His Father's Ghost (Mina Scarletti Mystery Book 5)

by Linda Stratmann

  ‘That was very kind of you,’ said Mina.

  ‘To be truthful, I was wondering as I went there just why I had made this decision, and I was obliged to admit that there was only one reason that I ever do anything out of the ordinary and that reason is you, Miss Scarletti. You are at once the most worrying, the most annoying, and the most unreasonable of all my patients.’ It was said in a friendly tone in the manner of an indirect compliment, and Mina smiled.

  He took a deep draught of the comforting water. Mina knew too well where his thoughts were tending. Memories of his eldest sister Eliza, who had been so severely afflicted by scoliosis, were always present. He had occasionally spoken of the long hours that he and Anna had sat by their sister’s deathbed as her damaged and constricted lungs struggled for breath and how finally, bravely and almost peacefully she had given up the battle. Mina realised that more recently he must have feared attending on another such distressing scene. ‘I went there because anything I could do to satisfy my difficult patient’s insatiable thirst for knowledge and boundless curiosity would help preserve her life. But I now find myself in a dilemma, since the news I bring might be too stimulating for an invalid, even one in recuperation. I hesitate to say more.’

  Mina folded her arms in a very determined manner and narrowed her eyes in a firm stare. He smiled and began his story.

  As I entered the reception hall, the sergeant greeted me in a friendly manner, opened his record book, and ran his gaze down the daily list, ‘Good morning Dr Hamid, who have you come to see?’

  I was obliged to admit that I had not been called in any official capacity but had come to offer my services gratis for the man known as Mr John Chantry. ‘All that I have heard of him’ I explained, ‘excites my sympathy and suggests that he would benefit from a doctor’s examination, but it also leads me to doubt that he can pay a doctor’s fee.’

  ‘Well, that is very good of you, Dr Hamid,’ said the sergeant, making a note. ‘You know’ he chuckled, with a warning shake of a finger, ‘you will never be a rich man what with all the work you do for the poor.’

  ‘I fear not.’

  ‘He is still in the cells at present, as we don’t want to turn him out until it’s safe to do so. We don’t think he is dangerous, and I doubt that he would run away even if he had the chance, but there is some concern about his state of mind. We don’t want him wandering about on his own. We have made him as comfortable as we can seeing as he is now not charged with anything, and there is a gentleman with him, a London solicitor, from the firm that has been sending his monthly postal orders. He read about Mr Chantry in The Times and came straight down to see him. He is presently seeking to make some arrangements for new accommodation. He thinks it wouldn’t be wise for Mr Chantry to go back to his old lodgings what with all the attention he has been getting, and I have to agree. But I’ll get a constable to take you down there, and you can see him for yourself.’

  ‘You are quite sure of the man’s identity? There are no doubts now that he is not Mr Holt?’

  The sergeant gave a rueful smile. ‘We’re as sure as we can be. We have asked him many times, but he doesn’t say anything. He has certainly kept us busy, though. There were about a hundred or more letters we received here, people with their own suggestions, you know how it is. Women mainly — wives, mistresses, sisters, all hoping he was their missing man, but of course he wasn’t. And then there were Mr Holt’s creditors demanding to speak to him, but we didn’t allow that because I don’t think they meant him any good. We made a thorough search of his lodgings and there was little enough there, certainly no documents to prove who he is, but we did find one thing — an old newspaper, a copy of The Times, with a mark made on it beside the notice of a wedding. A Miss Ann Chantry who was married to a Mr Albert Fenwick about seven years ago. A sister, we assume. But whoever he might be, our man is not Mr Holt; the solicitor has confirmed that absolutely. The gentleman may look fifty which would be Mr Holt’s age if he was alive, but he is actually rather younger in years and has not taken great care of himself.’

  ‘That information, coming as it does from a reliable source will be a great relief to many people, although a grave disappointment to others,’ I said, ‘I hope that a statement will be made to the newspapers to enlighten the town. There is too much speculation and supposition in the newspapers and not enough actual news.’

