The Children of Silence

by Linda Stratmann

  ‘Oh this young lady is a prolific writer of halfpenny tales, all about a silly girl detective called Miss Dauntless,’ taunted the solicitor. ‘Half of Bayswater thinks the stories are true!’

  ‘I am not the author of the stories and I don’t know who is,’ Frances retorted sharply.

  ‘She writes under the name W. Grove, but I know better,’ insinuated Marsden with a sneer.

  ‘You know nothing, sir. But my business is not with you. I was about to ask Mr Antrobus if he knows where his brother was employed when in America.’

  Marsden wrinkled his nose in distaste. ‘I don’t know about you, Mr Antrobus, but I find the word “business” on the lips of a female particularly unpleasant.’

  ‘And yet I see that there is a point to the question,’ observed Antrobus, thoughtfully. ‘I will look into it,’ he promised.

  As Frances thanked him, she saw that Inspector Sharrock, who had been talking to the coroner, was just about to depart and quickly bid them ‘Good-day’ and hurried after him. Behind her she could hear Marsden give a laugh of derision.

  ‘Inspector, if I might have a word with you!’ Frances called.

  Sharrock rolled his eyes, but he paused. ‘I’m a busy man, but I know better than to put you off, as it will only make twice the nuisance later on. One word, that is all I have time for!’ They left the hall and walked on down Church Street together, Frances’ long legs and youth enabling her to easily match the Inspector’s impatient stride.

  ‘I have been hoping to speak to you about the enquiries that were originally made into the disappearance of Mr Antrobus in 1877. I know that it was thought that he had vanished while in Bristol, but I can’t believe that you would not have made some enquiries too.’

  ‘We were in consultation with the Bristol police and gave them such information as we had, yes. And they won’t be at all happy when they hear about this. They’ve been asking round all the dentists in Bristol to see if any of them remembers a Mr Antrobus and his wisdom tooth. I’ve a mind to arrest that Wylie for wasting police time!’

  ‘Did you ever consider at the time that Mr Antrobus might have returned to London or decided to leave his family?’

  ‘The police are not stupid, Miss Doughty,’ he said irritably, ‘we know the sort of things people get up to.’

  ‘I am sorry, I didn’t mean to imply any failing on your part, but I know you and your men are very hard-pressed and there was no actual evidence in this case that a crime had actually taken place.’

  ‘That is true, and there still isn’t. You know about the wife, of course. Men have walked off for less than that.’

  ‘But there are the sons.’

  ‘Yes, and he was a good father by all accounts, but they haven’t had so much as a letter from him. One of the Kent police went to the school and had some words with them. They are two very unhappy boys, missing their father, there’s no dissembling there. There’s an aunt too, respectable type. The constable paid her a visit, and if she’s hiding Mr Antrobus there was no sign of it.’

  He darted away, and Frances let him go.

  Frances returned to her empty rooms to reflect on what she had learned. As Harriett Antrobus herself had said, many men suffered falls and where was the man who had not lost a tooth? The only thing that connected the second skeleton to Edwin Antrobus was the bag and its contents, and a thief could have abandoned it at any time. The one thing of which she was sure was that Mr Wylie, from his anxiety to have matters resolved, had lied to the court.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Frances’ reflections were enlivened when Sarah bustled back, full of news. She had interviewed the Antrobus’ former parlourmaid, Lizzie, who had said she knew of no reason for her master not to return home from Bristol, there having been nothing unusual in his manner or state of health before he disappeared. Edwin Antrobus, she declared, had been neither better nor worse than any master she had worked for previously or since, and his conduct had been perfectly proper at all times. Mrs Antrobus’ affliction, which had required her to creep about the house like a mouse, she had thought very strange, but it was not for her to question the arrangements. Mr Antrobus was very sad about the unfortunate position but bore up well. As far as she was aware there had been no disagreements between husband and wife, although had there been any they would have been conducted almost in whispers.

