The Children of Silence

by Linda Stratmann

  ‘I am happy that you have made that clear to me,’ said Frances, evenly, ‘but it leaves me with another, rather harder question.’

  Harriett smiled the untroubled smile of a woman with a clear conscience. ‘Ah, so I am not yet forgiven. Do go on.’

  ‘I have recently discovered that your cousin Robert Barfield attempted to escape from prison just over a year before your husband disappeared. He suffered a fall in which he was badly injured. A broken leg. I also know that he was released from prison the month before your husband disappeared. I think it is possible that he was the limping man last seen with your husband in Bristol and the same limping man who was later seen wearing your husband’s signet ring. It leads me to believe that the bones found together with your husband’s travelling bag were his.’

  Harriett was silent for a time, her smile declining into a look of regret and sadness, then she rose and went to the piano, put aside the shawl that lay across the keys and started to play. She used only the low notes, her fingers moving very gently like the waves of a quiet sea. There was none of the emphasis that was often to be found in music, every note was the same degree of loudness as the others, monotonous and yet curiously soothing.

  Frances went to stand by her.

  ‘At the time the bones were found all the evidence we had suggested that they might be the remains of your husband. Yet, before any doctor had examined them, you knew at once they could not be his; more than that, I believe you knew that they had to be those of your cousin. Your description, the leg injury and the tooth extraction, the details you asked Mr Wylie to give in evidence, evidence you very carefully distanced yourself from by making your statement sufficiently vague to avoid all blame; I really do not think that was coincidence. Yet you told me yourself that you had not seen your cousin since he was a child.’

  Harriett stopped playing, replaced the shawl across the piano keys and carefully closed the lid. ‘I suppose that I could not persuade you that it was by chance?’

  ‘You could not.’

  ‘No, of course, you are far too clever for that. My poor, poor cousin, what a terrible fate.’

  ‘I believe that you have been concealing from everyone that you saw him after he came out of prison in September 1877 and that he came to this house after your husband disappeared.’

  Harriett returned to her comfortable chair and poured water for them both. She sipped slowly, her eyes misting as she did so. ‘Yes, he had been watching the house. He knew he would not be allowed in, but he saw that I sometimes went to visit my father’s grave. One day I found him waiting for me by the cab. He was in a pitiful state. His clothes were those of the gutter, his injured leg pained him with every step and he was in agony from an abscess on his wisdom tooth. I allowed him to join me and we rode up to the cemetery together. Of course he was desperate for money, and I gave him a brooch and a bracelet of mine. But there was a sense in which his injury was almost a blessing. You see, I dared to hope that if he was no longer able to make his living by thieving he might resort at last to honest work. I told him that if he was to get some better clothes and go to the baths and the barber, and find respectable lodgings, and see a man about the toothache, he might be able to present himself well. I even offered to recommend him to Edwin and Mr Luckhurst as a reformed character and ask if he might be given some employment.

  Unfortunately, while he was happy to take my jewels, he did not approve of my plan since it involved actual work. His mind was only able to engage itself with criminal designs. Now that I think about it, it was a foolish idealistic plan. Had Robert gone to work for Edwin he would have stayed only long enough to discover how he might steal from him and then run away with a bundle of tobacco or boxes of cigarettes.

  But Robert had much larger ideas. He entertained the wholly erroneous belief that if something were to happen to Edwin then I would be a wealthy woman. I could see where that was tending: he thought that if I was wealthy then he could live in idleness off my fortune. I disabused him of that assumption very quickly. I told him that I would not come into great wealth on Edwin’s death, instead I would be forced to rely wholly on the generosity of my brother-in-law, who I was quite sure would not give him a penny piece.’

  ‘Did your cousin actually suggest that he might cause some harm to come to your husband?’

  ‘Not in so many words, it was more of a veiled allusion to judge me by my reply. But I knew what he meant. I said I would not listen to his foul schemes and had nothing more of value to give him and that was an end of it. I didn’t think I would see him again.’

