The Poisonous Seed (16 page)

‘Oh, there’s many a gentleman looks respectable enough but goes out visiting that sort,’ said Ettie scornfully. She paused. ‘Now Mr Keane, we’ve never been sure what
he
does, but I’ve always suspected there’s a woman in it somewhere. He often takes the gig and goes out alone, and Lord only knows where he goes or what he gets up to.’

Frances felt it appropriate to give a little gasp at this point. ‘Does your Mistress suspect him?’

Ettie gave a little laugh. ‘Oh, I don’t think Mistress cares one way or another. All their quarrels were over money.’

‘Surely not?’ exclaimed Frances, ‘what with Mr Keane being such a wealthy man? Or perhaps he is one of those misers who keeps all his money for himself and grudges his wife if she wants to dress in the latest fashion.’

Ettie gave a rapid glance over her shoulder then leaned closer. Frances held her breath, feeling sure that she was about to receive a confidence. ‘Mistress was saying how Mr Garton had left Master £50,000 in his will’ – Frances thought it right to give a slightly larger gasp than before – ‘and she said he ought to be able to spare something, and Master said he had thrown away quite enough money in the past and was not going to waste any more.’ She pursed her lips with disapproval.

‘How dreadful!’ exclaimed Frances.

‘Then she cried a great deal and said something about being ruined, and
he
said that the Garton family wanted the will overturned, so even if he wanted to part with the money, which he decidedly did not, he couldn’t lay his hands on it until everything was settled and that could be months or even years. And Mistress cried so hard I thought she would burst.’

‘Well,’ said Frances, ‘fancy that!’ She frowned. ‘Does Mr Garton have a very big family, for I never heard of any?’

‘Oh they are all in Italy, except for his brother Mr Cedric who visits from time to time.’ Ettie paused again, and Frances was silent in anticipation. ‘I heard Mr Harvey saying that the family in Italy are not as prosperous as they once were, and Mr Garton has left them not a penny piece in his will. Last year, Mr Cedric wrote to his brother on purpose to ask him to provide a pension for their father who is very aged and infirm and has had to retire from business. But apart from what was left to Master, everything has gone to Mrs Garton.’

Frances puzzled over how Mr Harvey could have acquired such an intimate knowledge of the Garton family’s financial affairs, but the information was detailed enough not to sound fanciful. ‘But Mr Garton was such a kind man, by all accounts,’ she said. ‘Why would he be so cruel to his own father?’

‘Well he might have been just about to change his will before he died,’ said Ettie.

Frances pondered this. If true, and the new will would mean a serious loss for James Keane, this gave him a clear motive for murder.

The breakfast things done, and put away, and a refreshing cup of tea consumed, Frances started to peel potatoes and cut up leeks while Ettie took dusters and brushes and went upstairs to clean the bedrooms. Work progressed in a companionable silence until Frances asked politely, ‘Have you been here long, Ellen?’

‘About a year. Longer than most.’ She smiled. ‘Servants don’t stay here, what with all the goings-on.’

‘Doesn’t it upset you, all the quarrelling?’

‘Oh, I don’t take any notice of that.’ Ellen started the vegetables cooking and arranged the cutlets in a large frying pan, then turned to Frances. ‘Miss Doughty?’

‘Yes,’ said Frances automatically, and then, ‘Oh!’

Ellen laughed, but in a pleasant way. ‘I
thought
it was you. I saw you once or twice in the shop. I would have liked to have worked in a chemist’s – all those pills and potions, it looks really interesting – only I never had the right schooling for it.’

Frances felt a great impulse to put on her coat and bonnet and leave at once. ‘Have you told the others who I am?’ she asked anxiously.

‘No,’ said Ellen, softly. ‘I think I can guess why you come here, and I understand, I really do.’ There was a sympathetic sadness in her eyes.

‘I need to find out the truth about Mr Garton’s death,’ exclaimed Frances. ‘My father is unwell and he can’t look after himself and he is being destroyed with unfair allegations, and the inquest is tomorrow, and —,’ she broke off, hardly able to speak with distress.

‘That must be very hard for you, Miss, but what can you do?’

‘I talk to people; I try to learn everything I can. Maybe someone will tell me something that will show the police that my father couldn’t have caused Mr Garton’s death!’

‘You mean like a detective, Miss?’