  Few visitors had come to the house. Mr Luckhurst was sometimes there. Mr Lionel Antrobus and his family called, Miss Pearce came once a week to see her sister and there were any number of medical men. The only person with whom she had ever seen Edwin Antrobus have an altercation was a poor man who had repeatedly come to the house and was very persistent in his appeals for money. He didn’t look like someone who had been living on the street, only someone very ill-clad who had not attended to his toilet as often as he should. On the first occasion he had actually dared to come to the front door and asked to see the lady of the house. Lizzie had directed him to the servant’s entrance, but he had refused to go, saying he had as much right as anyone to come in through the front door. The maid, naturally not wanting to let him in, had shut the door, leaving him standing on the doorstep while she fetched Mr Antrobus.

  Her master, when told of the visitor, had been very relieved that the man had not been allowed into the house. He had hurried to the door and found the man still waiting outside. There had been a sharp exchange of words ending with Mr Antrobus angrily ordering the man away and telling him never to return. Later he told the maid that the caller was a thief and a beggar, and she had done right not to admit him.

  ‘Could she describe him?’ asked Frances, thinking that this was another person who might have set upon Edwin Antrobus in the street.

  ‘Between thirty and forty. Hungry looking, with long dirty whiskers. After that he came to the back door a number of times, but he was always turned away. The charwoman also told the maid that she’d seen a poor man peering through the back windows and trying to get into the house through the servants’ entrance, but it was obvious that he was up to no good and she shooed him away. Once she even saw him trying to squeeze through a bedroom window that was part open to air the room and saw him off with a broomstick. Might have been the same man as came to the front door, but as far as they knew he never actually entered the house. They didn’t see him again after that.’

  ‘How long ago was this?’

  ‘It was a few years before Mr Antrobus went missing. She couldn’t be exact.’

  ‘I suspect he wasn’t a beggar at all but Mrs Antrobus’ cousin, the burglar who seems to spend so much of his life in prison. If he didn’t return it was probably because he was in custody again.’

  The maid had also confirmed that Mrs Antrobus almost never went out, except very occasionally when she and Miss Pearce hired a closed cab and went to visit their father’s grave at All Souls’ in Kensal Green, or sometimes on very quiet mornings they liked to walk in Hyde Park. On those occasions Mrs Antrobus was so muffled against any sound, it was an extraordinary sight to behold.

  Lizzie remembered very well Mrs Antrobus’ distress and confusion when her husband did not return from his business trip, and Miss Pearce had been sent for to comfort her. There had been a number of callers to discuss the dreadful situation: Mr Luckhurst, Mr Lionel Antrobus, some policemen and one or two other men who she thought were lawyers or detectives.

  The servants had stayed on for a month after Mr Antrobus disappeared but left when the lady of the house confessed that she was no longer able to pay their wages.

  There remained one more servant to trace, the charlady, a Mrs Fisher, who had been quite elderly. Lizzie thought that she had probably given up heavy work and gone to live with her married daughter, whose name she didn’t know.

  ‘I’ll find her, though,’ said Sarah.

  Next day Frances received a visit from Tom’s most trusted ‘man’ who, in default of knowing his real name, was usually called Ratty. He had been living on the street making a living
by his wits when Tom offered him the only home and regular employment he had ever known. Ratty had proved himself to be fast on his feet and highly observant, able to follow and spy upon anyone without their noticing he was there and with an excellent memory for faces. His recent work for Frances had led to a sudden ambition to become a detective.

  Some months ago Ratty had supplied information that had helped to solve a murder for which Professor Pounder had briefly been a suspect, and Frances had rewarded the boy with a suit of clothes to replace the assortment of ill-fitting rags he usually wore. As far as she was aware he had only worn the suit once, when he was invited to a tea party hosted by Cedric Garton to celebrate Frances’ success and his sparring master’s freedom. Frances had assumed that the suit had gone to the pawnshop, but when Ratty arrived that morning he was wearing it, and she realised that, as the best article of clothing he had ever owned, he had been preserving it for a suitable occasion. The effect was a little curious since, being at the age when boys suddenly grow almost in front of one’s eyes, he was several inches taller than he had been only six months ago, and his clothes were too short both in the leg and body, revealing an unsavoury looking torn grey shirt underneath. He had made an attempt at washing his face but had not yet learnt that for completeness he should extend his efforts to reach his ears. A boy’s round hat was perched oddly on the side of his head.

