‘I mean to speak to Dr Goodwin on the subject of sign language for the deaf.’ She stared down at her hands, spreading the fingers out wide, then brought them together and curved her fingers in so the tips touched. She had seen Dr Collin make a gesture with the fingers of both hands over the picture of the canal remains. Looking down at her hands now she could see how they resembled a ribcage in miniature.
Her companion looked slightly alarmed, as if it was not Frances but Dr Goodwin who should be concerned about personal safety. ‘I will accompany you,’ he announced.
‘You will not,’ retorted Frances.
There was a brief argument until he saw that protest was useless, and she descended from the carriage alone.
Dr Goodwin was at home, and after a short wait Frances was conducted into his study. He looked weary, as if sleep had been eluding him for some time, but he made an effort to be both courteous and helpful. ‘How may I assist you, Miss Doughty?’ he asked.
‘It is a question of sign language. During our last conversation I described the sign which you said denoted a monkey or some sort of rascal, but I now think I did not perform it correctly and it was something quite different. Not only that but you knew it at the time; I could see it in your expression, you recognised it, and yet you said nothing.’
He heaved a deep breath. ‘This is all surmise. I have nothing to say.’
She pressed on relentlessly. ‘I have a reliable witness to a conversation that took place between your son and some pupils of the school. He was in a very agitated state and he made this sign to them.’ Frances placed her clawed fingers to her chest, the tips resting together on the breastbone, and drew her hands apart. ‘It means skeleton, doesn’t it? That conversation took place very soon after the skeleton was discovered in Queens Road. It is not too much of a surmise to conclude that that was the subject of the conversation. He swore them to silence – that much I am sure of, because you yourself told me what the sign meant – and they responded and agreed. And he did this,’ Frances made the signs for doctor and the letter G. ‘So you were somehow involved.’
Goodwin said nothing but stared at Frances as if looking on the face of doom.
‘When your son worked as a caretaker at the school, was it a part of his duties to fetch coal from the cellar?’
Goodwin hesitated as if composing a suitable reply.
‘Do not dissemble,’ she warned. ‘If you do not answer the question, I am sure I can find others who will.’
Reluctantly, Goodwin nodded.
‘What did he find there? Or perhaps I should be asking another question. What did he put there?’
As Frances waited for a response she studied the doctor’s face. ‘I have seen that look before when I ask a question and the person I am asking thinks about how they might manage to tell me as little as possible. I am then obliged to come back again for the information they have been concealing. Why not save us both some time and tell me all?’
Goodwin gave a wry smile. ‘Ah, you are very persuasive, Miss Doughty. I can see how you have achieved your reputation.’
‘I understand that you feel the need to protect your son; he undoubtedly also feels the need to protect you. You know that he made a confession to the murder of Mr Eckley when you were arrested? Fortunately the police were able to establish very quickly that he knew nothing of the matter. Such efforts are always misguided. I beg you not to attempt the same.’
He gave in. ‘You are correct of course, I did recognise that the sign was that for a skeleton. And since I knew you had been looking into Isaac’s activities on behalf of Mr Eckley I guessed that it was his conversation you had seen. I spoke to him, and he admitted what had occurred. About three or four years ago there was a visitor to the school, a man who had difficulty walking. He took a wrong turn by chance, stumbled, and fell down the steps of the cellar. His neck was broken and there was nothing Isaac could do. I know he should have gone for help, but he was afraid he would be blamed and so he concealed the body under some wood. Isaac was the only person who went into the cellar, to fetch things from the stores or carry coal. There was some disinfectant he used for the drains and he scattered it on the stairs so no smells would penetrate into the hallway when the door was opened.’
‘When did this happen?’
‘Isaac can’t recall the exact date, but it was towards the end of the year.’
‘November 1877?’ asked Frances, recalling that Mrs Eves had last seen her limping tenant in that month.
‘Possibly.’
‘And I suppose the body might have remained there forever if he had not been dismissed from his post as a result of the school’s banning of sign language.’
