The Daughters of Gentlemen (8 page)

T
he carrier came early next morning when the Grove was coming to life. Delivery carts rumbled along the roadway, and the carriages of early customers were already prowling. Shutters went up with a rattle and a bang, and shop assistants in neat uniforms scurried to take their places. The sweepers were already out and the swish of their busy brushes and the footsteps of passers-by were like the background refrain of an orchestra, to which the clank of harness, the snorting of horses in the cold air, and the shouts of drivers added a contrasting measure. Frances, who had grown up with this morning chorus, had no idea of how she might feel to leave it. To the rooms of her old home, now bare, she had already said her farewells, and concluded that while she ought perhaps to have shed some tears, that she had rarely been happy there. The recent discovery that her father had lied to her, as indeed had her Uncle Cornelius, about the loss of her mother, although both with her interests at heart, had meant she was leaving her past behind with even less regret than she might have done.

Sarah looked at her with a worried expression but Frances smiled reassuringly and said only that they had better get the boxes. Between the carrier and the two women, assisted by Chas and Barstie, they soon loaded the cart and it was a matter of minutes to reach their new home.

Leaving Sarah to unpack their possessions, Frances hurried to Salem Gardens, where she found a neglected pot of broth cooling beside the fire and Mrs Springett sitting at the table with two young men, all deep in conference. The dark haired muscular man with intense brooding eyes was similar enough to his mother to be identified as Jem Springett, while the other, taller and more slightly built with yellow hair who sat anxiously twisting and untwisting his fingers, was undoubtedly the sweetheart, Davey.

‘Miss Doughty – do you have any news of Matilda?’ asked Mrs Springett jumping up, her face bright with anticipation.

‘I am sorry, I have learned nothing,’ Frances admitted. ‘I was hoping when I came here that she might have returned.’

The unhappy mother wrung her hands in distraction and paced back and forth. ‘Davey and Jem have been out and about day and night looking everywhere they can think of, and I have asked all the neighbours if they have seen her, but no one knows where she can have gone.’ Jem got up to comfort her with a rough but affectionate hug, but tears started in her eyes and she had neither the energy nor the will to mop them away.

Frances sat at the table and faced Davey. ‘I am looking into the matter of some pamphlets that were distributed at the school,’ she said. ‘Do you know if Matilda had anything to do with that?’

Davey looked mystified. ‘I don’t know anything about any pamphlets,’ he said.

‘What are you saying?’ exclaimed Jem. ‘That she did something wrong?’

‘No, not at all, but it did cause some – consternation.’

‘And why do they send you here, asking us questions?’ Jem demanded. ‘Mother was very upset after you called before, and we don’t want you coming back!’

‘I have been engaged to make enquiries by the school governors,’ Frances explained.

‘I told you so!’ declared Davey. ‘This is the detective lady who was in all the papers! If she is clever enough to find out murderers she’ll soon have Tilly safe home!’ The innocent hope in his voice both touched Frances’ heart and made her afraid. How she wished that she had a world of experience that could have prepared her for this, and a whole army of assistant detectives.

‘When did you last see Matilda?’ she asked Davey.

‘It was on Tuesday,’ he replied readily. ‘I know I’m not supposed to, but she said it would be allright, so I went to the back door and she gave me a cup of tea. I was only there a few minutes. There was no harm in it.’

‘And how did she seem to you? Was she happy, or perhaps worried about something?’

‘Oh no, she was very happy. We talked about —,’ he blushed a little, ‘about how it wasn’t long before we were wed.’

‘It’s a costly business, starting a new home,’ said Frances. ‘Was Matilda concerned about the expense?’

‘No; well I have my work and I’m going to start up my own carpentry shop, and Tilly has something put by …’ His voice trailed to silence and he looked down. Frances could see that he was holding something back, though whether it had anything to do with Matilda’s disappearance or the pamphlets it was impossible to say. He gulped suddenly. ‘Oh I do hope she is safe! I know she is a good and faithful girl and would never run off with another man!’

‘Have you sent her a note in the last few days or has she sent you one?’

Davey shook his head. Frances thought that questions regarding the twenty sovereigns might be better left for another time, when Matilda’s mother and brother were not there. She turned to Jem, who regarded her with a surly look, his dark eyes fierce under heavy brows. ‘I am sure that if you had seen her or could offer any clue as to where she is, you would tell me,’ she said.

‘I would,’ he said firmly.

‘Have the police been told she is missing?’

Mrs Springett and Jem exchanged worried glances. ‘No,’ whispered the mother. ‘It would be best not – how would they know where to look? We will find her.’

‘I think,’ said Frances, rising to her feet, ‘that if Matilda is not heard from today, you should go to the police.’