‘Yes,’ said Frances. She was sure by now that the girl would not give her away. ‘Ellen, is there anything that you know which might help me – you may have heard something by chance – what are people saying about Mr Garton?’

Ellen thought about it and gave a little gesture of helplessness. ‘Only that it’s a great shame he is dead and how upset Master is.’

‘And do they say that it was my father’s mistake that killed him?’

Ellen bent her head in regret. ‘I’m sorry, but what else is there to think?’

Frances sighed. She took her leave soon afterwards, not before asking Ellen to make sure and tell her if she heard anything of interest, which Ellen solemnly promised to do, though she did not leave Frances with any great hope that there was much to learn.

That afternoon, Frances received a note from Wilfred.

    Dear Miss Doughty

    Thank you for the address you sent me. I cannot imagine how you came by it, and I think it would be by far the best thing if I did not ask you, but if they were ever to appoint lady police officers then I would be sure to recommend you. The address was searched this morning, and there was no sign of Meadows or anybody else. The landlord said that the house was rented by a person of that name, but as he does not live on the premises he was unable to tell us who stayed there. We think that the rent was paid by Mr Garton. We did find some paint and ink stains, which suggest that the house could have been used as an artist’s studio. After our conversation yesterday, I wrote to the Gloucestershire Police asking what they know about where Mr Garton was at the time of John Wright’s murder. I will write to you or call when I have a reply,

    Wilfred Brown

Frances and Herbert were making the best of a quiet time in the shop when, to her surprise, the door opened admitting two gentlemen whom she had not expected to encounter again.

‘Good afternoon, good afternoon my dear Miss Doughty!’ exclaimed Chas, tipping his hat, and Barstie did likewise. Frances saw that not only were both in exuberant good spirits but they were dressed rather better than the last time she had seen them and Chas had a folded copy of a financial newspaper protruding rather ostentatiously from his pocket. ‘We must apologise for not introducing ourselves properly at our first meeting. My name is Charles Knight, and this is my good friend and business associate Seb
ar
stian Taylor. Both at your service!’

‘Good afternoon,’ she said. ‘I think I should mention that shortly after you called a few days ago a – er – friend of yours came looking for you.’

They exchanged glances. ‘Oh, Miss Doughty, I do hope you don’t think for one moment that the Filleter is any friend of ours,’ said Barstie, mournfully.

‘A rogue and a villain!’ declared Chas. ‘An individual best avoided.’

‘He seemed very anxious to find you,’ said Frances, mischievously.

‘Ah, well, perhaps we should explain,’ said Barstie. ‘The person in question was labouring under an unfortunate misapprehension at the time. He was of the belief that we were indebted to him in some way.’ The two men threw back their heads and laughed as if the very idea was ridiculous. ‘Quite incorrect, of course.’

‘But as it so happened,’ went on Chas, ‘our business commitments at that time did not permit us to correct that misapprehension. Only a few short days were required to settle everything to the satisfaction of all, yet those few days he would not allow.’

‘Which is where,’ said Barstie, ‘to our eternal gratitude, you assisted us.’

‘I did?’ said Frances in astonishment.

‘You did indeed,’ he assured her. ‘By making shall we say a tiny innocent error in directions, the Filleter thought that we were elsewhere. This gave us the time we required to conclude our arrangements. And thus the reason for our coming to see you now.’

‘We do not forget our debts,’ said Chas, expansively, ‘and most especially we do not forget our friends, especially a charming and intelligent young lady such as yourself, if I might be allowed to say so. We have come, Miss Doughty to ask you to tea.’

‘There is a very pretty little shop on the Grove,’ added Barstie, ‘where a refreshing pot of tea and a dainty bun may be had. We would be honoured if you would accompany us.’ Both men made a respectful bow.

Frances dared not look at the expression on Herbert’s face, as she felt sure that if she did she would burst out laughing. ‘That would be most pleasant,’ she said. ‘I am sure Mr Munson can manage very well in my absence.’ There was an indignant spluttering behind her, as she put on her bonnet and coat.

