‘Yes, he returns at seven and dines at eight.’
‘Then it is essential that you make sure he knows the instant he returns that Miss Smith will be at your house promptly at nine to look for the necklace. I would not want him to be alarmed.’
Mrs Lowy looked surprised, but she agreed.
Frances called on Tom and explained that she wanted one of his ‘men’ to wait outside Mr and Mrs Lowy’s home and when Mr Lowy returned from his office, to see if he went out again, follow him to his destination and then report to her at once.
‘What you wanted to know about them houses up at Queens Road,’ said Tom. ‘Locked up and boarded tight ever since they were sold. Only opened up to let the workmen go in. Mr Whiteley’s not a gent to let the grass grow. Lots ’v argyments about the hoardings as they was too high. Vestry wanted ’em taken down; Mr Whiteley took no notice; big palaver.’
‘Might someone have been able to climb in?’
‘Not less he was a monkey with arms six foot long and hands on the end of his legs.’
Frances thought that Mr Poe might have made something of that, but she was certain that there was no escaped orang-utan in Bayswater or she would have been asked to look for it.
‘Was one thing, though,’ added Tom. ‘Someone did try and break in a few months ago, only they didn’t get nowhere. I mean they pulled some of the boards apart, but there was only about enough space for a cat to get in, or someone very thin if they wriggled a bit.’
That evening Frances received a visit from one of Tom’s ‘men’ she had not encountered before, a mouse-like boy of about ten called Dunnock, who said that within minutes of arriving home from his office Mr Lowy had rushed out of the house carrying a small parcel and gone to an address. This address, Frances was able to ascertain from her directory, was the home of his brother.
Frances at once proceeded to the home of Mr and Mrs Lowy and engaged in a brief private interview with the gentleman of the house to say that a search would no longer be needed as she had located the missing necklace in the safekeeping of his brother. She added that she hoped he had not yet pursued a claim with his insurance company, whose directors might find it hard to believe that he had made an innocent error. He thanked her gratefully, paid her a handsome fee and hurried to tell his wife the good news.
Frances had found the task she had carried out for Mr Eckley somewhat distasteful and was relieved when she felt able to report after a few more days of observation that she was satisfied that Isaac Goodwin was not teaching sign language to the pupils of the school. She went to see Eckley in his study, and he listened to what she told him with a serious expression.
‘My conclusion is that you have no grounds for action against Mr Goodwin.’ Frances produced an envelope from her reticule. ‘My invoice. I require settlement in thirty days.’ Frances did not usually provide an invoice quite so promptly but she wanted to end that particular association as soon as possible.
‘But he was seen using signs to the boys?’
‘In conversation only. How else might he speak to his friends?’
‘Hmph! He can read and write.’
Frances was losing all patience with the man. ‘Do you really intend to try and dictate how Mr Goodwin converses with his friends? I do not think you have any legal means of enforcing your wishes.’
Eckley polished his spectacles and gave this some thought. ‘Very well, you may desist from your observations for the moment. I must confess I am disappointed that they are meeting in Pembridge Mews. I had them chased out of there some months ago. I shall write a letter to the boys’ parents to advise that they will be expelled if caught loitering there again. But I do have another commission for you. Is it part of your business to look into people’s antecedents?’
‘Certainly.’
‘Then I wish you to discover the antecedents of Mr Isaac Goodwin. In particular his parentage.’
Frances had been about to make a note of his requirements but stopped, immediately suspicious. ‘This is something I often do for prospective employers, business partners and fathers-in-law. You do not appear to fall into any such category.’
He resumed his spectacles, through which he gave her a hard look. ‘If I engage you to do this it should not matter to you why I ask for the information.’
‘Excuse me, but I think it does.’
Mr Eckley was not a gentleman who was used to having his actions questioned by anyone, least of all a young woman. He pushed out his chest as if to assert his authority. Frances remained unimpressed both by his authority and his chest.
