Death Sits Down to Dinner (30 page)

Mrs. Jackson put a hand on George’s shoulder. “Matron
will
be sent away, George. And things will change here for the better.” But deep down inside she worried that it might not. Who was she to make these guarantees? But if not me, then her ladyship will step in, she thought with greater confidence.

*   *   *

When Mrs. Jackson returned to Chester Square she went to the between-stairs office and sat alone with her thoughts. Her mind went back several times to her own childhood in the parish orphanage. It had been a hard life, and their treatment was often callous but no one had been specifically cruel. And no one in the orphanage threatened the children with homelessness if they were disobedient. She waited until she felt quite calm and then she went upstairs to Miss Gaskell’s room and knocked on the door.

Miss Gaskell was sitting by her bedroom window with a book open on her lap, but she was not reading.

“How are you today, Miss Gaskell?” Mrs. Jackson crossed the room. “It sounds as if you are coughing a little less.” Miss Gaskell gave an obliging little
ahem
into a perfectly ironed, starched handkerchief that had not been used all morning.
No need to keep up with all this malarkey,
thought Mrs. Jackson grimly as she took a chair directly facing the young woman. “Perhaps you would join me in the between-stairs office so we can go over accounts and make sure that everything is ready—after all, the charity evening is the day after tomorrow and I want to be sure you are pleased with what I have done.”

“Yes, if you think so, Mrs. Jackson … I am anxious not to infect Miss Kingsley…” Her voice faltered and she kept her eyes fixed firmly on her hands resting in her lap.

“Oh, I don’t think you will do that, Miss Gaskell. But I thought you might be interested in my update from Kingsley House this morning, unless Miss Kingsley has already informed you. The boys I selected for the evening have all come down with chicken pox.” Miss Gaskell looked startled. “Yes indeed, Miss Gaskell, just fancy that—every single one of the boys on my list are in the sickroom under quarantine and cannot come to help us out for the charity evening. Hard to believe, isn’t it? Of course there are other boys immediately available to help us out, no Chums of course, but nice boys. I think they will do well.”

“Chums?” Miss Gaskell turned a look of confusion toward Mrs. Jackson. “I don’t know…”

“Oh yes you do, Miss Gaskell, you know very well.” She strove to keep her voice level, but she sat forward in her chair, eyes firmly fixed on the young companion’s face.

“I most certainly do not, Mrs. Jackson. Perhaps you had better explain yourself!” It was a brave attempt at outrage, but Miss Gaskell’s tone lacked conviction, making Mrs. Jackson feel like a tyrant.

“I most certainly will, but first of all tell me what you know about this, will you?” And Mrs. Jackson took a sheet of paper with a torn edge to it, where it had been ripped from a notebook, out of her pocket and held it out in front of Miss Gaskell.

“Yes, that’s right,” she said in response to Miss Gaskell’s appalled stare. “You know what this is about, don’t you? It’s from Matron’s private account book. And the initials stand for Reginald Algernon Cholmondeley. ‘Cholmondeley’ when it is written is rather confusing, isn’t it? Not everyone perhaps knows on first reading the name that it is pronounced ‘Chumley.’ Sir Reginald Algernon Cholmondeley—the Head Chum—and father figure to the special boys.” She had to pause here, to make sure that her voice remained calm and matter-of-fact, as she did not want to precipitate a hysterical reaction.

“And these,” she continued as she ran her finger down the list of figures on the far right, “are the amounts required by Matron from RAC. And this,” she tapped the row of ticks, “represents the amounts RAC paid up to satisfy her bank account and to ensure her silence.”

Miss Gaskell, her face white as chalk, sat quite still as she wound her handkerchief around her forefinger.

“What did you find out about Sir Reginald, Miss Gaskell? Why was he paying Matron all this money?” There was a long silence, and Miss Gaskell’s eyes slid around the room as if to calculate which exit would be best for her, the window or the door. Finally she spoke.

“About a week before the dinner party for Mr. Churchill, Sir Reginald had a severe chill and he was confined to complete bed rest at home. He was quite ill and Miss Kingsley was terribly worried about him. I was sent over to Kingsley House to pay the bills due at the end of the month. It was then that I found out what he had been doing.” She ground to a halt and stared down at her hands. “Miss Kingsley had given me her set of keys to the safe, and I took out the account ledgers so that I could record the payments I had made. They were not large bills, just ones to local tradesmen and suppliers.