  ‘But you did.’

  She cradled the water cup in her hands and stared into it as if trying to divine her future. ‘Yes.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘It was soon after Edwin had failed to return from Bristol. Robert, having improved his appearance as I had suggested, and had his bad tooth taken out, came to see me and claimed that he had been to Bristol and killed Edwin. I didn’t know if he was telling the truth, one could never be sure of that with Robert, but he was carrying Edwin’s bag with his card case, so I knew at the very least that he had robbed him. I begged him to let me know where Edwin was but he just laughed and said that all would become clear in time. He wanted me to sign an agreement to make over half my fortune to him should I become a widow. I said I would do no such thing. He said that if I did not he would make my life such agony that I would not want to live it. He went away promising that he would come back very soon and that I must do as he demanded or it would be the worse for me.’

  ‘Do you know if he went up to your husband’s dressing room during that visit?’

  ‘He did, without my permission, look around the house, and he said what a fine place it was and how he would enjoy living here.’

  ‘I think that was when he took the opportunity to steal some of your husband’s trinkets, including the signet ring. Did he return?’

  ‘No, I never saw him again. There was so much in the newspapers about Edwin’s disappearance I assumed that Robert was keeping out of the way but would come back to torment me when he needed money. As time passed and he did not reappear I thought it very probable that he was in prison again.’

  ‘Harriett – why did you say nothing of this? You have concealed the truth not only from me but the police too. They would see that as a crime.’

  ‘Because I was afraid,’ she pleaded. She put aside the cup, and taking Frances’ hands, pressed them earnestly. ‘I was afraid of Robert and what he might do to me. Until the bones were found I thought that he was still alive and could come back at any time. When they were found, I knew that I was finally free of him, free from fear, and at the same time I thought that if the bones could be identified as Edwin’s then I would be free of Lionel too.’

  ‘I understand. Your cousin knew that you would be powerless until your husband’s body was found and used his knowledge of its whereabouts to try and force you to agree to make over the fortune of which he imagined you would become mistress. Unfortunately he died before he was able to reveal where he had hidden the remains.’

  ‘Then you do think Edwin is dead?’

  ‘I don’t know for certain, but I fear he is.’

  Harriett heaved a sigh that seemed to come from her soul. She picked up the water cup and drank again. ‘Will you pursue your enquiries? I ask not as a client but a relation. It would mean so much to me if you did.’

  ‘I will do what I can. I assume I am no longer engaged by Mr Wylie since he is gone back to Bristol.’

  ‘So Charlotte has advised me. After the last inquest we found ourselves no further forward, and I hoped he would help me pay for some more searches to be done, but he would not. I think he is angry with me. He has never forgiven me for suggesting what he might say in evidence.’

  ‘Did you know that a man has been arrested for the murder of your cousin?’

  ‘No, I had not heard. One of his criminal associates, I suppose.’

  ‘No, it is Isaac Good
win, Dr Goodwin’s son.’

  ‘Really? How astonishing! But he is just a boy.’

  ‘I believe and hope that your cousin’s death will prove to have been an accident. A fall down some cellar stairs. But Mr Goodwin is under suspicion because your cousin had been trying his blackmailing tricks on his father, accusing him of being responsible for your husband’s death. Now why should that be?’

  ‘Why indeed?’ responded Harriett. ‘What possible reason could Dr Goodwin have to harm Edwin?’

  ‘None, but your cousin may have fancied that Dr Goodwin wished to remove a rival for your love.’

  ‘Oh that is absurd. We were doctor and patient, nothing more.’

  ‘So Dr Goodwin says.’

  There was just the smallest indication that, despite her words, Harriett was not flattered to know this.

  Frances called on Dr Goodwin and, as was so often the case, was unsure as to whether the news she was bringing would please him or not. She found him not exactly cheerful but more optimistic than before.

