The Children of Silence

by Linda Stratmann

  ‘A woman,’ boomed Sharrock abruptly, and Harriett flinched and put her hands over her ears.

  ‘Please Inspector!’ Charlotte begged him.

  Frances read out the description of the woman who had pawned the ring, but neither Harriett nor Charlotte nor Mr Wylie could suggest who she might be. ‘But a careful watch is to be kept and I am sure she will be found,’ she added.

  The Inspector opened his mouth to speak, and Charlotte placed a warning finger to her lips. ‘Really, this is impossible!’ he muttered.

  ‘Not impossible, Inspector, it just needs a little care. And however inconvenient it is for you for these few minutes, kindly try and imagine if you had to live like my sister forever.’

  Sharrock puffed out his cheeks with frustration. ‘Very well,’ he went on as quietly as he could. ‘Mrs Antrobus, can you tell me if your husband was wearing this ring when you last saw him?’

  Harriett nodded. ‘I am not sure if I have ever seen him without it since it became his. In fact it was getting a little tight for him, and he might not have been able to remove it even had he wished to.’

  Sharrock turned to the still nervous Wylie. ‘And you, sir. The truth if you please. When you last saw Mr Edwin Antrobus in Bristol, was he wearing this ring?’

  Wylie trembled. ‘I hardly like to say: supposing I make a mistake? An honest mistake – it’s very easily done. It was a long time ago, and I am not sure if I would even remember such a thing. He might have worn gloves – the weather was quite cold for the time of year, I think – or possibly I might be confusing it with another time, but perhaps —’ he shook his head. ‘No, no, I really can’t say.’

  ‘Well, thank-you Mr Wylie, that is very clear.’ Sharrock took a deep breath as if making an effort to moderate his voice. ‘The ring, please, Mrs Antrobus.’

  ‘May I not keep it?’ asked Harriett, plaintively.

  ‘No, it’s evidence. And it isn’t your property in any case.’

  Reluctantly, Harriett handed it to him.

  ‘When you no longer require it please return it to me,’ said Antrobus. ‘I will keep it safe for my brother should he return, or for his elder son if he does not.’

  Charlotte sat beside Harriett and took her hand. ‘Please, everyone, this has been more disturbance than my poor sister can tolerate for one day. I beg you all to go and leave us in peace.’

  They obeyed her wishes, Wylie rushing away as fast as he could, clearly wanting to place as much distance between himself and the Inspector as possible. Sharrock headed east to the police station, and Frances and Antrobus briefly and silently shared a cab travelling in the other direction.

  ‘I trust you will not be concerning yourself with any murders, Miss Doughty,’ warned Antrobus as she alighted outside the home of Dr Goodwin.

  ‘On the contrary,’ she could not resist replying. ‘I am about to interview a man suspected of murder.’ His shocked expression was reward enough for the discomfort of his company.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Frances had not had the opportunity to send a note to Dr Goodwin announcing her visit but she felt that her work had reached that position when speed was more important than custom, so she rang the doorbell and presented her card to the maid. As she expected, the doctor bowed to the inevitable and agreed to see her.

  Dr Goodwin showed every appearance of a man living a nightmare. He was clearly trying to go through his daily routine in a vain attempt to delude himself that everything was as before, but his eyes had the dry staring look of a man who had been without sleep, his crescent of grey hair was uncombed, and he was moving about in an uncharacteristically vague and disorganised manner. When Frances was conducted to his study he looked both worried and hopeful. ‘Are you looking into Eckley’s death?’ he asked, waving her to a seat.

  ‘No, that is the concern of the police.’ She prepared to take notes. ‘I am still pursuing my enquiries on the disappearance of Mr Edwin Antrobus, and to that end I am looking into everything that happened to him and his family and associates in the months before that occurred. Anything out of the ordinary. Rivalries. Arguments.’ She paused. ‘Secrets.’

  Goodwin gave a thoroughly dejected and weary sigh. ‘I have already told you all I know.’

  ‘I am not so sure of that.’

  He stared at her but uttered no denials.