‘I must bid you good day,’ she said, preparing to leave.
‘Oh very well, if you insist,’ he said reluctantly. ‘I assume that you are unfamiliar with the paper I gave to the Milan conference on the teaching of the deaf last September?’
‘I am.’
‘In describing the many advantages of the German system I pointed out that deaf children who only learn to speak with signs are necessarily restricted to the society of other deaf children. When they are of an age to marry they will probably marry within that society. The result of an intermarriage of two deaf persons you may imagine.’ He paused. ‘Surely I do not need to explain?’
‘You do not. But your theory may not be a good one. Dr Goodwin, for example, is the son of two deaf parents and is not himself deaf.’ A thought occurred to her. ‘Did you know that when you presented your paper?’
‘I did not, but it has been pointed out to me several times since,’ he said with marked irritation. ‘My response is that it is true that he is not deaf now, but who knows that he may not become so in future?’
Frances could see why Dr Goodwin might find Mr Eckley’s position on this question somewhat insulting, adding an extra barb to his legal action. ‘And of course Mr Isaac Goodwin is not a blood relation of the doctor but adopted.’
Eckley smiled unpleasantly. ‘So Dr Goodwin would have us all believe.’
‘I am aware that there are rumours and unkind gossip regarding the parentage of Mr Isaac Goodwin, which appears to have emanated from a person who was not in his right mind,’ Frances advised him. ‘I am surprised that you take notice of such things.’
Eckley shrugged. ‘If the rumours are false then Dr Goodwin should thank me for proving that they are so; if true, they will support my theory.’
‘You claim scientific disinterest on the subject?’
‘I do.’
Frances placed her invoice on the desk, put her notebook and pencil in her reticule, snapped it shut and rose to her feet. ‘Mr Eckley, I will have nothing to do with this. It is very apparent to me that your true motive is to discover something dishonourable about Dr Goodwin, which you will then either use in your defence in the coming court case or, worse still, as blackmail to persuade him to drop the action. That would make me an accessory to a crime.’
He opened his mouth with an expression of hurt pride, an angry denial on his lips and then gave a little laugh of embarrassment. ‘You see through me, of course,’ he conceded. ‘I had heard that you are a perceptive young lady. Would you accept my guarantee that if you carried out the work your name would not be mentioned?’
‘No, Mr Eckley. I will accept my fee for what I have done so far and no more. And if I were you I would abandon this mode of attacking Dr Goodwin. Whether you win or lose it will reflect badly upon you.’
Frances gave him no further opportunity to pursue his arguments and left.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The resumed inquest on the bones found in the builders’ rubble provided little that was helpful. The owners and landladies of the demolished houses had been traced and stated that they had never observed anything that had aroused suspicion. All were adamant that they took care to check the contents of the cellar every time there was a delivery of coal, and not only had there not been a sack marked Geo Bates, all had purchased their coal from another supplier. The houses had been vacated in September 1880 and had then been securely locked.
No tenants had gone missing during their term of occupation in the previous five years, and those who had departed paid their rent and left in good health.
It had been hoped to conclude the proceedings at the second hearing but Dr Bond, a man in constant demand, had been called away on another case and had not completed his detailed examination of the remains, so the inquest was adjourned for another week.
Later that same day Frances interviewed a new client, Mr Wren, manufacturer of neckerchiefs, handkerchiefs, cravats and cummerbunds. Mr Wren was a highly nervous and very angry man. His eyes flickered about the room as he explained his business, his fingertips constantly rubbed against each other and his shoulders occasionally gave a sudden twitch. It had come to Mr Wren’s notice that a business rival, a Mr Cork, had been placing advertisements in the Chronicle which had not only claimed health-giving benefits for his own products but made veiled suggestions that articles produced by Mr Wren were deleterious to the male economy. He had already instructed his solicitor to send a letter to Mr Cork ordering him to stop the offending advertisements, and publish a retraction, but the disappointing response was that nothing had been done contrary to the law. Frustrated by this, Mr Wren was determined to find something with which to attack his rival and therefore wanted Frances to examine old copies of the Chronicle to see if anything had been done in the past that was actionable. He would do it himself, he said, but it was a tedious undertaking and he did not relish the prospect, neither could he spare his clerk.