  ‘Well, you are looking smart today,’ said Frances.

  He struck a jaunty pose. ‘Bein’ a ’tective, I thort I should look like one! Won’ get no customers less I got the togs! ’N Tom is showin’ me ’bout letters an’ writin’ and all that kind ’v thing.’

  ‘Perhaps you should join the police force,’ Frances suggested. ‘You’ll soon be tall enough.’

  He pulled a face. ‘Don’ like coppers, Miss. Never did, never will.’ He looked about him. ‘Any tea?’

  ‘There’s always tea,’ she reassured him, ‘and Sarah has made jam tarts.’

  Ratty grinned.

  Over tea and pastry Ratty reported that, as per Frances’ instructions, both the school for the deaf and Isaac Goodwin had been under close observation. No pupils boarded at the school, and most lived in Bayswater. A few arrived by carriage every weekday morning from further afield and were taken home the same way, and there was a family of three girls who were brought by a nursemaid and collected by her in the afternoon. Two small boys were taken to and from the school by a parent. None of these children ever conversed with Isaac Goodwin. There remained three boys aged between twelve and fifteen, two of whom were brothers, who lived near Porchester Gardens and walked from their homes to the school and back unaccompanied. During the luncheon period, they would sneak out of the school and dart into the nearby mews to engage in a very active conversation in sign language, and they conversed in the same manner all the way home.

  Mr Eckley, who thought it beneath his dignity to go spying on his pupils himself, had occasionally emerged from the school and sauntered about the street in a manner that suggested he was looking for the supposed secret classes but was carefully trying not to appear to be doing so. He had a strutting manner of promenading and disdained to break into a run, which meant that the boys could easily evade him.

  Frances fetched a street map and Ratty pointed out the narrow alley just around the corner from the school in Chepstow Crescent leading to the stables and coach houses of Pembridge Mews.

  ‘They din’t wanter be seen,’ reported Ratty. ‘They kep’ a sharp lookout in case anyone saw ’em. They saw me, orlright but I jus’ walked in and out like I ’ad bus’niss there and they took no mind ’v me ’n I went into a stable ’n watched ’em from in there. What’s wrong wiv all that hand langwidge any ’ow?’

  ‘Maybe nothing, but the school has banned it. I don’t intend to report the boys: that isn’t my concern. Did Mr Isaac Goodwin meet them?’

  ‘Yeh, las’ night, ’e did, ’n they all went inter the Mews t’ talk. It weren’t jus’ a normal talk, neither, ’e was very upset about somefin’, d’no what, ’v course.’

  ‘But it was just a conversation? He was not teaching them signs?’

  ‘Far as I c’d see they was jus’ talkin’ – well, silent talkin’ anyway. ’E kep’ doin’ this –’ Ratty demonstrated grasping his left wrist with two fingers uppermost and his thumb beneath, ‘then –’ Ratty made fists of both his hands and put one on top of the other.

  Frances got the booklet Dr Goodwin had given her but she felt sure she understood. The second sign was, she already knew, the letter G and the first was like the action of a doctor in taking a pulse. The book confirmed it. Isaac had been making the signs for Dr Goodwin.

  Ratty studied the pictures. ‘An’ this one!’ He stabbed the book with a grubby finger. The sign was for ‘teacher’.

  Frances wondered what that could mean – was Isaac referring to Mr Eckley the headmaster or his own wish to teach? Presumably it was Frances’ recent visit and Mr Eckley’s threats that had upset him.

  ‘’E did this one, too,’ added Ratty making both his hands into claws and drawing them apart across his chest, almost like a monkey in the zoo scratching itself. ‘D’no what that is.’

  Frances leafed through the book but could see nothing illustrated that might help her. ‘’N then ’e did this.’ Ratty put the thumbs and forefingers of both hands together and drew them apart in a curve, like opening a miniature curtain. ‘’N they did it back.’

