The Children of Silence

by Linda Stratmann

Frances gave him a hard look. ‘He is working for me. If he was “lurking” as you say, then he was doing it on my behalf. And I can’t believe that he has carved up anyone.’

  ‘Oh really? Well you ought to pick your people a bit better. He won’t even give me his proper name. Just says he’s called Ratty. What sort of a name is that?’

  Frances made an effort to stay calm. ‘It is what he is always called. He doesn’t know his proper name.’ A fresh torrent of tears was assisting her in the cleaning of Ratty’s face which was beginning to blossom into bruises, and there was a cut on his head. His forearms were still pressed tight across his narrow chest, the hands clutching at his upper arms were clotted with drying blood, and his suit was also smeared with red.

  ‘I din’t ’urt no one!’ gulped Ratty. ‘The gent wuz dead when I saw ’im.’

  Frances tried to unlock Ratty’s grasp, without success. ‘I hope the policemen didn’t hurt you.’

  ‘Hah!’ exclaimed Sharrock. ‘Where did he get that suit, just tell me that? Stole it I expect!’

  ‘I gave it to him,’ said Frances steadily. Sharrock scowled but was silent.

  ‘Inspector,’ Cedric addressed him, stepping forward, ‘I would stake my reputation on the boy being honest.’

  Sharrock looked him up and down and narrowed his eyes. ‘I wouldn’t recommend that, sir.’

  Ratty wiped his nose on his shoulder, an action that improved the condition of neither. ‘Coppers din’t ’urt that much. It wuz the murderer in the alley; ’e comes rushin’ out an’ knocked me over, an’ I think I banged me ’ead, ’cos the nex’ thing I wuz on the ground ’n then I went to look at the gent, but ’e wuz dead. There wuz blood all over! So I went to get ’elp ’n then the copper comes. C’n I go ’ome, Miss?’

  ‘Yes, of course you can,’ Frances reassured him, carefully avoiding looking at the Inspector, although she could hear him growling, ‘but if there is anything you know that might help catch the criminal, you must say what it is first.’

  A constable came in and Sharrock took him aside for a muttered conversation, then grunted and nodded.

  Sarah had gone to get a basin of water and a cloth and managed to persuade Ratty to let her bathe his face and hands and examine his bruises. ‘He’s been knifed!’ she called out suddenly as she removed the coat to show that Ratty had been slashed across one arm. His clutching hand had stopped the worst of the bleeding, but it was still oozing badly. Sarah quickly pressed her large fist about the wound.

  Sharrock ran out and roared for someone to fetch a surgeon. ‘Soon have him stitched back up again,’ he said as he came back into the room. He gave a loud sniff. ‘Looks like the lad might be telling the truth after all,’ he admitted. ‘No knife on him, and no knife in the alley, just a dead man stabbed in the stomach. Nasty business.’

  ‘Do you know who it is?’ asked Frances, hoping that the incident might be the result of an altercation between a pair of dangerous criminals.

  ‘We do, and if you hadn’t come rushing in just now I’d have paid you a visit. He had one of your invoices in his pocket. He’s the headmaster of the deaf school, Mr Eckley. Any idea who might want him dead?’

  ‘Oh dear!’ Frances thought of the dispute with Dr Goodwin, the pursuit of Isaac Goodwin, the dismissal of the deaf teachers and the children whose hands had been tied in class. ‘He was not a popular man, I am afraid, but I can’t imagine anyone going so far as to murder him.’

  Once Ratty’s injuries had been dressed, a process he bore like a man, or perhaps a boy unusually accustomed to pain, and he had been supplied with hot tea, a plate of bread and sausage, and a promise from Cedric that he would be measured for a new suit of clothes at the first opportunity, the transformation from suspect to valued witness was complete.

  Calmer now, Ratty regaled the Inspector with the story of his observation of both the school and Isaac Goodwin, with Frances providing explanations.

  Pembridge Mews was a location well suited to all kinds of unusual activity. A narrow cut between two walled gardens opened out into an enclosure of stables and cottages, the dwellings of domestic coachmen, servants and their families, then a sharp turn to the right provided further accommodation and also a location completely hidden from the main thoroughfare. There was no suggestion that the occupants of the Mews were anything other than respectable, but as a secluded spot it saw a great deal of coming and going, especially after dark. There were gas lamps in the Mews, but since these were not as good as the ones in the street, there were any number of dull, dark shadows.