‘True. As you may imagine when Isaac realised that another person would be replacing him and going into the cellar, he had to do something quickly. The body had made a meal for flies and vermin, which Isaac had chosen not to discourage, and was by now a skeleton. He burnt most of the clothes in the kitchen range and got a scolding from the cook for his efforts because of the smell. He dared not try to burn the shoes and bones.’
‘So he put them in a coal sack and then –’ Frances paused. ‘But when did this happen? I can guess that these are the remains that were found in the empty house in Queens Road, but if it was after your son knew he had been dismissed the house was boarded up and he could never have got inside.’ She thought again. ‘Oh, yes of course, I am very unobservant. He asked the children to dispose of the sack.’
‘Not asked, precisely. They saw him with it, and he confessed what had happened. He was thinking of putting it in the ash bin, but they persuaded him that it was better concealed somewhere far from the school so if it was found there would be no connection.’
Frances had been quickly leafing through her notes to find the reports she had obtained from Ratty and Tom. ‘The boys who walked to and from school would have passed by the house on their way and known about it. And there was some damage done to the hoardings at that time, enough so a child could get through but not an adult.’
‘Empty houses have always been a temptation for boys, and there is so much building going on in Bayswater. We warn them of the dangers, of course, but they will seek adventure.’
‘You do understand that Isaac has committed a crime in concealing the body?’
Goodwin nodded ruefully. ‘I know, I know, and I think it would be wise if he confessed. I shall ask him to do so, and I will be happy to pay any fine that may result. I only hope the boys will not incur too much blame.’
‘The boys are just children, and a court might be lenient, in fact it is possible that the police might decline to take any action against them.’
‘I hope so.’
‘So it only remains to discover who the man was. We have one clue. A ring was found in the cellar by the charlady. That ring was the property of Mr Edwin Antrobus, and it never left his finger.’
Goodwin looked shocked. ‘No, no, he wasn’t – I mean he can’t have been —’ he stopped.
Frances raised an eyebrow. ‘The visitor wasn’t Edwin Antrobus? How do you know?’
‘Isaac described him to me,’ explained Goodwin weakly.
‘Yes?’
‘He – he walked with a limp. Edwin Antrobus did not.’
‘You did not see the man for yourself?’
‘No.’
‘I am not convinced.’
‘Well – not on that occasion. He might have been the same man who was here once before. He was unknown to me. He had a business proposition that I declined. He must have returned.’
‘Describe him.’
‘Respectably dressed. Between thirty and forty. He limped. I can recall nothing more.’
‘Did he carry a leather travelling bag?’
‘I can’t be sure.’
‘You don’t recall whether or not he was wearing a ring?’
‘No.’
‘Did he give a name?’
‘He did but I really can’t recall it.’
‘And what was the nature of the proposition?’
An expression of pain suffused the doctor’s face. ‘He was a scoundrel. He had heard all those old rumours about me and thought he could use them for gain.’
‘He tried to blackmail you?’
‘Yes. I told him to leave. There is nothing that can be proved against me because there is nothing to prove.’
‘But a man in your position cannot afford even rumour, however ill founded. Did this concern your meetings with Mrs Antrobus?’
‘He had somehow learned of those innocent meetings and made a wholly false assumption. I put him right on the matter.’
‘Is that the reason you stopped meeting Mrs Antrobus? Even as a friend? To avoid misunderstandings?’
Goodwin dropped his gaze to his desk, avoiding Frances’ eyes. ‘Yes, it is.’
‘There is more. I need to know it.’
He swallowed uncomfortably on a dry throat and went to get a glass of water. ‘Does nothing escape you? Well, you are correct. He accused me of a crime of which I am wholly innocent, a crime which I would not even have thought of committing, let alone actually committed.’
‘What crime is this?’