The Grove was unnaturally quiet, the continuing cold and damp hazy air discouraging the crowds that usually thronged the street. In the teashop a warm fire blazed, and waitresses in neat uniforms darted back and forth with laden trays of steaming teapots and delicious-looking cakes. Condensation streamed down the windows where the curtains, which must have been crisp and white that morning now hung limp and grey. The diners consisted mainly of overdressed ladies refreshing themselves after an arduous morning, choosing layettes and linen, gratefully drinking cups of hot tea and stifling rattling coughs. Frances made herself comfortable, and Chas and Barstie ordered the tea and buns.

‘Now Miss Doughty,’ began Chas. ‘If you do not think it impertinent, there is something I must say. We have over the last few days become aware of the distressing situation in which you find yourself, and may we say that if there is some small service we can perform to alleviate that situation, you have only to ask.’

‘Thank you,’ said Frances gratefully. ‘This is a very trying time. You must know that the inquest resumes tomorrow and the entire future of our business depends on the verdict. We have already suffered greatly, and unless my father is entirely exonerated I fear we may never recover.’

‘Are you confident of a happy outcome?’ asked Barstie, as the tea and buns arrived.

‘I —’ began Frances, and for a moment her reserve unexpectedly left her and she felt tears start in her eyes, tears which, to her embarrassment, she was quite unable to hide or stop. ‘There are terrible things afoot and I fear that my father is being made a scapegoat. I am speaking of murder!’ Chas and Barstie gazed at her in some alarm. There was a certain amount of murmured sympathy, offering of handkerchiefs and pouring of tea. The plate of buns was pushed in her direction, and then, as that did not have the desired effect, bread and butter, marmalade, cocoa, and finally potted shrimps were ordered and appeared, as if the application of food and drink could soothe her distress. Frances sat there helplessly with tears pouring down her cheeks and wondering why it was, when she was able to quell her emotions with those who meant most to her, she was suddenly bereft of proper control in front of two men who were almost total strangers.

‘Please be assured, my dear young lady,’ said Chas, ‘if there is anything in our power we may do to assist you, you have only to ask!’

‘Thank you,’ whispered Frances, drying her eyes.

‘You believe that Mr Garton was murdered?’ asked Barstie, in astonishment.

She nodded. ‘But by whom or how it was done, or why, I can only guess.’

‘This is all about money,’ declared Chas. ‘I can feel it – I can smell it – money! Take my advice, Miss Doughty, the important questions to ask are who has the money, where did he get it from, and who else lays claim to it. And don’t trust to outward appearances or who makes the most noise. There’s many a rogue in a carriage and pair with only someone else’s money to his name.’ He patted the newspaper at his side. ‘Now according to rumours in all the financial prints, Mr Garton left £150,000 – a very nice sum. Where did it all come from, I wonder?’

‘He inherited a shipping business from his grandfather,’ said Frances. ‘And I have been told that he left a third of his fortune to his friend Mr James Keane and the remainder to his widow. But he may have been about to change the will before he died, to leave a pension to his aged father.’

‘What did I say?’ said Chas triumphantly. ‘Motive! Motive plain and simple!’ he leaned forward excitedly. ‘Who do you suspect – the widow?’

‘I suspect Mr Keane,’ said Frances, confidently.

‘Ah yes, another gentleman of some standing in Bayswater. And where does
his
fortune come from, I should like to know?’

‘Well,’ said Frances, ‘there is his position in the bank —’

To her surprise they both gave a short laugh. ‘Mr Keane’s position is to puff himself up and strut like a turkey-cock,’ said Barstie, ‘but the Bayswater Bank is a small concern, and if you were to go there and ask for an interview with the manager it would not be Mr Keane who appeared.’

‘I think it is generally known that he owes the greater part of his wealth to his marriage,’ said Frances. ‘Mrs Keane is the former Miss Morgan, only daughter of Thomas Morgan, who has the great double-fronted fancy millinery shop on the Grove.’

‘Well, now, that is
very
interesting,’ said Chas. He leaned back, helped himself to a bun and munched thoughtfully.

‘Mr and Mrs Keane had a great quarrel only this morning about money,’ said Frances. ‘I think he is a very cruel man who will not keep his wife as she deserves. She begged him for some portion of the sum he was due to inherit, but he refused, and she was very distressed. He went so far as to say that he had thrown away a great deal of money in the past and would not do so again.’

‘Did he now?’ said Barstie softly and he and Chas exchanged knowing glances.

‘She even spoke of being ruined for lack of means,’ added Frances. ‘A man who would treat his wife with so little regard is surely capable of murder.’