  ‘First of all I wish to know if Mrs Pearce, the mother of Mrs Antrobus and Miss Charlotte Pearce, was a patient of yours?’

  He was surprised by the question but not alarmed. ‘Yes, that is not a secret. She had been hard of hearing all her life and had grown increasingly deaf in the years before her death. I did all I could for her.’

  ‘How did she converse?’

  ‘Her speech was not affected. She could lip read some common words, but in the main it was best to communicate in writing.’

  ‘You met with a lady by Mr Pearce’s tomb in Kensal Green. That was a secret, I think.’

  It was a risk to be so blunt, but Frances knew she had to declare it as a fact and not a rumour, and certainly not as a story emanating from Mr Dromgoole, which could all too easily be denied.

  Goodwin was silent for a time. ‘A gentleman may meet a lady in full view of any passer-by without there being anything wrong in it,’ he said at last.

  ‘You met more than once,’ she persisted, ‘and I am not implying that anything was wrong, only that others might have thought so and made false allegations which incurred the wrath of Mr Antrobus. Also something might have been discussed at your meetings which could be of importance.’

  He shook his head. ‘No, nothing.’

  ‘And the lady’s identity? The location of these meetings cannot have been chance.’

  ‘How do you know of this?’ he suddenly demanded.

  ‘I cannot reveal the source of the information.’

  Dr Goodwin stared at the papers on his desk without seeing them and passed his hands over his head, his fingers burrowing down into the fringe of hair at the back. At length he took a deep breath. ‘As you have correctly surmised, the lady I met was Mrs Pearce. She was a patient and a friend. Nothing more. She was extremely anxious about the health of her daughter, Mrs Antrobus, and naturally we talked on that subject. Our first encounter at Kensal Green was chance – I had gone to visit the grave of my parents – but after that we agreed to meet from time to time.’

  Frances closed her notebook and looked at him keenly. ‘In the last year of her life Mrs Pearce was unable to walk more than a few steps unassisted and could not have made the journey to her husband’s tomb alone. And you were observed talking to the lady, not passing her writing.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I am saying that you are lying to me.’

  He looked uncomfortable, even a little afraid.

  ‘I would like the truth now, please,’ Frances went on, as if that was the simplest request in the world and not, as she so often found, the hardest.

  He took a deep breath and placed his hands firmly palm down on the desk, a gesture of new resolve. ‘I apologise. You are correct and I ought to be ashamed of myself, but sometimes it is necessary to tell a harmless lie for the greater good. Very well. You shall have the truth. The lady in question was Mrs Harriett Antrobus, and we met in secret in a quiet place because she wished to talk about her difficulties without her husband or anyone else being present. He was not, I am sorry to say, sympathetic to her hardships, and she wished to speak freely and openly to someone who understood them. Since she is a married lady I attempted to deceive you just now in order to protect her reputation.’

  ‘How often and how many times did you meet there?’

  ‘Not very frequently, perhaps five or six times.’

  ‘How many times after Mr Antrobus disappeared?’

  ‘There was one occasion, which I have already mentioned, when I called at the house as a mark of sympathy. Mrs Antrobus was a patient, nothing more.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘I am very weary, Miss Doughty, is that
all?’

  Frances rose to leave, although she could not help feeling that Dr Goodwin had not told her everything. Recalling the expression Cedric had used to the sergeant at Paddington Green, she approached the desk and leaned forward confidentially. ‘I know your secret.’

  It was there, the sudden loss of colour from the cheeks, the look of terror behind his eyes. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he gasped. ‘I did not harm Mr Eckley, the police have found the cabdriver who was conveying me at the time he was killed. I did not conduct an intrigue with either Mrs Pearce or Mrs Antrobus. Isaac is not my natural son, in fact I have no natural children.’ He recovered his composure. ‘Please leave me now.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Frances, more pleasantly. She made to go, but at the door she turned to face him. ‘Oh, by the bye, I have read your booklet on the subject of sign language, it is a fascinating art.’

