The Children of Silence

by Linda Stratmann

  Frances was about to respond with some asperity that her allegiance could not be bought or sold, or no client would ever trust her, but was prevented by a knock at the door. She had already told the housemaid that she was not to be disturbed when interviewing a client unless it was a matter of importance, so she waited with some interest for the door to be opened.

  ‘Miss Doughty,’ said the maid, awkwardly, ‘I’m sorry to intrude, but it’s a Mr Wylie, and he says it’s most urgent.’

  Lionel Antrobus rose abruptly to his feet. ‘In that case I will take my leave at once. Please consider what I have said.’

  ‘You will not leave, you will stay where you are,’ said Frances, who could snap out an order when the occasion demanded.

  He stared at her in astonishment.

  Sarah, who had been sitting stitching a lace edging to a cap while listening carefully to the conversation, quietly put her sewing aside and flexed her fingers.

  ‘You have not misheard, please sit down.’ Frances turned to the maid. ‘Please ask Mr Wylie to come in.’

  ‘Have you planned this encounter?’ demanded Antrobus.

  ‘I have not. I was not expecting to see Mr Wylie today and am most curious as to what he might have to say, as indeed you must also be.’ Antrobus gave a dark frown but made no move either to sit or leave.

  Wylie arrived somewhat out of breath and was taken aback to see the other man. ‘Antrobus? What are you doing here? Well, no matter, this is something you will want to hear. I have brought the most extraordinary news. The remains of Edwin Antrobus have been found, and this time there can be no doubt!’

  Lionel Antrobus drew a deep breath and sat down. He was clearly shaken by the announcement and took some moments to calm himself. Frances realised that Wylie, who could see only what was good in the news he had brought, had been somewhat insensitive in the way he had informed Lionel Antrobus that his brother was dead, perhaps assuming that because of the other man’s stony exterior there was no trace of fraternal feeling within.

  ‘Please take a seat Mr Wylie and tell me what has happened.’

  Sarah, seeing that there was not, after all, to be a fight, looked more at ease, but she did not take up her sewing and remained keenly observant.

  Wylie sat, his face glowing with excitement. ‘I received a message from Miss Pearce telling me that a policeman had come to the house. A very noisy policeman, I am afraid. She was able to persuade him that Mrs Antrobus could not be disturbed and spoke to him herself. He informed her that some remains have been found in a brickyard in Shepherd’s Bush.’

  ‘What kind of remains and why do they think it might be Edwin’s?’ asked Lionel Antrobus, more quietly than his usual manner, though his hard tone remained.

  ‘A skeleton, and with it a gentleman’s leather travelling bag of the very kind Mr Antrobus carried. The bag was empty, so we must presume a thief took the contents, but there was a small inner pocket he must have missed. It contained Mr Antrobus’ business cards.’

  Lionel Antrobus remained sceptical. ‘That only suggests that the bag might be Edwin’s; it does not necessarily identify the skeleton. However, it is progress of a sort.’

  ‘Miss Pearce advised me that she interviewed her sister and conveyed to the policeman some information which might assist in finally establishing the identity of the remains.’

  ‘What information?’ demanded Antrobus.

  ‘She did not elaborate, only begged me to come here and inform you of the development at once.’

  ‘What did Harriett have to say? Did you see her?’

  ‘Briefly, but she was too overcome to speak. Naturally there will be an inquest.’

  Antrobus rose to his feet. ‘Was this policeman from Paddington Green?’

  ‘I believe so, an Inspector Sharrock.’

  ‘Then I will proceed there at once and find out what he knows.’

  ‘I went to see Inspector Sharrock at the police station early this morning,’ Frances informed them, ‘but he was not there, as he was engaged on an important matter, which might well have been the discovery of the remains.’

  ‘It was,’ confirmed Wylie. ‘He told Miss Pearce that he had already been to the tobacconist’s but Mr Antrobus was not at home, and he was on his way back to the station, so he might be there now.’

  Frances rose to leave. ‘Then we will all go. Sarah, please secure a cab.’

  The two men looked at each other in the unfriendliest manner possible.