  ‘I have just come from a long consultation with Mr Rawsthorne, and I am encouraged to believe that no prosecution will be brought. He has advised Isaac to say no more than he has already said, and if he holds his nerve all will be well.’

  ‘I am glad to hear it,’ said Frances. ‘Since we last spoke I have made a discovery which suggests to me that the man who called on you was none other than Robert Barfield, a cousin of Mrs Antrobus. He was the outcast of the family, more often in prison than out, a burglar who once rejoiced in the appellation “Spring-heeled Bob” .’

  ‘He had no spring in his heels when I saw him,’ grunted Goodwin.

  ‘He had injured himself attempting a prison escape, and his old profession was closed to him. When he came out of prison in 1877 he accosted Mrs Antrobus and offered to murder her husband, believing, despite her assurances to the contrary, that on his death she would become rich and he would live off her.’

  Goodwin gave her a curious stare. ‘Did he now?’ He seemed about to say more but closed his mouth firmly.

  ‘I think he followed Mr Antrobus to Bristol. Perhaps he hoped to find an opportunity to kill him there but failed, and the two were seen at the railway station together on their way back to Paddington. He was later seen in possession of Mr Antrobus’ bag and signet ring.’

  ‘So the body has not yet been found?’

  ‘No, and it may never be.’

  ‘Neither man was seen alighting from the train?’

  ‘I believe not. Of course Paddington is such a very busy station.’ She prepared to depart. ‘I will let you know if I discover anything further. The case has become of greater importance to me now, in view of the fact that I will soon become related to the family.’

  ‘Related?’ he exclaimed. ‘How so?’

  ‘My uncle, Mr Cornelius Martin, a widower, is due to announce his engagement to Miss Pearce. It has all been a little sudden, but I am happy for them both.’

  Dr Goodwin appeared anything but happy.

  Frances faced him across his desk, placed her hands upon its surface and leaned forward to speak in a firm and earnest manner. ‘I don’t know what it is that you know, but I beg of you to reveal it either to me or to the police. I think that you are concealing something, not from a sense of guilt but out of a desire to protect a reputation. But think of this: murder has been done, and who knows but it might be done again? Imagine the guilt you will feel should a life be lost and you know that you could have saved it by speaking out. The choice is yours to protect either a reputation or a life.’

  He was silent, but she had said enough and left him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  On Sunday afternoon, after the cool quiet of church followed by a simple luncheon, there was a family tea party at Craven Hill to celebrate the betrothal of Miss Charlotte Pearce and Mr Cornelius Martin. The happy couple were joined by Harriett Antrobus, Frances and Sarah in Mrs Antrobus’ private parlour, and Cornelius had thoughtfully engaged a tidy little maid to fetch and carry so his affianced lady should not have to trouble herself.

  There was quiet conversation over the wooden cups and plates, and Cornelius revealed that he had spoken to Mr Lionel Antrobus who had agreed to his renting the upper part of the house after the wedding. Only immediate family would attend the ceremony, and Harriett had consented to be matron of honour. Shyly, Charlotte asked Frances if she would be bridesmaid and hoped that Sarah would be one of the witnesses. After receiving their warm agreement there was much talk of gowns, Cornelius maintaining a cheerful silent smile, despite the inevitable expense that must follow.

  The maid, who had been well instructed, moved about as if afraid to make any noise at all. Charlotte was just about to ring for the girl to freshen the teapot when she appeared at the door. ‘If you please, Miss, I’m very sorry to intrude, but there’s two policemen say they want to talk to you very urgent. I tried to put them off, but —’

  Cornelius rose. ‘I will deal with this,’ he said, but before he could do so, Inspector Sharrock walked in.

  ‘Oh,’ gasped the maid, ‘I am sorry —’

  Sharrock looked about him at the company and the tea table. ‘Well this is very nice.’

  ‘Inspector, your visit is most inconvenient,’ Cornelius protested. ‘This is a family celebration. Can you not return another day?’

