The Children of Silence

by Linda Stratmann

  Sarah set about preparing a suitable tea. Her powerful arms were able to work miracles of lightness in the kitchen; indeed Professor Pounder had commented recently that her gifts of pastry and puddings had required him to spend additional hours in the gymnasium in order to maintain his correct bodily proportions. Cornelius was not a great trencherman but, like Frances, he enjoyed the occasional treat, and in addition to a plate of thinly cut bread and butter Sarah had made pound cake, scones, gingerbread and fruit tart.

  On his arrival, Cornelius made the usual considerate enquiries after Frances’ health, and she reassured him that she was very well indeed, adding the answers to his unspoken questions that she was settled and content in her new life. Sarah poured tea from the extra large pot, the one that was only used for visitors or when Frances needed an especially plentiful supply to consume during her deliberations.

  Cornelius was in his early fifties, and while always neatly attired, he seemed to be living in the world of fashion that had existed when his wife had been alive. He did his best, but a loving spouse or a dutiful manservant would have seen him more freshly turned out. He had regretted Frances’ decision not to accept his offer of accommodation, and she felt sure that while he claimed to be happy in his own company, attended only by an elderly housekeeper whose main virtues were not in the field of conversation, he was actually very lonely. He sipped his tea, glanced from Frances to Sarah and back again, and gave a dejected little sigh but did not elaborate on his thoughts.

  ‘I was wondering,’ said Frances lightly, once the first round of eatables had been distributed, ‘if you know or once knew a lady by the name of Louise Salter.’

  Cornelius paused in the middle of appreciating a slice of fruit tart. Frances watched him carefully, but he did not seem to be disturbed by the question. He dabbed his lips with a napkin. ‘That is a name I have not heard in a long while. It sounds familiar but I am not sure I can place it.’

  ‘She was a witness to my parents’ wedding.’

  ‘Ah, yes, now I recall. A very good-looking young woman, I think she was a schoolfellow of Rosetta’s.’

  ‘Have you seen her since then?’ Frances had already visited Somerset House and established that no one named Louise Salter had married or died, so assumed that either Salter was her married name or if single she was still alive. ‘Was she a married lady?’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Cornelius, helping himself to a scone, ‘now you do test my memory. I have the feeling that she was a single young lady, in fact the gentlemen present were all very taken with her and paid her compliments which would have been most inappropriate had she been there with a husband. But I do not think I have seen her since that event.’

  ‘My mother never mentioned her? They must have been close friends.’

  He smiled. ‘Now I can see where this is tending, Frances.’

  ‘Uncle, I cannot stay in ignorance all my life. I may choose for the moment to do nothing with any information you can give me, but still, I would like to know more.’

  He hesitated. ‘Yes of course, you have a right to know everything. And now I think about it something does come back to me. About two or three years after the wedding Rosetta became very distressed. She told me that a dear friend had suffered a terrible reversal when her father had been made bankrupt through no fault of his own. I think his business partner had run away with the funds, and as a result the family was ruined. I cannot be sure but I think it might have been Miss Salter to whom she was referring. The family was obliged to leave Bayswater. That is really all I know.’

  Frances was disappointed but reflected that even if Louise Salter had moved away several years before her mother’s desertion in 1863, she might still know something about the events that had led to it. Rosetta Doughty had given birth to twins in January 1864, one of whom had died, and she had then been living in lodgings in Chelsea. Nothing was known of her later history.

  There was a knock at the door that took them by surprise as Frances was not expecting a visitor. Sarah answered it and was told by the housemaid that a Miss Pearce had arrived, very upset, and wanted to see Miss Doughty at once.

  Frances put down her teacup. ‘I hope you don’t mind, uncle, but under the circumstances I feel I ought to see this visitor. I will not disturb the tea-table; if she is content to sit in the kitchen then I can provide her with some refreshment.’