  ‘And it is essential, sirs,’ she told them sternly, ‘that you put aside your differences and address yourselves to your common interest – discovering the truth.’ Frances had found that speaking to grown men as if they were schoolboys tended to produce the best results, and this occasion was no different. Both sulkily agreed.

  On her way out, Sarah cracked her knuckles, loudly.

  There was a grim absence of conversation in the cab as it rumbled down Westbourne Grove. Frances reflected on the relief that would come with the dismissal of uncertainty, even by way of bad news, a relief that Mr Wylie undoubtedly felt but Lionel Antrobus clearly did not. If Edwin Antrobus could finally be laid to rest then a great many things would change – and not all of them to his brother’s satisfaction.

  Sharrock had only recently returned to the station together with Constable Mayberry, who was quickly dispatched to fetch chairs for the visitors, but Lionel Antrobus was too impatient to wait for chairs. ‘Inspector,’ he rapped, ‘I am Edwin Antrobus’ brother and I demand to see the remains at once, together with any other evidence you may have.’

  ‘I can show you the bag that was found but the remains have been sent to the Westminster Hospital for Dr Bond the police surgeon to look at. And you sir?’ he asked Wylie.

  ‘I am Stephen Wylie, a business associate of Mr Edwin Antrobus and acting for his unhappy wife. Miss Doughty is employed by myself and Mrs Antrobus to discover the truth about her husband’s disappearance.’

  Sharrock grunted. ‘I suppose both of you are content that the ladies join our discussion. Not that it will make much difference if you aren’t, from my experience. Come this way.’

  The discomfort in the Inspector’s office as they were all seated was due to more than just the overcrowding. Only Sharrock seemed at his ease as he placed a leather bag, creased, scuffed and discoloured, on top of the untidy pile of paperwork on his desk. ‘Can either of you gentlemen identify this as the property of Mr Edwin Antrobus?’

  Lionel Antrobus examined the bag. ‘My brother had purchased a new travelling bag not long before he disappeared. He was thinking of having it stamped with the name of the business but he had not yet done so. This could be the one, assuming it has lain neglected in contact with dirt or rubbish, but it could equally well have nothing to do with him.’ He opened it and peered inside.

  ‘It is very like the kind of bag he carried, but more than that I cannot say,’ Wylie admitted. ‘I was told there were some business cards?’

  ‘Still where we found them,’ said the Inspector.

  Lionel Antrobus drew a card case from an inner pocket. There was a long silence as he opened it and studied the contents. At last he took a deep breath and nodded. ‘This is Edwin’s card case, engraved with his initials, and these are his cards.’ He paused, then placed them on the desk. ‘You will want these for the inquest, I suppose, but in time I would like them returned to me. Of course, this does not even identify the bag, let alone the remains.’

  ‘True, which is why I would like to ask if you know of anything about Mr Antrobus which might serve to establish whether or not the skeleton is his,’ said the Inspector.

  ‘There was no clothing or jewellery found with it?’

  ‘The remains were disturbed by the activities of workmen. Small items, like pieces of old clothing, buttons, shoe leather and so on, were all mixed in with the general rubble.’

  ‘I suppose no one was seen disposing of a body there?’ asked Frances.

  ‘On the contrary, the rema
ins were deposited in the brickyard by workmen who were demolishing some houses recently purchased by Mr Whiteley. The bricks and other rubbish were all loaded onto wagons and taken to Shepherd’s Bush. It was only when a skull turned up in a cartload of material being tipped out that the carriers realised there was a body at all. We got some men to sift through the dust heap, and that was when we found the bag and other bones. No jewellery, but a lot of rags and bits of old shoes that could be anyone’s. As far as we can see we have just the one skeleton.’

  ‘Which might just as well be that of a female or any other man,’ said Lionel Antrobus dismissively.

  ‘We’ll leave that to Dr Bond, shall we sir? The size of the skull does suggest a male, and it’s more complete than what was found in the canal, so we have a better chance of making an identification. Can you think of anything that might distinguish the skeleton of your brother from that of another man?’

  Antrobus gave the question some thought but after a while shook his head. ‘Edwin and I did not spend a great deal of time in each other’s company, even as children. If he suffered any accidents or illnesses which might have left their mark he did not mention them to me.’

  ‘You don’t know if he attended a dentist?’