“I had been in the office many times to help Sir Reginald, writing letters of thanks for donations. That sort of thing.” And now she blushed, her ears went red, and she looked away. “I had always thought that he was interested in me, that he might…” She looked out of the window and her eyes filled with tears. Mrs. Jackson decided it was time to help out. “Did Sir Reginald lead you to believe that he was interested in marrying you?”

“It was never specifically said in plain language, but always implied. And then I realized that he was not in the least interested in me after all. Ever since he believed he would receive a peerage for his work. I was perhaps not … quite…” She looked away from Mrs. Jackson as she relived her shame when she had discovered that she was simply not good enough to marry.

“And then?” A yawning silence stretched on as Miss Gaskell gazed into her lap. “Miss Gaskell, you need to be painstakingly truthful with me now. You are in an exceptionally bad position. And you can’t stay in this room forever. Will you please tell me everything you know? Lady Montfort is a good woman and will do everything she can to help you. You are not alone with this secret. Please share it. Share the burden.” She waited, earnest eyes on the face of the young woman in front of her

“I had never been in the office alone before—Sir Reginald practically lived at the charity and never took time away from his duties. I think I was hoping to find something that would help me understand more about him. And why he had lost interest in me.” She ended rather feebly as she dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief, now a tight wad of knots, gray and grubby.

“At the back of the safe I found a portfolio and inside it were bank statements in the name of J. Hewitt and Company with Temple Bank. I thought this was rather strange since the charity has always banked with Coutts and I couldn’t imagine why another company’s bank information would be in the safe. I looked through the charity’s income-and-expense ledger, and found there were regular payments made each quarter to J. Hewitt for legal services, and trust management. The sums were consistently large and regular and had been paid for what looked like many years, ten at least. The payments for just one year were in the thousands. There was a small account book in the portfolio and one of the expenses listed was for cash payments to Mavis Biggleswade, many entries amounting to hundreds and hundreds of pounds!

“Sir Reginald had been cheating the charity for years. He had been taking money that was meant for the boys: their education, uniforms, and school fees.” She drew breath and stared at Mrs. Jackson with horrified eyes and nodded her head. “I couldn’t believe it at first, I simply couldn’t take it in. I found the bills for J. Hewitt and Company and decided to do some checking up. I went to their address, but the company no longer exists. The new tenants of the building told me that Jonathon Hewitt was a solicitor who provided legal services many years ago, but he had died and the firm was now defunct. Sir Reginald was paying himself under the false name of J. Hewitt! He was a lying cheat, and that awful woman was in on it with him. He promoted his special boys, to gain larger and larger donations and then he stole them. If he felt his Chums were not trying hard enough he left their punishment to Matron. Have you any idea how much she bullied those little boys when no one was around to see? They were scared to death of her. I came straight home and told Miss Kingsley!” Mrs. Jackson was almost speechless. So, the girl had told someone.
How could I have thought she had carried the burden of this secret alone?

“Miss Kingsley told me that I it was wrong. She was angry with me, and said that I was a naughty girl, trying to make trouble.” Here Miss Gaskell started to cry, harsh, desperate, painful sobs that erupted from the center of her being. “The more I tried to convince her of what I had found, the more upset she became. I asked her to come with me to the office at Kingsley House, that I would show her the books myself. But she became even more distraught and angry and I was worried that she would collapse. I just gave up. Afterwards, I hoped that she did actually believe me; she just wasn’t sure what to do about it. When Sir Reginald was found dead, she shut down completely. This is why we are not allowed to talk about the murder.”

“You told no one else after this?” Mrs. Jackson asked, knowing that the answer would be no.

She got up and went to Miss Gaskell’s chair and took the young woman’s cold hand in hers.

“You are good and brave, and it doesn’t matter what Miss Kingsley…”

The door opened, and standing on the threshold was the patroness of one of England’s largest charities for the unwanted, luckless orphans of the poor.