  This plan was abandoned, however, when Charlotte Pearce burst into the room in a state that suggested that she had been running all the way. Her face was glowing with warmth and little curls of damp hair had escaped her bonnet.

  ‘Oh, please let me assist!’ exclaimed Cornelius, leaping up and helping the distressed lady to a chair. ‘If this is a private matter I will of course withdraw, but if there is any errand I can go on, you have only to ask, or if Miss Pearce requires conducting to a doctor I will call a cab at once.’

  ‘Thank you, sir, you are very kind,’ breathed Charlotte, leaning on his arm. ‘I am so sorry to have intruded, I had not realised that Miss Doughty was receiving company.’

  ‘Oh think nothing of it, we are very informal here,’ Frances reassured her gently. Sarah had already poured a steaming cup of tea, with two sugar lumps, and offered it to Charlotte. ‘Allow me to introduce my uncle, Mr Cornelius Martin. Uncle this is Miss Charlotte Pearce. Miss Pearce, this is Miss Sarah Smith, my very special assistant.’

  Cornelius fetched a small table so that Charlotte could put her teacup down, and Sarah added a plate piled high with bread and butter and cake, to furnish the visitor with everything she needed in the way of restoratives. Cornelius, despite his offer to withdraw, did not do so but stood nearby, watching Charlotte anxiously and awaiting instructions.

  Once Charlotte had rested and refreshed herself, she took a paper from her pocket and handed it to Frances. ‘Harriett received this letter today. I have already left a note for Mr Wylie, but he is away visiting a factory.’

  The letter was on the headed notepaper of Mr Marsden, the sour-faced solicitor who was acting on behalf of Lionel Antrobus. Frances could not imagine two men better suited to each other’s company.

  ‘Mr Antrobus claims that he is acting on behalf of his nephews, in accordance with the wishes of his brother,’ sighed Charlotte, ‘but I cannot help thinking that this is some underhand way of securing an advantage for himself. We thought he had ceased to annoy us, but it seems he has only been biding his time for this very moment, which places him in a much stronger position.’

  The letter advised Harriett that when her eldest son Edwin jnr attained the age of sixteen, which event was only four months away, he would, in accordance with the wish often expressed by his father, be leaving boarding school and taking a junior post in the business of Luckhurst and Antrobus Fine Tobacco with the object of progressing in time to a partnership. Lionel Antrobus wished to reaffirm that under the terms of his brother’s will he had all rights and management over his brother’s estate and a duty of care of his nephews until such time as either Mr Edwin Antrobus reappeared or Edwin jnr achieved his majority. It was his intention at all times to act as his brother would have wanted. To ensure fatherly supervision of the boys, it was proposed that he, Edwin jnr and his brother would, from 1 September 1881, live in the family home at Craven Hill. To comply with Edwin Antrobus’ wishes that the boys and their mother should not reside under the same roof, Mrs Harriett Antrobus was therefore instructed to vacate the property before her sons took up residence. Mr Lionel Antrobus had also resolved to make the best use of the property by letting a portion of it, and Miss Pearce might remain if she wished, on the payment of a suitable rent, the proceeds to be invested for the future of Edwin Antrobus’ sons.

  ‘It seems to me,’ said Frances, reluctantly, ‘that he has legal right on his side, in that he is acting in the interests of his nephews. Whether one approves or not, he is only doing what his brother would have wanted.’

  ‘The suggestion that I might remain in the house is a mere pretence to make him
appear to be acting reasonably,’ Charlotte protested. ‘I am quite sure that he will demand a rent I will find impossible, but even if I could pay it, I need to be with Harriett. Has she not endured enough? We do not wish to trespass any further on Mr Wylie’s generosity. He cannot give us accommodation as he is in lodgings that we could not with any propriety share. And now it appears that Mr Marsden, who we had thought was acting in our interests, has turned against us. Miss Doughty, I implore you, do all you can to find Edwin or at least discover his fate, and then we will not be living in this agony of uncertainty.’

