeting only confirmed that impression. She realised with some concern that when Mr Fiske had engaged her he had almost certainly done so without previously consulting Mrs Venn, something the lady could only have seen as a personal affront.

Mrs Venn was a lady of more than middle height and aged about forty-five. Her carriage was dignified without being unnaturally rigid, her air that of confidence in her own domain. She wore a plain costume of stout dark cloth with a bunch of keys at her waist, a fob watch on a chain about her neck, and a discreet mourning brooch at her throat. Her hair, once pale brown, now streaked with grey, was swept into a high knot. She had never been beautiful, but the approach of the middle time of life had lent her a poise that was not unflattering.

The study was small and well lined with books and ledgers, the desk neither too cluttered, which would have indicated a disordered mind, nor too bare, which would have suggested idleness. Everything was tidily arranged, and Frances felt sure that Mrs Venn would be able to lay her hand on any document required at a moment’s notice. There was a small, framed portrait on the wall, a painting in oils of a gentleman with bushy brows and a wide mouth with a pendulous lower lip that gave him a mournful if eccentrically intelligent look. Frances suspected that this was the late Professor Venn. There was also, very prominently displayed, a photograph of the front of the school building, with a group of three gentlemen – one of whom Frances recognised as Mr Fiske – standing on the steps handing a key to the Professor, with Mrs Venn a decorous shadow at his side. Of the other two gentlemen, whom Frances assumed were Fiske’s fellow governors, one was tall with a proud handsome face, while the other had a less flattering profile. Behind them was a small group of demure and identically dressed schoolgirls.

‘I must apologise for this intrusion,’ Frances began, in what she hoped was a suitably mollifying tone. ‘It is my intention to carry out what I have been asked to do with the least possible disruption to the work of the school.’

If there was a softening of Mrs Venn’s expression, the device that could have measured it had not yet been constructed. ‘Since the governors have appointed you to make enquiries, I will of course extend my full co-operation to enable you to complete them speedily,’ said the headmistress, in a voice that could have attracted frost. ‘My own opinion is that the whole matter is a trivial, childish piece of mischief, best forgotten.’

‘That is my thought exactly,’ said Frances, deeming it best to start by agreeing as far as possible with whatever the headmistress might say. Mrs Venn waved her to a seat and Frances took out her notebook and pencil, while Mrs Venn resumed her place behind the desk and sat in almost regal pose, her hands clasped comfortably before her. ‘I would like to begin by seeing a copy of the pamphlet.’

‘I am afraid that is not possible,’ said Mrs Venn.

Frances smiled. ‘I know that I am very young, but I will do my best not to be shocked by its contents.’

‘I meant,’ said Mrs Venn, ‘that they have been destroyed. On finding them my one thought was to protect my girls. Had I known that the governors would appoint someone to look into the matter I would of course have retained one for you to see.’

‘Well, that is a setback,’ Frances admitted, ‘but I am sure I will find a copy elsewhere. In the meantime could you tell me as much as you can remember about it – the title and the author – the publisher?’

‘I did not make a note of the publisher,’ said Mrs Venn. ‘I doubt if a respectable establishment was employed. It was an unpleasant, cheap thing, little more than a page folded in two and the interior printed. The title was something like “Why Marry?”, or some such nonsense. The author did not have the courage to provide a name.’

‘And the object of the pamphlet was to persuade girls not to marry?’

‘It appeared so. The entire tenor was most objectionable.’

Frances made a note in her book. ‘Can you recall any of its content?’

‘Miss Doughty, I have better employment for my mind than memorising material fit only for the fireplace.’ Mrs Venn gave a tilt of the chin that told Frances that she had now said all she would say on that subject.

A chart on the wall was a boldly lettered timetable of lessons, and Frances rose and studied it carefully. ‘I understand that Charlotte Fiske discovered the pamphlet in her arithmetic book at approximately nine o’clock yesterday morning. According to this timetable, the last time she would without doubt have opened that book was in a lesson which was held the previous morning between eleven and twelve o’clock. If the pamphlet had been there then, she would have seen it, so it must have been placed there between those times. I will need to interview Charlotte, of course, but I will also require a list of all persons who were in the school between those hours, and a copy of this timetable. I will also need to see the schoolroom.’

Mrs Venn’s expression did not change, but the fingers of one hand tapped on the back of the other in a small gesture of annoyance. ‘Very well,’ she said at last, taking a copy of the timetable from her desk drawer and handing it to Frances. ‘I will compose a list for you of all pupils, teaching staff and servants. I do not, of course, know what callers there were at the servants’ entrance, you must speak to the housemaid Matilda about that. I received three visitors on the afternoon of March 2nd. Mr Julius Sandcourt, the husband of a former pupil, came at two o’clock to discuss his desire to invest in the future of the school. He was here for about half an hour. Mrs Sandcourt is the eldest daughter of Mr Roderick Matthews, one of the governors. I then received a visit from Mr Fiske, with whom you are already acquainted, and he brought with him a Mr Miggs, who is establishing a new business publishing educational books. They wish me to write a book about the instruction of girls. They were here between four and five o’clock and took tea. I think we may assume that none of these visitors wish any harm either to the school or its pupils.’

‘I agree,’ said Frances, although she added all those names together with that of the third governor, Mr Paskall, to the list of people to whom she might speak. Even if someone was not a suspect, she thought their knowledge of the school might provide an insight which would lead to the culprit. ‘How long have the servants been with the school?’