“I am glad to see you are looking a good deal improved, Adelaide,” she said, completely ignoring Miss Gaskell’s red nose and swollen eyes. In fact she did not even look at the young woman; she was staring directly at Mrs. Jackson.

“We must not be selfish and trespass on Lady Montfort’s goodwill. Mrs. Jackson has done a thorough job and I think, since you are so much improved, Adelaide, that you can continue with the final preparations for the musical evening.”

“I would be most happy to continue, ma’am; her ladyship was clear in her instructions that I make myself useful until after the event.” Mrs. Jackson was determined to show Miss Gaskell that there was no need to fear Miss Kingsley, and at the same time she cursed Macleod, who no doubt had reported on her meeting with George.

“Thank you, Mrs. Jackson, but no. You have done a splendid job; please thank Lady Montfort for me. Now, I see it is almost seven o’clock. Macleod will take you straight back to Montfort House. Adelaide, when you have had a chance to wash your face, please come downstairs to the drawing room immediately.”

Miss Gaskell nodded and cast a weary look at Mrs. Jackson. Her face was composed but her eyes as they sought Mrs. Jackson’s were quite miserable as she nodded her acceptance to her elderly employer.
You see?
her resigned glance clearly said.
She is trying to pretend none of this ever happened.

Chapter Twenty-five

“So are you telling me you were chucked out of the house, Jackson?” Clementine asked her housekeeper, who had walked through her bedroom door, looking triumphant
.

“Yes, m’lady, it comes down to that I suppose.”

“Well come on in and tell me all about it. Something momentous has happened, I can tell!” Clementine had been feeling that she was wasting her time in London, that Mrs. Jackson in acting as her agent at Chester Square didn’t need her help, and as a result she was feeling frustrated and bored. Now here was her housekeeper with useful information that would hopefully help them push their inquiry toward a successful conclusion. She put aside the book she was reading and sat forward in her chair by the fire, her face expectant, eyes bright, her demeanor that of a young girl on her birthday when someone has put a particularly hoped-for gift before her.

Mrs. Jackson hesitated for a moment and Clementine asked, “Do you know who murdered Sir Reginald?” And Mrs. Jackson started to nod, and then she shook her head. “I am still trying to work it all out, m’lady,” she said.

“I suggest you just blurt it out, Jackson. Then we can see if between us we can’t piece it all together.”

And then she made herself sit quietly as Mrs. Jackson related what she had found out at Kingsley House, and her interesting conversation with Miss Gaskell. And as she told her tale Clementine’s jaw simply dropped and she leaned forward in her chair and for all the world looked as if she might leap right out of it.

“Good heavens above, Jackson. It simply can’t be possible. How absolutely unbelievable, how absolutely preposterous … and Matron was in on it too? Matron blackmailed him? Oh, my good heavens.” Clementine was sitting bolt upright, her wide eyes glued to Mrs. Jackson’s face.

“He was a cheat!” she cried in triumph. Appalling as Sir Reginald’s criminal activities were, here was information that explained the reason why he had been murdered. “The wretched man cheated his greatest friend, and betrayed the trust of everyone who supported Miss Kingsley’s charity. It just amazes me when I think of all his complacent, holier-than-thou prating, and his good works and determination to elevate the lives of the cast-down. He was nothing but a thief…”

“He made those boys perform to such high standards, m’lady, so that he could parade them in front of rich donors and increase the size of their monetary gifts! Money he then went and stole.” Mrs. Jackson joined her ladyship in outraged disgust.

“And it was little Miss Gaskell who found out about it and went to Miss Kingsley, who told her … who told her she was making trouble? Oh dear, oh dear, Jackson, poor Miss Kingsley’s world is falling apart around her ears: a nephew who is a dead loss, a partner who steals from her charity and is then murdered in her house. Does she think that Adelaide did it? Of course she does!”

Mrs. Jackson had handed her the torn sheet from Matron’s ledger and she read through the numbers. “Did Adelaide say how much he was stealing?”

“Yes, she said it was thousands and thousands—for the past ten years or more. And at that moment, m’lady, Miss Kingsley came into the room and told me that I was no longer needed.”

“Then she knew that you had found out.”