  ‘Yes, indeed it is,’ he agreed, looking relieved that the subject of the conversation had changed.

  ‘Some of the signs illustrated are very elegant, and one might almost guess what they are as they mime their subject so well. But I was wondering if you could tell me what this one is? I observed it recently.’ She made the sign placing her fingers and thumbs together then drawing her hands apart in a curve.

  ‘Silence.’

  ‘Ah, of course, it indicates a closed mouth. I see it now. And what of this one?’ She mimed the motion with clawed hands at her shoulders.

  Dr Goodwin looked astonished.

  ‘Perhaps I am not performing it correctly. It looks like the action of a monkey, but I can’t see why that would be.’

  ‘Ah, yes, indeed, it can depict a monkey, but so many signs have more than one meaning – this one might also be taken to mean a scamp or a scallywag.’ He frowned. ‘Where did you see this conversation?’

  ‘I am not at liberty to say.’

  When she left him he looked puzzled and very worried.

  The following morning’s post brought a letter from Matthew Ryan, the Bristol detective, which was so startling that Frances entirely forgot her breakfast, and when Sarah saw it she almost forgot hers too.

  Dear Miss Doughty

  I have some new information for you, but I don’t know what use you can put it to since the informant came to me under a veil of anonymity, refused to give me her name and is most reluctant to appear in court. The best I could do was to suggest that I should put a notice in the newspaper if I wished to speak to her again.

  The lady concerned saw the advertisement I placed very recently for any further information relating to the disappearance of Mr Edwin Antrobus. She confessed that in the past, whenever Mr Antrobus was in Bristol on business, he was in the habit of paying her a visit. The lady was at the time married to a sea captain who was often from home. She did not come forward in 1877 for reasons that must be obvious. She has, however, recently been widowed and therefore felt able to reveal what she knows, if with some reservations.

  The last time she saw Mr Antrobus is an occasion she remembers well. She had gone to the railway station to meet her sister, who was visiting with her new baby, an event which was eagerly anticipated and which she made a note of in her diary. It was 13 October 1877. She had just arrived at the station when she saw Mr Antrobus, although she did not think it appropriate to greet him. He presented his ticket to the Inspector and passed onto the platform, and she is quite sure it was the platform from which the Paddington train departed. He was not alone but in the company of another man. They were talking, and while not actually quarrelling, they did not appear to be on good terms. The only description she can offer as to the identity of the other man was that he walked with a very pronounced limp.

  I am continuing my investigations and will write again if I have anything further to report.

  Matthew Ryan

  For a few moments Frances was puzzled. The clerk at the George Railway Hotel had not mentioned Edwin Antrobus’ mysterious companion walking with a limp. Was this the same man or another? She checked through Mr Ryan’s original report and saw that the clerk had seen the men standing talking to each other but had not seen them walk away, so had not had the opportunity to note any unusual gait.

  There was only one limping man known to Edwin Antrobus and that was Mr Luckhurst. Had he followed his partner to Bristol and had an altercation with him there? Frances could hardly think he had not been questioned about his movements during the week between his partner’s departure and last journey, but a train ride from Paddington to Bristol and back was not a lengthy expedition thanks to Mr Brunel’s wonderful railway. Frances was also obliged to consider what credence could now be attached to Mr Luckhurst’s important evidence at the inquest if he had in some way been involved in Edwin Antrobus’ disappearance. Had he lied to ensure that the remains found in the brickyard were not identified as Edwin Antrobus? And if so, why?

  Mr Wylie had lied too, apparently to assist Harriett Antrobus’ case, but Frances was obliged to wonder if she had been duped into thinking there was no more sinister motive.

  Another possibility was that the skeleton found in the brickyard was that of the limping man last seen with Edwin Antrobus. The witness questioned by Matthew Ryan had stated that the two men had not been on good terms. Supposing they had quarrelled and Edwin Antrobus had murdered his companion and then been obliged to disappear? A man who devoted his life to the wellbeing of his sons might have chosen to leave them fatherless in preference to their suffering the disgrace of their father being hanged for murder. Frances looked at the inquest report but all she could glean was that the dead man had once suffered a leg injury that had healed, which from the description was probably insufficient to produce a noticeable limp.