  That evening Ratty had seen Mr Eckley going into the Mews and had followed him out of curiosity. Eckley had been alone when he walked down the alleyway, crossed the Mews and turned the corner. No one else had been about, but Eckley had the businesslike look of someone on his way to an appointment, consulting his watch and carrying what looked like a letter. Ratty had hovered nearby hoping to hear a conversation, but there had only been an exclamation and the sound of a falling body. He had been about to peer around the corner when a running figure had collided with him, knocking him over. The next thing he knew he was lying on the cobbles and his head was aching. He had the impression that the running figure was taller, heavier and wider than he, but that was all he could remember.

  ‘You didn’t get a look at his face?’

  There was a long silence, and then Ratty turned frightened eyes up to the Inspector. ‘’E dint ’ave no face!’

  ‘Hmm,’ mused Sharrock, ‘perhaps he wore a mask for disguise. Common amongst burglars and the like. And you are quite sure that when you saw Mr Eckley coming out of the school he had a silver watch and chain?’

  Ratty took a mouthful of bread and nodded emphatically.

  Frances was about to ask if the watch was missing from the body, but Sharrock hurried on into another question.

  ‘So what else did you see when you were keeping lookout before? Thieves and gamblers and drunkards I expect?’

  Ratty swallowed and licked his lips. ‘Yes, ’n gents wiv doxies, which was very interestin’, and gents wiv soldiers, which I din’t understand at all. An’ the gent what wuz killed, ’e was there too, yest’rday, meetin’ another gent. Only not for what the gents wiv soldiers did.’

  Sharrock remained impassive. ‘Can you describe the other gent?’

  ‘Old, short, bald ’ead. Dressed like a good’un.’

  Sharrock pulled a battered notebook from his pocket and scrawled on a page.

  ‘An’ ’e were called Dr Goodwin, ’cos that’s what Mr Eckerley called ’im. ’N ’e called ’im lots ’v other words too, what weren’t polite, ’n then they ’ad a big argumentation.’

  ‘Oh dear!’ said Frances again.

  Sharrock gave a deep sigh. ‘What do you know about this, Miss Doughty?’

  ‘You must have seen it in the newspapers; Dr Goodwin is currently suing the school since they dismissed his son from his appointment. But there is more to it than that: Mr Eckley insulted Dr Goodwin by saying that deaf people should not marry and Dr Goodwin is the son of deaf parents. The men are also in hot disagreement about how deaf children should be taught. Dr Goodwin wanted the matter aired in court, and I am afraid Mr Eckley has been attempting to make it a personal affair by trying to discover something to damage Dr Goodwin’s reputation. He wanted to engage me and I refused, but it seems he found another detective, and Dr Goodwin recently learned that someone was asking about him in the hopes of uncovering a scandal. I recommended that they try to settle the matter amicably through their solicitors. They should not have been meeting in private at all.’

  ‘Did you hear what they said?’ Sharrock asked Ratty.

  ‘The doc, ’e wanted t’ know what Eckerly wuz doin’ of, and tole ’im t’ stop or else, and Eckerly laughed and said the doc dare not take it to law or ’e w’d be found out.’

  ‘Was there any violence between the men?’

  ‘Nah.’

  ‘Or threats of violence?’

  ‘The d
oc, ’e shook ’is fist ’n said Ecklerly was not attackin’ ’im ’cos ’e ’ad nothing to be ashamed of, but there wuz a lady involved and that was a bad thing.’

  Frances thought back to Mr Dromgoole’s letter and wondered if the woman he had accused of being Dr Goodwin’s paramour did actually exist; not that this was in itself any evidence of wrongdoing.

  ‘Well it all sounds a bit unsavoury to me.’ Sharrock shook his head. ‘I know what goes on round here, and these respectable types they think it’s all the lowlifes who gets up to things but they’re all as bad as each other. Just some of them hide it better and make more of a noise about how proper they are.’ He raked his hands through his brush of hair. ‘I prefer the lowlifes, you know where you are with them, but these doctors and professors and all their prancing about don’t impress me. If Goodwin has an alibi, all the better for him, but if not, he’s going to have to answer some hard questions.’