‘He supposed that I was love with Mrs Antrobus and that I had killed her husband so as to marry her. He could not have been further from the truth. I do not love the lady and have never aspired to marry. Isaac and my pupils are all the family I could possibly wish for. It seemed wise, however, to protect the lady’s reputation by conducting no further meetings with her.’
‘Did Isaac know about these threats?’
‘No, how could he have done? I certainly didn’t tell him.’
‘Can you recall the date of that visit?’
‘I am sorry, no.’
Frances rose to leave. The question of who the visitor was and how he had come by Edwin Antrobus’ ring was still a mystery but one she did not believe Dr Goodwin could help her solve. ‘I will leave it to your conscience as to whether you tell the police what has occurred, but I am confident you will do the right thing.’
‘You may rely on me for that. It has weighed heavily on my mind ever since Isaac confessed the truth, and I too believe he will not incur too great a penalty.’
She left him to his thoughts.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
On the following morning Sarah at last discovered the Antrobus’ former charlady, by a method she was almost ashamed to relate. Realising that the servant might have recommended a relative or friend to the position when she decided to give up the work, Sarah had spoken to the woman currently employed at Craven Hill and found that she was none other than a neighbour of Mrs Fisher, the previous incumbent. Sarah called on Mrs Fisher and, after an interesting discussion involving beer, decided to bring her to Frances to tell her story.
Mrs Fisher had worked for Edwin Antrobus’ uncle Mr Henderson up to the time of his death and thereafter for his heir. She had been in the house at the time of the unfortunate accident with the pistol, and it was a tale she was determined to tell to anyone who would listen and probably a great many others who preferred not.
‘I shall never forget that day!’ she declared, breathing beery fumes across the parlour table. ‘The family was there for dinner, Mr Henderson and his old aunts, three of them, all long gone now, and Mr Edwin Antrobus and his intended and her family. Mr Henderson always had such lovely evenings. He used to play the piano after dinner while Mr Antrobus sang. He had a beautiful voice, very sweet and light, like a songbird. Good enough for the stage. If I got the chance I used to creep up into the hall to listen. That night I was just coming up from the kitchen, hoping to hear some music, when there was this terrible loud bang from upstairs and a big commotion.
‘Mr Edwin, he come rushing out of the drawing room and goes running up the stairs, and two of the old ladies came out, but they stayed down in the hallway; they didn’t dare go up.
‘Then after a few minutes Mr Edwin came down and he was very upset and said there had been a terrible accident and Mr Henderson was dead and there was nothing anyone could do.’ She heaved a sorrowful sigh and hiccupped loudly, wiping her face with her shawl.
‘There were rumours that Mr Henderson had taken his own life,’ prompted Frances, ‘and the inquest only held that it was an accident in order to spare the feelings of the family.’
‘I don’t know about no inquest. But he used to have a bad head sometimes, migraine he called it, and there weren’t nothing that could take it away. So perhaps he couldn’t stand no more of it and decided to blow his head off.’ She shrugged. ‘Or he might have been cleaning the gun and didn’t see it was loaded.’
‘Would a man go and clean his gun after dinner with guests in the house? Had he done such a thing before?’
‘No, he used to clean it before he went out shooting and after he came back.’
‘And of course, it was through his death that Mr Antrobus inherited his fortune.’
Mrs Fisher winced and rubbed her stomach. ‘Poor man. He said he would have given it all away just to get that terrible sight out his head. But he never could.’
‘Were he and Mrs Antrobus a contented couple?’
‘Contented enough. You know about her ears, of course?’
‘Yes.’
‘She used to play the piano like Mr Henderson, only very quiet, but Mr Edwin never sang for her. I don’t think he ever sang again after his uncle died. You know, my brother has the same thing as Mrs Antrobus. He was in the ironworks ten years, and all that banging and clanging of the hammers did for him. He can’t even bear to hear birds singing now, and he used to like to listen to the birds,’ she added wistfully.
‘Did you ever see any reason to suppose that Mr Antrobus would desert his wife, or did he have any enemies who might have harmed him?’