  The obvious thing to do with the new information was take it to Inspector Sharrock.

  The Inspector was available, and he readily agreed to see Frances when he saw she was bringing information. She sat facing him across his tumbled desk, resisting the urge to tidy the papers and discover and polish the wood beneath, a surface that had probably not seen daylight in many years.

  Judging by the length of time he spent perusing the letter Sharrock must have read it through several times, sniffing and grunting and nodding to himself. He jutted his head forward and squinted at the date. ‘Do you mean to say you didn’t hold onto this until it was old news? Didn’t rush off to Bristol and look into it yourself?’

  ‘I received it this morning and brought it here at once.’ Frances might have felt insulted at the suggestion that she sometimes concealed information from the police, if it had not, for excellent reasons, occasionally been true. ‘I was thinking —’

  ‘Ladies thinking is a dangerous thing,’ interrupted Sharrock, ‘and twice as dangerous when you do it.’

  ‘I was thinking,’ Frances repeated, ‘that there is only one man who matches the description of the man who was seen with Mr Antrobus at Bristol.’

  ‘I got eyes in my head, same as you, but you don’t think we forgot to ask Mr Luckhurst to account for his movements do you?’

  ‘I am sure you did ask him, but I have seen Mr Antrobus’ will, and it included a legacy of two thousand pounds to Mr Luckhurst. Men have been killed for far less.’

  ‘You have a wicked mind,’ growled Sharrock. ‘When I was young and innocent I never thought of such things. Took me twenty years to get as cynical as you are now. What will you be like when you’re forty? It doesn’t bear thinking about.’

  ‘I just wanted —’

  ‘Won’t get a husband like that, you know.’

  ‘I’m not looking for a husband,’ declared Frances, irritably.

  ‘I was going to introduce you to my brother, but he’s just taken up with a widow so you’ve missed your chance there.’

  ‘Inspector —’

  ‘What about that Mr Lionel Antrobus? He’s rich and single. Bit old perhaps, but you could do a lot worse.’

  ‘All I would like to know,’ said Frances through gritted teeth, ‘is
whether Mr Luckhurst had an alibi for when his partner went missing.’

  Sharrock leaned back in his chair, which creaked in protest. ‘Yes Miss Doughty, he did.’ He dived forward abruptly, burrowed under a disorganised pile of papers, and brought out a folder, which he opened. ‘At the very moment when Mr Antrobus was leaving his hotel in Bristol, Mr Luckhurst was in the company of two – er – persons. An hour later he was in his office where he attended to business assisted by his clerk, and an hour after that he met a customer by appointment. Four independent witnesses who place him in London for the whole morning. He was not in Bristol when Antrobus left and neither could he have met him at Paddington Station.’

  ‘I must confess I am somewhat relieved to hear it. He did not strike me as a man who would murder his partner for money. Of course that does not mean that he was telling the truth about Mr Antrobus’ wisdom teeth.’

  ‘Oh but he was,’ revealed Sharrock, triumphantly. ‘You haven’t got all the answers, you know. The police can do brain-work, too.’

  ‘I never doubted it. But he was said to have had the teeth extracted in America when he was a young man. I am impressed that you were able to make such a discovery after so long a time.’

  Sharrock preened himself. ‘Ah, well, we have our methods. We found the name of the company in America where Mr Edwin Antrobus spent two years studying the tobacco plant and its cultivation. Very interesting indeed if you like that sort of thing. Turns out the company is still very much in business, and by means of the Atlantic telegraph we were able to learn two things. While Mr Antrobus was there he had his wisdom teeth out. All of them. He was not a brave man in the dentist’s chair, but then how many of us are, even under ether? Struggled so much he half-killed the dentist before he went off to sleep. And the whole time he was there he did not suffer any accident with broken bones.’

  Frances nodded. ‘Then we can be quite sure that the second set of remains are not his, and I am sure the court will come to the same conclusion.’