There was a note from Miss Gilbert and Miss John awaiting Frances on her return home, referring her to the local newspaper and saying that an urgent meeting was required. There was hardly time for Frances to dispose of a light supper before the ladies arrived. Miss Gilbert, large and buxom, burst in like a storm of passionate activity, with diminutive and deceptively meek Miss John peering from under a cloud of grey curls travelling in her wake.
Miss Gilbert was not so much clutching as brandishing a rolled copy of the Bayswater Chronicle, as if she would have liked to belabour the annoying Mrs Cholmondeleyson with it. ‘Outrageous! The dreadful woman has taken leave of her senses and means to have us all made slaves to men!’
‘She has been married three times,’ said Miss John, with a shiver of distaste. ‘Just imagine that!’
Frances could hardly imagine being married once.
‘And the worst of it is,’ Miss Gilbert went on, ‘she is beyond reproach in every aspect of her life. She has eight children, all of whom have married well, and they are either professional gentlemen or domestic angels. None of her husbands died in suspicious circumstances, and all left her wealthier than she was before. So she parades herself as the very model of what a lady should be, holds that the things she concerns herself with are those all women should espouse, and declares that those she shuns are outside our legitimate sphere. And, of course, people listen to her and take note.’
‘Every improvement has had its opposition,’ said Frances. ‘That is human nature. Consider the printing press, or the steam engine. Opposition leads to open debate, and that can only be a good thing. The more people talk about it the more the idea spreads.’
Miss Gilbert was not comforted by this observation. ‘I can understand menfolk wanting to deny women the vote, or any voice at all in public matters, but really, what are we to do when women turn against their own? It is all very well for Mrs Cholmondeleyson with her servants and her carriages to say that she doesn’t need to think about what Parliament decrees, and imagines that she speaks for the majority.’
‘Has she published a statement of her beliefs and intentions?’ asked Frances.
‘Not yet, but it is bound to follow. As you see, she is holding a meeting at Westbourne Hall very soon, and all are welcome. I intend to go and shout her down, and we would like you to join us.’ Miss Gilbert’s triumphant smile indicated her confidence that Frances would agree.
‘Might I suggest a different approach?’ said Frances, who had no great wish to be arrested for disorderly behaviour.
‘Of course,’ said Miss Gilbert, ‘we always appreciate your advice.’
‘I think we ought to attend, but with the intention of discovering what they have to say, what they mean to do and how much support they have. If we simply cause a disturbance and are turned out of the hall, then we will learn nothing to our advantage. Only when we have the facts can we decide what if anything we need to do. Oh, and I think it would be unwise to carry anything that might be construed as a weapon.’
Miss John looked understandably disappointed.
Sarah, who arrived home with a letter of introduction to Mr Westvale of Mulberry Lodge, reported that Mr Fiske had not been able to recall anything else of importance, and was extremely agitated as someone had shown him a copy of Mr Miggs’ pamphlet. Like Frances, he was in no doubt as to the authorship, and Sarah’s visit to the printers had confirmed that their suspicions were correct. ‘Is there nothing to be done about this nuisance!’ Fiske had exclaimed. ‘I have taken legal advice, but he has been too careful and avoided a charge. If I took him to court I would be wasting my money, and what is worse, bringing him more prominently into the public mind. He is the Cinna the Poet of our age, only there is no mob to tear him for his bad verses.’
‘Mr Fiske told me that Cinna was a bad poet who was murdered in a play,’ Sarah explained.
‘Then we must wish Mr Miggs the best of health, or there will be more trouble,’ said Frances. She dispatched a note to Mr Westvale and was pleased to receive an early reply making an appointment for the following day.
Mr Westvale lived in very comfortable circumstances, his long connection with the silk industry apparent from the lustrous yet tasteful furnishings with which he surrounded himself. Frances was conducted to his study where his role in freemasonry was proudly displayed, a large oil portrait showing him arrayed in full regalia, with apron, collar and breast jewels. On that evidence, he had been handsome in his middle years, but age had shrunk him, and his face was like a withered fruit. Nevertheless, his hair and beard were faultlessly groomed and he was every bit as debonair in his manner and clothing as his younger self.
He greeted her with cordial respect, although there was a shadow of sadness behind his eyes. ‘It is my great pleasure to meet you Miss Doughty. Mr Fiske speaks very highly of you, and I am sure we are all most grateful to you for ridding our streets of that dreadful murderer, and at such danger to yourself.’
‘I often feel that the newspapers tell too dramatic a story,’ said Frances.