‘No.’
‘There was a man who tried to get into the house, a ragged looking man, who he turned away. I was told you’d chased him off.’
She laughed. ‘Oh yes, he had a cheek all right! I sent him packing more than once. Caught him trying to get in at a window and so I hit him with my broom, and off he went sliding down the drainpipe and jumped over the back wall like a rabbit. Lizzie told me he was Mrs Antrobus’ cousin, but I didn’t believe it. He was just saying that so she’d let him in.’
‘But she thought he was? Why was that?’
‘Can’t remember now, something about Mrs Antrobus being unhappy at having such a bad man in the family.’
‘Did he ever get in to steal anything?’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘When did you last see Mr Antrobus?’
‘Oh, I didn’t see him much at all because he was out at his business when I was there.’
‘You don’t know if he was wearing his signet ring when he left for Bristol?’
She shrugged and hiccupped again. ‘You haven’t got a bit of peppermint about you?’
‘So,’ said Frances to Sarah after Mrs Fisher had gone and the room had been sprinkled with lavender water. ‘The man who said he was Mrs Antrobus’ cousin Robert Barfield and tried but failed to get into the house, didn’t limp. Indeed everything I have heard about Mr Barfield suggests that he was very agile. But who was the limping man? And do we have several limping men or just the one?’ Frances opened her notebook and made a list.
‘We first encounter a limping man in late September 1877 when he lodged in Redan Place. He is shabbily dressed, suffers from toothache and has no bag or ring. We next find a limping man on 3 October lodging with Mrs Eves, rather better dressed, no bag, probably no ring and no toothache.’
‘The same man only with a bit of money?’ suggested Sarah.
‘Very possibly. On the 13th of October 1877 a limping man is seen with Mr Edwin Antrobus at Bristol station. Soon afterwards Mrs Eves’ lodger is carrying a bag very like the one Mr Antrobus had and wears a signet ring.’
‘Then he’s the man on the train.’
‘I think so. He the
n goes missing in November.’
‘When did the man fall down into the cellar?’
‘I don’t know the exact date, but there is nothing to suggest that Mrs Eves’ lodger cannot be the same man who tried to blackmail Dr Goodwin and the man whose bones were later deposited in Mr Whiteley’s property in Queens Road. But he was not Mr Antrobus. Dr Goodwin is very certain that the man who tried to blackmail him was not Mr Antrobus, and it is clear from Dr Bond’s recent examination of the remains that the limp was not feigned.’
‘We still don’t know for sure if Mr Antrobus was wearing his ring when he went away,’ said Sarah. ‘If it was too tight he might have taken it somewhere to get it made bigger, and then it got stolen. If that man had it how did he get it?’
Frances looked at her notes. ‘You spoke to the parlourmaid Lizzie before the ring was found, so she was never asked about it. Perhaps we should see her again. She might remember something.’
Lizzie was about to enjoy a rare half-day holiday but was persuaded by Sarah to spare a short hour that afternoon as long as it involved a visit to a teashop. Frances met her there and found the maid dressed in some style, in a gown most probably given to her by her new mistress, cast off as unfashionable and made over with care. Her bonnet, which had started out quite plain, had been be-ribboned almost to the point of coquettishness. Many people were shocked at such displays, and newspapers often published letters of complaint, deploring the fact that it was becoming impossible nowadays to tell the difference between a lady and a servant.
Lizzie cheerfully ordered a pot of tea, with sponge cake, scones and strawberry tarts, and there was no question but Frances would be paying for the treat.
‘I spoke to Mrs Fisher today,’ said Frances as a cream tea sufficient for four people was brought to the table. ‘She told me a very amusing story of how she chased off a ragged man from Mr Antrobus’ house with a broom.’
Lizzie laughed, helped herself to a tartlet and spooned a thick layer of cream and jam on a scone. ‘Oh, she wasn’t a person to stand any nonsense!’
The Children of Silence Page 26