  ‘I believe that is being done,’ said the sergeant, ‘and the sooner the better in my opinion.’ He summoned a constable to conduct me to see Mr Chantry.

  ‘Is he still under lock and key?’ I asked as we descended the narrow stairs to the basement cells.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said the constable, ‘it’s for his own good really. And we are very careful about who comes to see him, what with all the disturbances and the allegations. There are men out there who still believe that he is Mr Holt and think that the police have plotted with him to hide the truth.’

  ‘Mrs Vardy was quite certain that he was not. People accused her of lying in order to save her reputation, but now I hope that anyone of sense must accept that she has been exonerated.’

  ‘Oh yes, she just took one look at him and that was it.’

  The constable remained impassive, but I could not conceal my surprise. ‘Really? She didn’t interview him or question him? I would have thought she might have asked him the names of places or persons that only Mr Holt would know.’

  ‘No, nothing of that sort, sir.’

  ‘And her brother, Mr Saltmire? He would have known Mr Holt well. What did he say?’

  ‘I don’t think he said a word. He just nodded.’

  At the bottom of the stairs we reached the high gated entrance to the murkily lit corridor which houses the seven cells allocated to male prisoners. Men do not usually remain there long but are held overnight to sleep off the effects of drink for their own and others’ safety, sometimes after arrest for petty crimes before being taken upstairs to court to be fined. Very occasionally the cells hold more dangerous prisoners under serious charges waiting to be remanded and transferred to gaol. The constable unlocked the gate and we entered the vaulted whitewashed corridor. All was quiet, which suggested that either there were few prisoners, or those who were there were asleep. A bored looking attendant was taking the opportunity to swab out the empty cells with a large mop dipped in a bucket of some pungent disinfectant solution.

  The policeman looked through a spy hole in one of the heavy oak cell doors, and nodded, then turned the key. Inside, a little light was allowed to filter in from the corridor through a high grating. The amenities offered are no more than might be required for an overnight wallow in misery, a plain wooden bench fastened to the wall. Prisoners are not usually afforded even the luxury of a slop bucket or any item that might be used as a weapon. The necessary facilities are on the floor below, where inmates are conducted by a constable at request. You may not have heard of this incident, but the memory of Henry Solomon, the Chief Constable who was murdered in his own office by a prisoner who seized the poker from the fireplace, was still very much in evidence. Mr Chantry, however, due to his elevation in status from prisoner to lunatic, had been provided with the comfort of a blanket, a cup of water, and some bread and cheese wrapped in paper. He sat on the bench looking indifferent to all of these.

  At the far end of the bench was a well-dressed gentleman with a leather case of documents, and an expression of extreme distaste. I have smelt many far worse odours than the body and clothes of Mr Chantry, but I doubted that the solicitor had.

  ‘Mr Robertson, this is Dr Hamid, who has offered to examine Mr Chantry,’ said the constable.

  Mr Robertson rose to his feet, looking surprised, but nodded. ‘Thank you, Doctor. I have no reason to believe that my client has any illness, but there has been a long period of self-neglect. I am content for you to examine him.’

  Mr Chantry did not stir. He slumped silently, his eyes closed, only the slow rise and fall of his chest showing that he was not an awkw
ardly posed corpse.

  ‘I understand that he is to be found new lodgings,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, that in itself should not present any difficulty, but given recent circumstances I feel extremely reluctant to allow my client to live alone, or we might have a recurrence of this unfortunate event.’

  I sat beside the torpid man. ‘Mr Chantry, I am a doctor and I am just about to make a brief examination to check that you are well. Is that in order?’

  Mr Chantry said nothing, neither did he stir.

  I was hesitant to proceed and glanced at the solicitor. ‘He didn’t say no,’ said Mr Robertson. ‘I’ll take responsibility. He’s not dangerous.’

  ‘What can you tell me of his medical history?’

  ‘Only that he suffered a breakdown some years ago. Not in his bodily health, but his nerves. There were serious business and domestic reversals which deeply affected him.’