Mrs Springett seemed to shrink inwards, as if her body had been eaten away from within by anxiety, but Davey looked up and nodded. ‘I’ll go,’ he said. ‘Even if she is in some sort of trouble, she’s still my girl and I’ll stand by her.’

‘We might have to at that,’ said Jem, gruffly.

‘I hope it won’t come to that,’ said Mrs Springett, laying her hand on her son’s arm and pressing it for comfort. ‘Besides, what can the police do, who don’t know her? It’s best for her family to look out for her.’ She took a deep breath, pulled her shoulders back, and made herself once more the Springett matriarch. ‘Now then, Jem, Davey, you’d better both get something to eat to keep your strength up, and then you can go out looking again.’

Frances prepared to leave, wishing she had the authority not only to search the house but take each member of the family individually and shake them hard to dislodge their secrets. As she went to the door there was a tapping of the knocker and Mrs Springett, her son and Davey all leaped in sudden excitement. ‘Oh, please let it be her!’ gasped Mrs Springett, making a dash for the door to wrench it open. Frances saw Davey’s face brighten with hope and Jem’s angry scowl suddenly smoothed.

There was disappointment outside, however. A woman clad in a plain stuff dress with her sleeves rolled to her elbows, her arms reddened from hot water, stood at the door.

‘Oh, it’s you, Eliza,’ said Mrs Springett, forgetting manners in her emotion and turning her back to hide her face.

‘Has anything been heard?’ asked Davey.

Eliza came in, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘It’s only —,’ she said, and stopped.

Mrs Springett whirled to confront her neighbour. ‘Have you seen her?’

‘No, no I’ve not and I don’t want to come here worrying you about nothing, but you’ll hear about it soon enough from someone else, and I thought —,’ she passed a thick forearm across her forehead. ‘There’s a woman’s body been found. In the Serpentine.’

Mrs Springett gave a little scream and Davey exclaimed, ‘Oh don’t say that!’

Jem put his arm about his mother. ‘Come on, then, Mrs Brooks, best give it all,’ he said.

Eliza seemed to be regretting her intrusion. ‘It’s some poor creature who’s drowned herself and they don’t know who she is. I mean, there’s all sorts of women throw themselves into the Serpentine, but I know Tilda and she never had any reason to do anything like that so I’m sure it can’t be her.’

Davey shook his head. ‘No, it won’t be my Tilly. She’d never do anything like that.’

‘Right – well, I’d best go then,’ said Mrs Brooks with some embarrassment, and backed away.

Mrs Springett began to cry and Jem hugged her tightly. ‘Now then, Mother, no need for that. I’ll go straight there and have a look just so we know for sure it’s not our Tilda. I’ll find a carrier’s cart to take me and I’ll be there and back in no time. Davey, you can go out looking for her, and Mother you wait in, in case she comes back. Mrs Brooks!’ he called after the retreating figure of the neighbour, who stopped reluctantly. ‘Come on in and sit with Mother while we go out. Do I go to the Receiving House? Is that where they have the body?’

The neighbour nodded and crept back indoors, while Jem hurried out followed by Davey. ‘Well,’ said Mrs Brooks after a pause, ‘I’d better make some tea.’ Mrs Springett sank into a chair, her hands clasped over her mouth.

Frances helped Mrs Brooks with the tea and took the opportunity to question her. ‘When was the body found?’ she asked softly. She hoped her question would not disturb Mrs Springett, but a glance told her that that lady was locked deep in her own nightmare.

Mrs Brooks was so flustered that she didn’t think to ask who the stranger was. ‘Nigh on an hour ago, and if it hadn’t been found then it would have lain in the dark till morning. It was under one of the arches of the bridge. One of the boatmen pulled it out, and took it up to the Receiving House, but there was nothing they could do.’ She leaned closer. ‘I know that it was a woman,’ she whispered, ‘a young woman. Perhaps she was up on the bridge and threw herself over into the water.’

They drank tea in a silence that was broken only by Mrs Springett’s whimpers. Deaths in the Serpentine, Frances knew, were not uncommon, though more usually in the warmer months when the waters were in regular use by bathers and boats and there were accidents. Sometimes it was no accident, but a deliberate act of terrible desperation. Mrs Brooks tried to coax Mrs Springett into taking some tea, and Frances took advantage of the distraction to slip upstairs and look about, but saw no sign that Matilda had been there recently. She returned to the parlour after a quick glance into the front room, which was, as she had surmised, for Sunday and holiday best, and explained her absence by admitting with some embarrassment that she had been looking for the WC. ‘It’s out back,’ said Mrs Brooks, as if it could scarcely be anywhere else, and Frances went through the scullery to the garden, where there was a small outhouse and a shed with a washing boiler. She pried for as long as she could without it exciting comment, but everything was as it should be.