  Frances promised Miss Pearce to redouble her efforts, and when her visitor had rested, Cornelius ordered a cab to conduct her home.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Next morning Frances received a short note from Lionel Antrobus saying that he would call to speak to her at 10 a.m. He seemed to assume that this arrangement would be convenient for her, since he did not ask if it was, and the reason for the appointment was not mentioned.

  ‘So you don’t like him much, then?’ grinned Sarah, after Frances had spent a minute or two expressing her opinion of that gentleman.

  ‘I am not at all convinced that he is acting in the best interests of his family, although he works very hard at appearing to do so. He has the entire trust of his brother, despite the difference in their fortunes, which must surely weigh hard upon him, and all power, both of making decisions and the disposal of income has been placed in his hands. Mrs Antrobus fears that he may be appropriating his brother’s fortune for his own use. If Mr Edwin Antrobus is not found then more than three years will go by before anyone will be able to see whether his executor has been as honest as he makes out and, if he is adept at covering his tracks, in all probability not even then.’

  Frances had already decided to go to Paddington Green police station that morning to speak to Inspector Sharrock in the slight hope that he was willing to divulge what enquiries had been made in London at the time of Edwin Antrobus’ disappearance, and there was just time to do so if she looked sharp. The Inspector’s willingness to help her seemed to vary with the state of the weather, but she suspected that it might be due to the amount of peace he obtained at home where his wife had to manage not only him but also their six children. Frances, hoping that erupting teeth and summer colds had not deprived the Inspector of too much sleep, ordered a cab and, after writing to Lionel Antrobus to confirm their appointment, set out.

  Sarah was busy with an unusual case presented to her by the Bayswater Women’s Suffrage Society. She was an active and valued member, standing guard at the door of meetings to control and eject any disruptive elements. Men who came to make a lot of noise and deride the lady speakers did not do so a second time. The society had recently had some leaflets printed to place in ladies’ reading rooms with the intention of attracting members, but to their annoyance there had been errors in the spelling that had served to make the lady suffragists appear ridiculous. The printer had tried to maintain that the errors were in the original written copy, but after a visit from Sarah he had been forced to admit that this was not the case. He next claimed that there had been a trivial mistake in the typesetting and wrote to the society offering to refund half the cost. Sarah was about to pay him another visit, to point out that a mere shift of type would have resulted only in a nonsense and not, as it had in this case, an insult to the appearance of the ladies. She suspected sabotage and wanted to root out the culprit.

  Frances did not have a successful visit at Paddington Green as the Inspector had just been summoned away on an urgent matter and no one at the station could tell her anything about the Antrobus case or would permit her to examine the papers. She knew she had no entitlement to see the papers but thought it worth making the request. Unfortunately, young Constable Mayberry, the only policeman she might have been able to pressure into doing as she asked, was with the Inspector. The desk sergeant took great pains to inform her that once she was made an Inspector of police then she could order them all about as she pleased, and Frances departed thinking that that would be a very interesting situation.

  From time to time Frances undertook secret work for the government, although she was never asked to do anything that placed either her life or her modesty in danger. She did consequently have the ear of the Prime Minister, but she had never dared to suggest that he should allow women in the police force. Mr Gladstone was no longer a young man and the idea of a female in uniform and wielding a truncheon might have given him apoplexy.

  Sarah returned in time for a pot of tea to be made and reported her success. She had discovered that the printer’s new assistant, having had a falling out with his wife, had decided to take revenge on all women who dared to voice their opinions. The business that the Suffrage Society conducted with the printer was not so large that loss of its custom was a serious threat; however, Sarah had informed the proprietor that many of the society members were married to men of considerable influence in Bayswater, who, if they had any sense, deferred to their wives’ wishes. Matters were concluded to everyone’s satisfaction, except that of the printer’s assistant.