  ‘And you can confirm absolutely that he is not Mr Jasper Holt?’

  ‘Absolutely, yes.’

  ‘Do you know his age?’

  ‘He is about forty, I believe.’

  ‘Then he is much too young to be Mr Holt. You are not a relative of his?’

  ‘No. I act for the family. There are no close relatives, but one gentleman was willing to instruct me. They are respectable and would prefer it if he was not confined to an asylum.’

  I proceeded with a general examination, which I did very carefully and gently, asking the patient’s permission at each stage, and receiving no objection, noting the respiration, and the pulse, checking for fever, studying the hands, the eyes, the ears. ‘Well, Mr Chantry’ I said at last, ‘I can see no immediate reason to be concerned for your health, but I would recommend a bath, new clothes, new shoes, a visit to a barber and a better diet.’ I addressed the solicitor. ‘If you wish to engage an attendant for him, I can recommend some suitable persons. But that does depend on whether there are funds available.’

  Robertson nodded. ‘I will write to his family and see what can be arranged. Your advice would be appreciated.’

  ‘Once Mr Chantry is more himself, I can also offer him an afternoon in the steam baths of which I am proprietor. A pleasant and soothing medicated vapour bath and oriental massage with healing herbal oils. Many of the most respectable residents of Brighton come there to refresh themselves. There will be no charge.’

  ‘You are too kind. But I insist that you send me an invoice both for this visit and any treatments you provide.’ There was the usual exchange of business cards and I departed.

  ‘So there are funds available for the support of this poor man,’ said Mina.

  ‘There are. Not limitless, I believe, as I have been given to understand that the family is not especially wealthy, but he did have some resources before his illness, and there is sufficient to ensure that he is not confined to an asylum, which I am glad of, as I do not think that would be beneficial. His best chance of recovery is to live somewhere quiet and as near to being a proper home as can be arranged.’

  ‘And we have the word of a solicitor that he is not and cannot be Mr Holt,’ said Mina. ‘Which means that Mrs Vardy can be trusted to recognise her own husband. I do hope she is given the news without any further delay and a public announcement made. I do have to wonder,’ she added, with a shake of her head, ‘at the three supposedly respectable and intelligent gentlemen who said that he was Mr Holt. They should be ashamed of themselves; it was nothing but self-interest.’

  ‘In fairness,’ said Dr Hamid, mildly, ‘Mr Chantry does look nearer to fifty than forty, and he was disguised by so much hair and beard. We must be charitable and say they made a mistake.’

  Mina paused for thought. ‘Did the solicitor say anything more to you about Mr Chantry? Did he give any details of his personal history, or how he came to be in the position he is in? You say that Mr Chantry did not speak during your examination. His family have shown some concern for him — they are providing his living expenses — but they have not cared for him enough to ensure that he did not neglect his health. Didn’t his landlady say that he never received any visitors? Are his relations in some way ashamed of him? Or did they just feel that having arranged for his postal orders to be sent they had done their duty?’

  ‘That is very possible. I have known closer relatives to do far less.’

  ‘Does he perhaps have a criminal past?’

  ‘I was not advised of that.’

  ‘I assume that the postal orders arrive addressed to him under the name of John Chantry. But the only document we have to confirm his identity is the newspaper report of his sister’s wedding. Assuming of course that she is his sister. Did Mr Robertson confirm that Miss Chantry was his sister?’

  ‘He never mentioned the report at all, or the name of the family. I assumed that the surname was Chantry. All he was able to say was that his client was not Mr Holt. In fact —’ Dr Hamid looked thoughtful. ‘This may only have been his way of speaking, but I do believe he never once referred to him by name. It was always “my client”’

  Mina was deep in thought. Her mind was examining all the fragments of information she had gleaned. It was as if the answer she needed was there, but it had been broken up into little pieces and scattered widely in all directions. They lay in many different places, places that had no connection other than that she was possibly the only person who was in possession of them all, and able to see them for what they were and assemble them.