  ‘How mysterious! I think you should continue to watch Mr Goodwin for another week at least. He may have discontinued teaching for the moment but start again when he thinks it is safe to do so.’ Frances secretly hoped that Isaac would provide her with nothing to suggest that he was likely to fall foul of Mr Eckley’s righteous wrath and the whole matter could be settled without any legal action.

  While waiting for developments Frances addressed herself to her other cases and conducted an interview with a Mrs Lowy, who thankfully had nothing at all to do with skeletons.

  Mrs Lowy was a lady of middle years, tastefully clad, although Frances observed that her gown was not the current season’s but last year’s; she had not, as a younger woman might have done, applied artful embellishments to make it seem new.

  Frances happened to know that Mrs Lowy’s husband, Ferdinand, a purveyor of fine furnishings, was not as prosperous as he would like to appear. Chas and Barstie liked to drop the occasional private hint as to which businesses in Bayswater were experiencing difficulties and which individuals were struggling with debt, and Mr Lowy’s name had been mentioned several times recently. She wondered how much of this was known to his wife.

  There were wives who took an interest in their husbands’ commercial life, providing sage advice and assistance, and others who might have done so had they been given the opportunity but were deliberately or thoughtlessly left in ignorance. Still others agreed with their husbands that trade was a man’s world and women were merely an unnecessary and distracting intrusion into a sphere of life for which they were not suited. Frances had seen more than one distraught victim who had known nothing of an approaching catastrophe before it descended upon her and her children like a thunderclap.

  Had there been a subtle suggestion from Mr Lowy that his wife might like to delay ordering her new gown? There was a time when Frances would simply have observed and felt sympathy, allowing her mind to pass on to other matters, another’s private hardships not being her business. Now they were her business, and she took no comfort from the fact. Occasionally her enquiries had uncovered the hiding places of debtors and, more importantly, where they had concealed their funds. Most of the time, however, there was nothing to be done.

  Mrs Lowy, Frances knew from local gossip, had a very specific problem, the theft of a valuable family heirloom, a necklace that had belonged to her grandmother. Her client explained that she had kept it in a jewel case on her dressing table and rarely wore it because it was rather ugly and unfashionable. Nevertheless she was upset at its disappearan
ce, because of a purely sentimental attachment. Mrs Lowy brought a portrait showing her wearing the necklace and Frances could only agree, although she did not say so, that it was indeed ugly, with festoons of heavy chains, clusters of jewels like overblown flowers and a central pendant with a cameo of a fierce looking man and his supercilious wife.

  ‘It is – a very distinctive piece.’

  ‘It is,’ said Mrs Lowy. ‘No one could sell it as it is or even pawn it without attracting attention. Any thief would have to break it up and sell the stones. I would be so upset if that was to happen. And the cameo – my grandparents’ portrait – will I ever see it again?’

  ‘The jewel box was unlocked?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose that was careless of me but I never imagined anyone would steal it. My maid has been with me for twenty-five years and is a thoroughly good woman. The housemaid was on her half-day holiday the day it went missing. The only other person who ever enters the room is Ferdinand.’

  ‘Is the necklace insured?’ asked Frances, although she could predict the answer.

  ‘Oh yes, for far more than any thief could make from it, but I don’t care about the money, I just want the necklace,’ she finished plaintively.

  ‘And you shall have it,’ said Frances confidently. ‘I am often asked to find stolen jewellery and on many occasions I have found that it was not stolen at all but simply mislaid. Sometimes it has simply been moved to another place in order for it to be cleaned or valued or matched with a gown.’

  ‘I am sure I did not move it, and no one in the house admits having done so,’ protested Mrs Lowy.

  Frances smiled in a manner she hoped would calm and reassure her client. ‘Nevertheless, a busy person can so easily forget these things. You would be surprised at how often it happens. I am sure that you have looked everywhere for it, but I have an associate, a Miss Smith, who is an expert at finding things that are lost. This is what we will do. Miss Smith will visit you this very evening and she will undertake a thorough search. Will your husband be at home?’