  ‘Please can everyone moderate their voices,’ asked Mrs Antrobus faintly, holding her hands over her ears.

  ‘Yes, let us be calm and do as Harriett asks,’ agreed Charlotte. ‘Elsie, bring more hot water, please.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Sharrock, barring the maid’s way. ‘Elsie, you be a good girl and sit quiet in that corner. My business isn’t with you, but I want you to stay here.’

  Frances saw that he would not be deflected. The maid, who was retreating to a chair looking very frightened, had, she noted, announced the arrival of two policemen, yet only Sharrock had entered the parlour, and Frances wondered what the other one was doing. ‘Might I at least request that your business be completed swiftly so we may continue our celebration?’ she said. My uncle and Miss Pearce have just announced their betrothal.’

  Sharrock did not share the joy of the company. He had not been offered a seat, but nevertheless he sat down. ‘I am investigating the murder of Mr Jonathan Eckley and have made a list of all persons who might have had a motive to kill such a highly respected gentleman. You know of his quarrel with Dr Goodwin, however I am satisfied that the doctor has an alibi for the time of death. I have also interviewed all the teachers recently dismissed from the school by Mr Eckley, which was very interesting since they were all deaf. Funny business that. However, I have been able to eliminate all of them from my enquiries. Mr Isaac Goodwin is also not under suspicion for that crime. Recently I was supplied with some documents relating to work carried out for Mr Eckley by a private detective.’

  Cornelius glanced questioningly at Frances, and Sharrock smiled wryly. ‘No, on this occasion it was not Miss Doughty, but another, less illustrious member of that profession. Amongst those documents was a list of names: the persons he had interviewed on the subject of Isaac Goodwin, whose parentage he had been engaged to discover.’

  ‘Then you will know that the detective came here and spoke to us,’ said Harriett. ‘He said that he was interviewing all former patients of Dr Goodwin and their families.’

  ‘Indeed, and his account of that interview shows that while you believed your mother was once a patient of Dr Goodwin, you had no information to impart regarding Mr Isaac.’

  ‘Yes, that is so.’

  Sharrock pulled a notebook from his pocket and thumbed through the pages. ‘Following that interview, however, Miss Pearce paid a visit to Dr Goodwin. Is that not the case?’

  All eyes turned to Charlotte. ‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘I thought he should be warned about the enquiries, as it seemed to me that someone was attempting to defame him, and it has always been my belief that he is an honoura
ble man.’

  ‘During your conversation with Dr Goodwin, he mentioned to you that he knew who was employing the detective, in fact he told you that it was Mr Eckley.’

  ‘Yes, he did.’

  ‘But having warned the good doctor about the detective, and discovered that he already knew about him, I would have thought that you had done all that was required.’

  ‘Inspector, where is this leading?’ Cornelius demanded.

  ‘All will be clear in a moment, Sir,’ said Sharrock. ‘The thing is that shortly after Miss Pearce called on Dr Goodwin, a lady who had taken care to wear a thick veil called on Mr Eckley and demanded a private interview. Now the maid who admitted her did not of course see her face, but the case being curious she took note of the lady’s dress and height, and it was distinctive enough that she felt sure that she would be able to recognise her again.’ He consulted his notes. ‘Woven braid used to mend the cuffs of the gown and an unusual padded bag. I am in very little doubt that the lady in question was Miss Pearce.’

  Charlotte took a deep breath. ‘I do not deny it. I went to beg Mr Eckley not to continue his pursuit of a good and innocent man.’

  ‘That was very kind and brave of you my dear,’ soothed Cornelius, patting her hand.

  ‘If the ladies would be good enough to let me know where they were on the night of the murder of Mr Eckley?’ asked Sharrock. ‘That would be a week ago last Wednesday? About eight o’clock?’

  The sisters glanced at each other. ‘I am sure we were at home here together as we usually are,’ said Mrs Antrobus, ‘but one day is so very like another.’