  ‘No. In fact he had an aversion to dentists and may have avoided them.’

  Sharrock looked disappointed, so much so that Frances felt sure there was some aspect of the teeth that could prove vital in identifying the remains. ‘Mrs Antrobus was also unable to help us with that, and we are visiting all the dentists in Bayswater.’

  Mr Wylie gave a gentle cough. ‘Er – I might be able to suggest something.’ Lionel Antrobus gave him a look of withering contempt. ‘Some years ago when Antrobus was in Bristol he complained to me of a bad toothache – he thought there was an abscess, and it was giving him some considerable pain. I said he should go to the dentist’s at once and not wait until he returned home. He took my advice and later told me he was much better for it. I am afraid I don’t know which dentist he went to.’

  ‘Did he have the tooth out?’ asked Sharrock.

  ‘Yes, I am sure he did and the abscess drained.’ Wylie clutched his hand to his jaw. ‘He used to hold his hand to his face like this.’

  ‘The left lower jaw, then?’ said Sharrock intently. Frances recalled that the lower jaw of the man in the canal was missing, so that particular clue would not have assisted identification of those remains.

  ‘I think so.’ Wylie, now that his information was being questioned, began to look nervous. ‘Or it could have been the right. I really can’t be sure. But from the way he placed his hand, it was the lower one. A wisdom tooth, I think he said.’

  Sharrock had the air of a man who had received some crucial information and was trying to appear nonchalant. He pulled a notebook and pencil from his pocket and made a quick jotting. ‘I’ll let you know when the inquest will open as both of you will be required to give evidence.’

  ‘When do you expect the report from Dr Bond?’ asked Frances.

  Sharrock glanced up from his writing. ‘I suppose you want to see confidential police records as usual, do you?’

  She smiled. ‘That would certainly make my work easier.’

  ‘Yes, well, we’re not here for your convenience,’ he grumbled.

  ‘I am sure,’ interjected Wylie, ‘that Miss Doughty can be afforded all courtesies and information that you would see fit to allow Mrs Antrobus.’

  ‘Well, we’ll see about that,’ grunted Sharrock. ‘As to the report, I hope to have it in the next two days in time for the inquest, and I really don’t think you would like me to show that to Mrs Antrobus. Funny things bones, a man once said that the whole of a person’s life is written on them. Don’t see it myself.’

  ‘Can you at least tell us the address of the building being demolished?’ asked Frances.

  ‘It was one of the set of houses in Queens Road being knocked down to make way for Mr Whiteley’s new warehouse. The ones with all those great big hoardings blocking people’s windows on either side. We’re trying to trace the owners now but the properties have been empty for some time. Before that they were lodging houses. Now then, I’m a busy man and unless any of you intends to make an actual confession to murder I must ask you all to leave.’

  There were a great many things Frances wanted to discuss with the Inspector, but the visitors decided to take the hint and depart.

  Outside the police station, as everyone prepared to go their separate ways, Wylie turned to Lionel Antrobus but was unable to fully meet his gaze. ‘I suggest to you, sir, that any legal action you are currently contemplating should be postponed until we know the outcome of the inquest.’

  ‘I will take whatever action I think necessary, without any advice from you, sir,’ replied Antrobus stiffly, but he looked thoughtful, nevertheless.

  Frances hired a cab but decided that she and Sarah would go straight to see Harriett Antrobus, who she hoped would tell her more than the Inspector had done.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Charlotte Pearce looked relieved to see Frances on her doorstep, with the solid presence of Sarah beside her inspiring quiet confidence. ‘Please do come in. I was about to send you a message, and I know Harriett wants to speak to you. Such an unpleasant man, that policeman. It was all I could do to stop him talking at the top of his voice. I could not allow him near Harriett.’

  ‘We have come here straight from speaking to Inspector Sharrock at Paddington Green,’ Frances advised her. ‘I regret that we are not, therefore, prepared with suitable footwear, but perhaps if we were simply to remove our boots?’

  Charlotte willingly agreed and conducted them to the back parlour where they found the occupant at her writing desk, a soft-nibbed pen gliding soundlessly over paper. She rose to greet them with a sad expression, and after a worried glance at Sarah, who looked like someone who could make a great deal of noise, was relieved to hear the burly woman greet her in a husky whisper.