  As Frances anticipated, Lionel Antrobus arrived to the very minute of his appointment. He favoured the apartment with a rapid critical glance, saw nothing that offended him and took a seat. Frances, as usual, introduced her valued assistant, and he gave Sarah a wary look and a curt nod.

  ‘Miss Doughty,’ he began, in the manner of a man who had no time to waste, ‘I understand that Miss Charlotte Pearce has been to see you following the delivery of Mr Marsden’s letter.’

  ‘She has, yes, and she was in considerable distress at its demands.’

  He exhibited surprise. ‘I really can’t see why. She must have known that I would require the house for my nephews’ use. She cannot have been ignorant of young Edwin’s approaching birthday. I believe that I have been more than generous in permitting Harriett and Miss Pearce to remain in the house for so long, and they have been afforded ample notice to find some other accommodation.’

  ‘But their requirements are very unusual and their means limited,’ Frances reminded him.

  ‘Neither their requirements nor their means are any concern of mine,’ he declared. ‘My only duty is to carry out the wishes of my brother, to take the very course he would have taken had he been here. He had always intended that Edwin and Arthur should enter the business at the age of sixteen, and they will need a London home. I do not wish to part the brothers as they take great comfort from each other’s company, so Arthur will henceforward live and be schooled in Bayswater. I can scarcely place them in lodgings when their own father’s house is available.’

  ‘That much I understand,’ said Frances carefully, ‘but is it not also the case that you will reside with them?’

  ‘What are you implying?’ he retorted angrily. ‘The sole purpose of my living with my nephews is to supply a father’s supervision. There is another circumstance it would be only fair to mention. At present I reside above the shop premises with my son and his wife.’ Frances realised that he must be referring to the young man and woman she had seen serving in the shop. ‘My son has just advised me that in six months I can expect to be a grandfather. Upon that event, a relative of my daughter-in-law will come to live with us as housekeeper and nursemaid. The available accommodation is not suitable for the addition of both a child and a single female.’

  ‘Was it your brother’s wish that you live at Craven Hill?’ asked Frances.

  ‘You seem to think I am doing this for my own personal profit,’ he snapped. ‘I can assure you that this is not the case. I only take the place of my absent brother, as is my duty. When residing at Craven Hill, which is not my property and never will be, I will also attend to its upkeep and pay a fair rent into my brother’s estate for the good of his sons.’

  ‘But why can they not live with their mother?’ pleaded Frances. ‘I can understand that when they were boisterous young children it would have been hard for her, but they are older no
w and must surely appreciate how they must behave in her company.’

  ‘So much is true,’ Antrobus admitted, ‘but it was Edwin’s wish that they should not reside with their mother, for reasons which must be obvious.’

  Frances remained stubborn. ‘It is not obvious to me. Kindly explain. When did he express this wish to you? It is not in the will.’

  ‘He last spoke of it only a few months before he disappeared. The reasons, Miss Doughty, are very plain, and I am sorry that you are unable to appreciate them. There is bad blood in that family, and I am not talking of their humble beginnings, which anyone with ability and diligence might rise above. I am referring to Harriet’s confused brain, which so far I am pleased to see has not revealed itself in her sons, but all the same, Edwin felt that any prolonged contact with their mother might provoke similar imaginings in the boys. Then there is her cousin, a hardened criminal who was forbidden the house. He used to lurk in the street nearby hoping to find a way in so he could beg or steal. He is currently in prison, I believe, but once he is released there will need to be a man in the house to protect the property.’

  Frances saw that it was impossible to reason with her visitor and abandoned the attempt. ‘I understand your concerns, but I do not know why you have come to see me.’

  He paused to collect his thoughts. ‘I cannot ask you to simply stop encouraging Harriett in her madness; your profession is your bread, I appreciate that. But you must be warned: you are being drawn into some very dark business. Miss Doughty, would you be prepared to change masters – to be employed by me instead? Only tell me what Wylie is paying you and I will undertake to pay you that sum with an additional ten per cent.’