Frances did not relish it either, but it was paid work.
Sarah departed soon afterwards to pay a visit to the sender of an obscene letter to Miss Gilbert and Miss John, devoted companions and founders of the Bayswater Ladies Suffrage Society. The sender was not expecting a visit from Sarah, a fact that only added to her pleasurable anticipation. It never ceased to amaze Frances that a person could put a disgusting letter in the post and feel safe that their crime would not find them out. It had taken very little wit to track the miscreant to her home address, and the whole unpleasant episode would quickly be put to rest with a few well-chosen words. Miss Gilbert and Miss John, who declared themselves very shocked at the allegations, saying they had never heard of such a thing, preferred not to prosecute.
Frances dispatched a hurried luncheon of bread and jam, and then went to the offices of the Chronicle to look for Mr Cork’s advertisements.
It was, as Frances had anticipated, an exceedingly dull way to spend an afternoon. She was rapidly coming to the conclusion that Mr Wren and his hated rival were as bad as each other and that it was her client who was the guiltier of the two. After a few hours staring at small print, and with a headache threatening, she was obliged to refresh herself at a nearby teashop.
While undertaking the commission, she had taken the opportunity to read about the Old Bailey trial of Mrs Antrobus’ cousin Robert Barfield, which had taken place in February 1876. The servant of a respectable lady had left a door unfastened for a just few moments while taking rubbish out to the ash bin, and Barfield, who had been lurking in the neighbourhood looking for opportunities, had seized his chance, crept into the parlour and stolen a watch. He was arrested an hour later since his manner while trying to sell the watch had aroused the suspicions of the jeweller, who had delayed the transaction long enough to send his assistant for a policeman. Initially Barfield had claimed that he had inherited the watch from an uncle, but when the engraving showed that this was untrue and the rightful owner arrived to claim her property, he changed his story and said he had bought it from a man in the street whose name he did not know. The jury had no difficulty in recognising an incorrigible liar and he was convicted. In view of his known criminal history, he was sentenced to three years in prison. Had he actually broken into the house the sentence would have been considerably longer.
Frances returned to the newspaper office to continue her thankless task and was visited by Mr Gillan, who made sympathetic noises. ‘All you need to know is that Wren and Cork used to be in business together. Cork thinks Wren stole his patterns and Wren thinks Cork stole his ladylove. If you settle one argument then they’ll just think up another one.’
Frances had just discovered a rich vein of furious correspondence, the authors of which published under pseudonyms but were almost certainly the two rivals. ‘I am surprised the Chronicle publishes letters like these.’
‘We usually have the measure of our men and how far they will go, and our readers like a good joust. If you think those letters are a bit strong, you should see the ones we don’t dare publish.’
Frances was struck by a sudden thought. ‘The last time I came here I was reading in the 1877 editions the dispute between Dr Goodwin and a man calling himself “Bayswater M.D.”, to which the editor called a halt, presumably on the grounds that the debate was becoming heated and possibly libellous. If there were other letters which were not published, would you still have them?’
‘I’ll send Ibbitson to look them out,’ said Gillan with a grin. ‘Obliging lad; ambitious to be something in the newspaper world. He could go far.’ If Gillan was hoping to stimulate a romance he had failed, but a helpful newsboy with a promising future was, thought Frances, someone a detective should cultivate.
Young Ibbitson quickly provided Frances with a folder of unpublished letters from a number of sources covering the debate between Dr Goodwin and ‘Bayswater M.D.’. Several were from medical men who had correctly surmised that the latter was actually Mr Dromgoole and expressed the opinion that his friends should have him ‘looked after’, a polite expression for what had actually occurred soon afterwards. Others said the same thing but rather less politely.