  ‘I suppose you have heard the news,’ sighed Mrs Antrobus. ‘It has been a shock to me, but I must gather myself and try to face it as best I may. I thought it would help if I prepared a statement of all I know that could be read out at the inquest, which of course I would prefer not to attend. I have done as much as I can to help the police, and we will see what transpires.’

  ‘When I spoke to Inspector Sharrock just now I had the impression that there was information he was keeping close to his chest,’ Frances told her. ‘We were with Mr Wylie and Mr Lionel Antrobus, and I believe that he did not want to prompt their recollection with anything you that had already divulged.’

  Mrs Antrobus nodded, and there was a bleak weariness behind her eyes. ‘I have been trying to recall anything that might help either to show that the bones are Edwin’s or prove that they are not. Of course nothing would give me greater joy than to see Edwin return to me, but I know that only some terrible fate would have made him abandon his boys. I am prepared for the worst, I suppose I have been for some while now, but – and this may seem strange – it is the not knowing that is the greatest agony. I hope they will permit my statement to be read. I will have it witnessed by a solicitor. Not Mr Marsden, who appears to have deserted me for the enemy camp, presumably for financial reasons.’

  ‘What have you been able to remember?’

  ‘There were two things. Edwin once told me that in his youth he had suffered a bad fall and broken some bones in one leg, but it was so many years ago that I doubt the injury would be apparent now. He would not have mentioned it at all if it had not sometimes troubled him in wet weather. And he also once told me that he had had a tooth out while he was away from home on business, but when or where that occurred I really couldn’t say. It seems little enough, and how many hundreds of other men have also fallen and had teeth out?’

  ‘I was told that the remains were originally in a former lodging house on Queens Road and did not come to light until it was being demolished. Did your husband or anyone connecte
d with him ever have reason to visit there?’

  ‘I can think of no reason why Edwin, or indeed anyone I know, would have gone there.’

  Frances nodded. ‘There is one other matter that has recently been drawn to my attention, and I must apologise if mentioning it causes you pain, but I have been told that you have a cousin who has been in prison.’

  Both sisters looked very unhappy and uncomfortable at the introduction of this new subject.

  ‘Is that true?’ asked Frances. ‘If so, I really should have been told about it before.’

  ‘It is true,’ admitted Mrs Antrobus, her face registering a deep sorrow, ‘and my unfortunate relative has been a stick that Lionel has used many a time to beat me with. Cannot a family have one such shame without it polluting the whole? But I don’t see what this has to do with Edwin.’

  ‘Perhaps nothing, but I must enquire after any individual who was known to your husband and who might conceivably have meant him harm.’

  ‘Of course, yes, I understand.’ She drooped so dejectedly that Charlotte rose and fetched her sister a cup of water from a much-swaddled carafe. The visitors were offered refreshment but declined.

  Frances opened her notebook. ‘What is your cousin’s name?’

  ‘Robert Barfield.’

  ‘And his age?’

  ‘He is the same age as me, thirty-eight.’

  ‘I understand that he was in the habit of trying to get into this house to see you so he could borrow or steal money and that your husband forbade him to enter.’

  ‘Yes, Edwin always tried to protect me from Robert. I cannot hide what my cousin has done. He has been in prison several times, always for theft. He is the son of my mother’s sister, who died when he was about nine. His father found solace for his misery in intoxicating liquor and died of it a few months later. My parents gave Robert a home, but he was strange and wild, and I was afraid of him. Even then he was a petty thief, and I cannot count the times the police came to our door looking for him, but he was swift of foot and always managed to evade them. I recall one time when he hid by climbing out of a window and hanging there by his fingertips while the police searched the house. When he was twelve he ran away, and I have not seen him since, but I do sometimes read of him in the newspapers. It does not make happy reading. Over the years he became a highly accomplished burglar. Nothing was safe from him – he would climb up drainpipes and enter though bedroom or even attic windows to steal money and jewellery. He earned a vulgar nickname. ‘Spring-heeled Bob’, the newspapers called him. It was a relief to me the first time he was caught, I thought that punishment would deter him from a life of crime, but prison did not teach him the error of his ways, and no sooner was he free than he was stealing again.’