‘You are too modest. I sense a determination in you; a need to discover the truth and ensure that justice is done. That is not always easy, and yet it is a challenge you accept again and again. I did think from what I had read in the papers that you had abandoned that endeavour.’
‘I had, but I made an exception to help Mr Fiske, and now I believe I will go on with my former career, one in which I can do some good in the world.’
Westvale smiled his approval. ‘How may I help you? I am as anxious as anyone to see Lancelot Dobree’s murderer brought to justice, and I cannot believe that Salter was involved.’
‘How long have you known them?’
‘Dobree I first met some twenty-five years ago, through mutual trading interests. He was an honourable and charitable man, directed by prudence. We were both members of the Mercer’s Guild and I asked him to join Mulberry Lodge. He progressed through the Lodge offices, and was a past Master. Salter did not join us at once, as he was unsure if his business, which involves considerable travelling, would allow him to be a useful member, but he did eventually join. He is currently Inner Guard.’
‘This is a hard question I know, but are you aware of anything questionable in Mr Dobree’s life that could have led to his murder?’
Westvale smiled gently. ‘I promise you, Miss Doughty, unless we have all been thoroughly hoodwinked these many years, there is nothing of that kind.’
‘Mr Marsden told the inquest that Mr Dobree was concerned about something, although he did not say what, and this may well have informed his behaviour, even if his worries were unfounded. Mr Fiske has confirmed to me that he thought Mr Dobree had something on his mind. This may have led him to leave the Lodge during the meeting and could well have been connected with his plans to go away. Can you enlighten me at all?’
Westvale gave the question very intense thought. ‘There is no doubt in my mind that Dobree was a troubled man. In the last weeks of his life there was a heavy burden weighing on him. The last time I saw him was about a week before his death, at the last meeting of Mulberry Lodge he attended. I asked him what was troubling him; I thought at first that it was an issue with his health and asked if he was well, and he assured me that his health remained strong and that no member of his family was indisposed. I knew of course that he was retired from business, so it was clear that it could not be that. He saw what I was thinking and told me that he was not in any financial difficulties. Finally he spoke to me in confidence as a friend, a confidence I only break now that he is no more, and in the hopes of finding his murderer. He said that he suspected a serious irregularity regarding a brother Mason, but he could not act upon it or reveal it to another person until he was certain of his facts. The consequences of acting before he was certain could be catastrophic if he was wrong.’
‘Catastrophic to whom? Himself? His family? His charities? The Lodge?’
Westvale smiled. ‘A very good question. He didn’t say. I advised him to consider employing a detective, but he said he didn’t want to involve anyone else. I could see, however, that the suggestion had set him thinking, so it is possible that despite this, he might have done so. At any rate he had no more to say on the subject, at least nothing that he would tell me.’
Exploring the inner thoughts of a deceased man was hard, but Frances wondered if the next topic discussed by the two friends would reveal something; a thought that might have emerged from the earlier one. ‘Was that the end of your conversation or did it go on? What else did you talk about?’
Westvale leaned forward and balanced his chin on his hands. ‘I think we went on to discuss his forthcoming visit to the Literati. I don’t think there was anything of moment he had to convey, merely that he was due to be a guest.’
‘Had he visited the Literati before?’
‘I’m not sure he had. It is a fairly recently formed Lodge. They use the same Lodge room as Mulberry.’
‘He didn’t reveal where he planned to go after the meeting?’
‘No.’
‘In all the years that you and he have been members of Mulberry Lodge, has he ever left a meeting while it was in progress?’
‘Never. I am certain of it. He did not do so when I was present, and if he had done such an extraordinary thing during a meeting I did not attend I would have been sure to be told of it.’
‘But if it was dark he might have slipped out and come back without anyone knowing?’
Westvale shook his head. ‘I don’t see how. In any case, the period of darkness is not in all our ceremonies.’
‘Yes, Mr Fiske told me it only occurs during a raising. But there must have been such ceremonies in Mulberry Lodge?’
‘Oh yes, and we have records of them and who attended and in what capacity. But Dobree, as an officer of Mulberry Lodge, would have been participating in the ritual. He would have been fully occupied and would not have had the opportunity to go out unnoticed.’
‘I see, whereas as a guest of the Literati he was not so occupied, and could have slipped out unseen?’
Westvale permitted himself a smile. ‘Leaving aside the question of the locked, guarded and tyled doors, yes.’
‘Do you or any members of the Mulberry Lodge have keys to any of the external tavern doors – the ones that lead into the High Street, Linfield Gardens or the alleyway, Linfield Walk?’
‘I am quite sure none of us do. Mr Neilson is very careful and vigilant. You will find nothing slipshod in his arrangements.’