  Cedric arranged for a cab to take them all home. Frances was pleased to see that Ratty, who was regarding Sarah like the mother he had probably never known, had recovered from his ordeal. ‘Why do gents always quarrel about ladies?’ he asked.

  ‘A gentleman, if he is a true gentleman, will always protect the honour of a lady,’ Cedric advised.

  ‘Even doxies?’ queried Ratty.

  ‘A doxy may be a good woman too, perhaps even better than some ladies I have known. But surely Dr Goodwin and Mr Eckley were not at loggerheads over a doxy?’

  ‘D’no,’ said Ratty. ‘She were called Mrs Pearce, that’s all I ’eard.’

  ‘Pearce?’ exclaimed Frances, startled. ‘You are sure it was Mrs and not Miss?’

  ‘Yeh. ’Cos the doc said she were a spectable widder.’

  Was it possible, wondered Frances, that this Mrs Pearce was the late mother of Harriett Antrobus and Charlotte Pearce? Could she have been the married woman mentioned in Dromgoole’s letter, the deaf lady and patient of Dr Goodwin who was also supposedly his mistress and the mother of Isaac Goodwin? If Dromgoole had made this accusation to Edwin Antrobus’ face, then it was another reason for a bitter quarrel. ‘I cannot believe that Dr Goodwin is a murderer,’ she concluded.

  ‘If he is not then we must hope he has a good alibi,’ said Cedric. ‘And thanks to young Ratty here we know the exact time of the murder to the minute.’

  There was one small matter Frances wished to resolve. ‘What did you say to the desk sergeant that shocked him so?’

  Cedric smiled. ‘Only that I knew his little secret.’

  ‘And do you?’

  ‘No, but all men have them, why would he be any different?’

  Frances realised that in the absence of further information there was nothing she could, or indeed should, do. If Dr Goodwin was cleared then all was well. The next day, however, she returned to Paddington Green, hoping to learn more, and was told by Constable Mayberry that Dr Goodwin did not have an alibi for the time of the murder and was in custody, being questioned.

  After less than a year in the force Mayberry, a slender youth of about eighteen, with no pretensions to brains or imagination, was becoming a competent young officer under the steely eye of Inspector Sharrock. The main qualities Sharrock looked for in a constable were sobriety, obedience and energy, all of which Mayberry was able to demonstrate, and as a result, whenever Sharrock wanted a constable to accompany him to the scene of a crime, Mayberry was his first choice. The constable had witnessed both the lady detectives’ methods of exposing the misdeeds of criminals and consequently was always respectful to Frances and terrified of Sarah. ‘It was all very strange here last night,’ Mayberry revealed, ‘what with Dr Goodwin being brought in and then a minute afterwards his son arrived, and him being deaf as a post and not able to speak, and very upset, we had a fine time. But he was brought pen and paper, and next thing he had written out a confession to the murder. Said he did it because Mr Eckley was trying to ruin his father.’

  Frances tried unsuccessfully to reconcile the anxious boy with a knife-wielding murderer. ‘Has he been charged?’

  ‘No, because when the Inspector asked him some questions it turned out he didn’t know the first thing about it. Then the maidservant came in and she said he was at home all the time, but the doctor was out. I think he just said it to save his father.’

  ‘I am glad to hear that. It was a terribly misguided thing to do. I hope the Inspector wasn’t too hard on Mr Goodwin.’

  ‘No, well, he saw it was family feeling and let him off. Gave him a stiff talking-to first, mind. Not that the son could hear it but I think the Inspector made himself very clear.’

  ‘Where is Mr Goodwin now?’

  ‘The Inspector sent him home with the maid.’

  Frances, hopeful that this strand of the enquiry would be dropped without her intervention, decided to await developments and returned to her apartment. There she found Mr Gillan waiting for her, anticipating a sensational story for the Chronicle.

  ‘The whole of Bayswater is awash with rumour!’ chortled Gillan excitedly. ‘Some say Dr Goodwin has been murdering all his patients for the last twenty years, some say he has been seducing every female he sees. What do you say, Miss Doughty?’ He poised a pencil over a page in his notebook.

  ‘I say that people should watch their tongues,’ replied Frances.