  Dr Hamid sat silently and watched her think.

  At last, Mina spoke. ‘Richard told me that when he was at the Town Hall, Mr Chantry recognised Mr Cobbe. He actually addressed him by name. And it was obvious that Mr Cobbe knew him and was not pleased to see him.’

  ‘He is a bank manager; I suppose that is not too surprising.’

  ‘It’s not surprising that Mr Holt might know Mr Cobbe, but what about Mr Chantry? How would he know Mr Cobbe? I doubt that he has a bank account.’ Mina made a decision. ‘I wish to sit at my desk.’

  Dr Hamid jumped up. ‘Oh — but I can bring you what you need.’

  ‘No,’ she said very firmly. ‘I wish to sit at my desk. You may assist me if I require it.’

  He smiled and nodded. ‘It is a brave man who would stand between you and your papers. Very well. Take care and I will be here to assist if needed.’

  Mina laid aside the blankets that covered her, and rose to her feet, steadying herself on the arms of her chair. She had no idea what her shrunken form might look like in her long nightdress and dressing gown and could only hope that she did not resemble something risen from a recently dug grave. Dr Hamid offered his arm and she reached out and placed her hand on his wrist. Slowly but with increasing confidence, she moved to stand by the chair that was set in front of her desk. ‘I would be obliged if you brought my cushion, she said, holding on to the back of the chair. He fetched the little wedge-shaped cushion that enabled Mina to sit upright and put it in place then assisted her to sit comfortably.

  She smiled. ‘And now,’ she said, ‘I feel am myself again.’

  ‘What was it you wished to see?’

  ‘A letter I received a little while ago, which included a name that at the time did not appear to be important.’ Mina opened her box of correspondence, and a brief search discovered the letter she was looking for, one from Mr Phipps. She re-read it and nodded. ‘I was not mistaken. You didn’t happen to see that newspaper of Mr Chantry’s did you? The one with the wedding announcement.’

  ‘No, I have only told you what the sergeant told me.’

  ‘That a Miss Chantry had been married to a Mr Albert Fenwick.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is it not a coincidence that a man who has delusions of being Mr Holt, should have in his possession a report regarding the wedding of a Mr Albert Fenwick, when that is the name of the former business partner of Mr William Sutherland? If he is the same man, would that not explain why Mr Cobbe was horrified to see him and why Mr Chantry recognised him?’

&n
bsp; Dr Hamid looked puzzled. ‘I’m not sure I follow you. We know that Chantry is not Holt.’

  ‘No, he is not, and Mr Holt was never a member of the Brighton Yacht Club but Sutherland and Cobbe both were.’

  ‘But what is the significance of Miss Chantry?’

  ‘In 1864 Mr William Sutherland was engaged to be married, but there is no record of any marriage taking place. I know this because —’ Mina realised that she had better not reveal too many details. She had learned this from Mr Handley’s report which was in the bundle of papers lent to her by Mrs Vardy which Dr Hamid did not as yet know she had. There was still a danger of her being accused of doing too much too soon. ‘Well, never mind how I know.’ She brought out a more recent letter from Mr Phipps. ‘In 1862, a Mr Frederick Chantry, a man then aged about sixty, was, like Mr Sutherland a member of the Brighton Yacht Club. Both were professional gentlemen living in London. If I am right, and this is a guess, but I think it is a good one, Miss Chantry was Mr Frederick Chantry’s daughter and the lady who was once engaged to be married to Mr William Sutherland, but who instead married his business partner Mr Albert Fenwick.’

  ‘This Frederick Chantry might have been Mr John Chantry’s father, or uncle,’ said Dr Hamid cautiously.

  ‘Or a future father-in-law,’ said Mina.

  Understanding blossomed in a brief silence. ‘Then you are saying that Mr Chantry — ‘

  ‘Mr John Chantry is William Sutherland.’

  Dr Hamid stared at Mina. ‘You cannot be sure of it.’

  ‘No, not yet, I need more proof.’

  ‘And he calls himself Chantry because —?’