‘I have no reason to suspect their involvement, if that is what you mean,’ said Mrs Venn. ‘The housemaid, Matilda, has been with us since the school opened, some ten years ago. She is due to be married very soon, and has every expectation of happiness. Mrs Robson, the cook, has been with us for seven years. Her husband, of whom I understand she has no complaint, is a coachman and they reside in Porchester Mews. Mrs Thorn, a widow, comes in to help with the cleaning twice a week, on Mondays and Fridays, as she has done for a similar length of time.’

Frances wrote this down. ‘And now I would like to speak to Charlotte and see the schoolroom.’

Mrs Venn consulted her watch. ‘There is a lesson about to conclude in a few minutes. Let us go down.’

Frances learned that there were two schoolrooms, both on the ground floor. They did not connect and each had a separate entrance from the hallway. At the far end of the house another door gave access to stairs, which led to the basement kitchen and a room where meals were taken.

Mrs Venn first showed Frances the front room, which was currently unoccupied. Because of its size and the generous natural light, it was used for music, dance, deportment and art. There was a small pianoforte in one corner and a cupboard for paints and brushes. The walls were tastefully decorated with examples of the girls’ work, which showed that the most recent subject studied was a vase of flowers, and there was also a pretty display of painted fans and posies of dried flowers embellished with ribbon. Frances inspected the room and made polite compliments, until the movement of feet next door told her that the French lesson with Mlle Girard had ended. They passed into the hallway, where the teacher, a dainty little woman of about twenty-five, was ushering the girls from the room. The pupils, who appeared to range in age from twelve to seventeen, were clad in plain grey dresses and spotless white pinafores, each girl’s hair shining as if brushed only moments ago, and tied with a grey bow. Mrs Venn spoke briefly to Mlle Girard, who cast her dark eyes and an arched eyebrow at Frances. She then spoke to one of the girls before departing with her youthful train following, leaving Charlotte Fiske, who was already starting to look afraid, in the custody of Mrs Venn.

‘Come with me, Charlotte,’ said Mrs Venn, in a far kinder tone than she had reserved for Frances. ‘This is Miss Doughty, who would like to ask you some questions.’

Charlotte was fourteen but looked younger. She re-entered the schoolroom timidly, and Frances realised that with her awkward height, she must tower over the girl. She wondered what Charlotte was most afraid of – being blamed herself, or causing another’s disgrace.

The schoolroom was comfortably large enough for a class of twelve. There were individual wooden desks with lids, arranged in three rows of four, a higher desk and chair for the teacher, and a large cupboard for stationery. A blackboard rested on an easel and had already been thoroughly scoured. A chart on the wall listed which girls were responsible for such tasks as cleaning the board after each lesson, the supply of ink, and ensuring that the room was tidy before being vacated. There were maps on display, some framed embroidery samplers, and a portrait of the Queen. Frances would have preferred to speak to Charlotte alone, but Mrs Venn at once went to the instructor’s chair, sat down, took up a pen and looked immovable.

‘Charlotte,’ said Frances gently, ‘Your father has asked me to find out who put the pamphlets in the desks. I know it was very upsetting for everyone, so when I know who that person is I would like to speak to them and ask them not to do it again.’

Charlotte’s lower lip trembled. ‘I don’t know who did it – really I don’t!’

‘And I believe you,’ Frances reassured her. ‘But I am hoping you may be able to help me. I know that you are a clever girl and your Papa and Mama are very proud of you.’ Charlotte looked less afraid and managed a little smile. ‘So – would you like to show me where you found the pamphlet?’

Charlotte went to a desk on the far side of the room and opened the lid. Inside Frances saw a pencil case and a pile of exercise books with covers of different colours denoting the subject within – green for botany, blue for French, pink for arithmetic and so on. Charlotte’s name, written with a studied effort at neatness, was on every book. The French book was on top of the pile and Frances picked it up, to see immediately underneath it a primer of French phrases and a book of nouns and verbs. ‘So when you have just completed a lesson, the books for that lesson are generally to be found on top,’ said Frances. ‘Can you show me which book the pamphlet was in?’

Charlotte quickly rifled through the desk and found her arithmetic primer, a volume of about a hundred pages and some smaller booklets of about eight pages each, which were sets of exercises. ‘It was in here,’ said Charlotte, holding out a booklet devoted to the subject of long division.

Frances took the booklet. ‘Whereabouts in your desk was this yesterday morning?’ she asked.

‘It was inside my arithmetic book. That was underneath most of the others.’

‘And when did you last look at these exercises?’

‘At the lesson the day before.’

‘You are sure that the pamphlet was not there then?’

‘Oh yes, quite sure,’ said Charlotte. At that moment the doorbell sounded.

Frances turned to the headmistress. ‘Mrs Venn, I believe you conducted the search of the other desks?’

‘Together with Miss Baverstock, yes,’ said Mrs Venn, somewhat taken aback to be made the object of questioning in front of one of her pupils.

‘I suppose that no note was made of exactly where each pamphlet was found?’

The headmistress set her mouth in a firm line of displeasure.

‘I am sure that at the time no such need was anticipated,’ said Frances.

‘You are correct. All I can tell you is that they were in locations similar to that Charlotte has described.’

‘Tucked well away so that someone making a routine inspection of the desks would not have seen them,’ said Frances.

‘Exactly so.’

There was a knock on the door and the maidservant entered.

‘Yes Matilda, what is it?’ asked Mrs Venn.

‘It’s Mr Rawsthorne to see you Ma’am.’