  ‘The word on the street and in the shops and parlours is that Mr Isaac Goodwin is the natural son of the doctor by one of his own patients. Do you know anything about that?’

  ‘My understanding is that his son is adopted and not a blood relation. It is no business of mine to enquire further. Besides, all the allegations in the world cannot prove the point. You had best take care or your editor will find himself in court again.’

  ‘Ah, well, I have been told that the lady concerned is deceased and cannot be hurt by it now. But it seems that she was hard of hearing and attended a hospital where she saw Dr Goodwin.’

  ‘May a doctor not see a patient without being slandered?’

  He smiled knowingly. ‘All I can say is that someone knows something, and it is getting about.’

  Frances firmly refused to be drawn into saying anything about the matter, but her earlier suspicions that the Chronicle had not been the only recipient of Mr Dromgoole’s furious outpourings were confirmed. She decided that she ought to speak to Mrs Antrobus if only to warn her about the rumours. Harriett’s main sources of information were the newspapers, correspondence, her sister and Mr Wylie, but she might well have been protected from unpleasant stories about her mother being passed around over rattling teacups.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  When Frances called at Craven Hill, Harriett Antrobus and her sister looked composed and untroubled. Charlotte went to fetch some refreshments, and Frances opened the discussion with the usual polite enquiries after Mrs Antrobus’ wellbeing.

  Harriett smiled. ‘I live my life as I must, of course. I have not been disturbed by the police again, which is both a good and a bad thing. I had hoped to be brought more news but it seems there is none to be had. Have you learned anything?’

  ‘I regret that I have nothing new as regards the identity of the remains found in Queens Road. I will attend the adjourned inquest and can only hope that Dr Bond can throw new light on the unfortunate business. You do know, I suppose, that Mr Wylie overstepped what was wise in his evidence?’

  Mrs Antrobus gave a soft little laugh. ‘Oh, the silly man! He confessed all to me and was quite ashamed of himself, as he should have been. But he is kind and well meaning, and thought he was acting for the best. I have been very firm with him and said he must do nothing of the sort again. To be found out in such inadvisable behaviour could only harm our prospects. I do, however, have one happy piece of news. You know of course that your uncle, Mr Martin, was good enough to conduct my sister home when she was so distressed after my brother-in-law’s recent threats. We persuaded him to stay for tea and found him a very gentlemanly and sympathetic visitor. He has expressed an interest
in renting part of the house – at least,’ she smiled, ‘he says it is the house he is interested in – and has called again several times since. Charlotte has shown him the accommodation and she told me he is very pleased indeed with what he has seen.’

  The implication in her tone was very clear, and Frances hardly knew what to say.

  ‘But I may be running ahead of myself,’ admitted Harriett. ‘My sister has known very little happiness, and her selfless devotion to our dear late mother and to me have been the enemy of her chances in life, although no word of complaint has ever passed her lips.’

  Frances, though surprised, found herself content with the thought of Cornelius and Charlotte making a match. Late marriages, when the tastes and character of both parties were settled, and neither had any illusions about the realities of domesticity, could be very happy.

  ‘I wish them both well,’ she said warmly. ‘But to turn to other matters: have you heard anything more from Mr Marsden?’

  ‘I am thankful that I have not. Mr Rawsthorne has called and says he is keeping him at bay while the inquest is undecided. After that – I do not know.’

  Charlotte brought tea and served it out with some thin slices of sponge cake, which, Harriett made a great point of mentioning, her sister had made with her very own hands. Charlotte joined them and smiled a little bashfully at Frances.

  ‘I do not enjoy being the bearer of some distressing news,’ continued Frances, uncomfortably, putting down her little wooden tea bowl, ‘but I am afraid it is necessary, and as a consequence I do need to ask you some questions.’

  ‘Oh, poor Harriett,’ murmured Charlotte, and she leaned across and patted her sister’s hand, comfortingly.

  Mrs Antrobus tried to remain calm and resolute, but even so, she trembled slightly. ‘Do not spare me, Miss Doughty. I must know all, however unfortunate.’

  ‘Have you been told that Dr Goodwin is being questioned by the police about a murder?’

  There was a sharp intake of breath. ‘A murder? I can hardly believe it! Surely not! Oh, but you must mean as a witness; he cannot be a suspect!’