There was also a long letter from Dromgoole, which did nothing to make Frances disagree with the general estimation of his state of mind.
‘Dr Goodwin, a gentleman who is supposed to be so knowledgeable and virtuous as to inspire confidence in the public should look to his reputation,’ Dromgoole had written, his excitement increasingly obvious as his handwriting snaked wildly across the page, ink splashing from the deep stabbing strokes of an angry pen. There were prominent and unnecessary capital letters, the whole interlarded with multiple exclamation marks:
Here is a man who cannot even acknowledge his own natural SON!! And WHY does he maintain this fiction that the unfortunate simpleton boy is not a relative? Is he ashamed of him? NO!! Dr Goodwin is ashamed of Himself!! First he conducts an Intrigue with a Married Woman – I will not say Lady – a deaf person who is his own Patient! How horrible!! He woos her with his sinister Signs making disgusting protestations of illicit love under the very nose of her trusting husband who cannot understand that he is being cruelly duped! If it were not so base it would be better played as a Farce upon the popular stage. And Goodwin prevails upon the weak faithless wife, becoming her Paramour, assuming all the privileges of a husband, a role Wholly Unsuited to a respectable Englishman. And when finally the foolish husband’s eyes are opened and his wife confesses her Treason, the unhappy man is moved by pity to agree not to Divorce her if the Child, the fruit of their illicit dealings, is sent away. This feeble infant is minded by persons of the VILEST kind, only to be later passed off by his own natural Father as adopted in the name of charity!!
If this is not unspeakable enough, Dr Goodwin continues to have assignations with his Mistress, who is now masquerading as a respectable Widow, a fact of which I am sure her family is unaware but which I have witnessed with my Own Eyes. Their place of assignation is actually a holy place, a fact that can only cause the gorge to rise with Disgust!! I thank God that I am not married, or I would be obliged to keep my wife indoors all the time, lest whenever she left the house she met secretly with such Dishonourable men as Dr Goodwin. I do not write the name of his Inamorata, but I would be prepared to announce it in public if required.
Frances wondered how much of this poisonous material had been spread across Bayswater and how many who heard it had actually believed it. Did Dr Goodwin know the full
extent of Mr Dromgoole’s venomous attack? Goodwin had admitted knowing of the rumours that Isaac was his natural son but had felt sure that no one would attach any credit to the ravings of a madman. His stance of remaining silent had seemed to be the most dignified way of dealing with them.
The unpublished letter was altogether more damaging. If true, the allegation that Dr Goodwin had seduced his own patient would put an end to his medical career, and the mere suspicion, even if unsupported, would be highly dangerous for him. The only thing in Dr Goodwin’s favour was that the story emanated from a highly untrustworthy source, but so few people who took pleasure in scandals ever troubled themselves to look into them and weigh up their value before passing them on.
Following the dispute with the school, the old rumours that Dr Goodwin thought forgotten were playing right into the hands of its headmaster. Frances was now even more pleased that she had declined to act further for Mr Eckley. She had no respect for a man who allowed an academic disagreement to degenerate into a sordid personal attack.
Frances looked at her notes again and wondered who the alleged mistress of Dr Goodwin and mother of Isaac Goodwin might be. Could she be the mysterious Adeline? Was jealous love the reason for Dromgoole’s anger? Or was the entire story, including the lady herself, merely a figment of the accuser’s fevered imagination?
Later that day Frances was surprised to receive an unexpected visit from Dr Goodwin, who arrived with a deeply furrowed brow.
‘Miss Doughty, I am sorry to intrude upon you unannounced, but I have some very serious questions to ask,’ he began, removing his hat and passing a hand across his forehead.
‘I will endeavour to help you in any way I can,’ said Frances, offering him a seat at her little parlour table.
The Children of Silence Page 16
