A Case of Doubtful Death

by Linda Stratmann

  ‘Yes, of course. I have known him for about a year. There had been some talk at the club about the Life House, and some fellows thought it a good thing and others felt differently. Well, I could see the sense of it, and so I thought it might be something to invest in, maybe pay a small sum every month and then when the time came – well, hopefully that would not be for many years, but then I would enjoy – although that is not quite the right word – the benefits. So I went up and spoke to the man there – he was an orderly and he told me where I should go if I wanted to speak to Mackenzie, which I did.’ Darscot toyed with the cane. ‘This is where the story becomes – well, the thing is that Mackenzie confided in me that he was in desperate need of funds, not just the little tip I could send him each month, but a substantial amount. He asked me for a loan.’

  ‘How much did he want?’ asked Frances.

  ‘£500.’

  Frances was astonished. ‘That is, as you say, a very substantial sum. Did he say why he needed it? And was it for his own personal use or for the Life House?’

  ‘I was given to understand that it was for the business. Of course,’ added Darscot sadly, ‘I appreciate now, on giving it further thought, that might not have been true.’

  ‘Did you lend it to him?’

  ‘Yes, I did, and he promised that he would repay it in six months, but I am sorry to say that he did not. He asked for more time to pay, and as I was not especially pressed myself and respected the man, I agreed, but three months later he said he wanted more time again.’ Darscot hesitated. ‘The thing is – well, it’s private business so I would appreciate your discretion – just recently I er – found myself in some temporary embarrassment over a slow-running horse and needing to find some funds very quickly. I don’t believe in holding liquid cash in too large an amount, just a thousand or so for emergencies, I like my money to work for me.’ He paused again and Frances believed he was trying to judge if she understood his meaning.

  ‘I am familiar with the financial world,’ she said. ‘Please go on.’

  ‘Well, not having the time, or indeed the desire, to sell shares or mortgage one of my properties, the best means I had of acquiring the money quickly was getting that loan repaid. So I asked Mackenzie for it again and he said he would pay me at the end of the week, but the days passed and the matter became more pressing and still he did not pay. I started to think he was intending never to pay. In fact I had the impression that he was deliberately avoiding me. So I was already somewhat agitated when I went up there and when Mrs Georgeson told me he had died I didn’t believe her – I thought he had instructed her to say that to put me off, to give him time to run away. So I went up to the Life House in a cab and found that it was true; the man was dead. Of course I was very ashamed of myself, then. And as it so happened the very next day I had a windfall …’

  ‘A fast-running horse?’ asked Frances.

  ‘Oh yes, a real corker! So that was alright.’

  ‘Mrs Georgeson thought you were a doctor,’ Frances pointed out.

  ‘I know, well I didn’t want to explain I was calling on Mackenzie to collect on a loan. It was a delicate fiction.’

  ‘May I ask if Dr Mackenzie ever mentioned his orderly Henry Palmer?’

  ‘No, but there was more than one orderly wasn’t there? I can’t remember which one I spoke to when I went up there last year.’

  ‘When you went to Dr Mackenzie’s house that night, how did you travel?’

  ‘By cab, it was a filthy night. My cabman had a horrid cough, wheezed like an old engine, and when I got down he drove off so I had to get another when I left.’

  ‘Did you see anyone walking along the street, either when you drove up or when you left?’

  ‘Not that I recall, I mean it was dark and foggy and even if there had been anyone I might not have seen them, or even recognised them if I had. This is about Palmer disappearing, isn’t it? I read about it in the newspapers. Strange business. Have the police looked in the cellars? A lot of careless folk about – leave their trapdoors open all hours.’

  ‘I believe they have done so.’

  It was clear that Darscot could offer no useful information about Palmer, but now there were new questions to be answered; what financial hardships had induced Dr Mackenzie to borrow £500, and had Palmer been involved either in the transaction or the circumstances that had required the funds?

  Frances also wondered if Doctors Bonner and Warrinder had learned of Mackenzie’s financial difficulties either before or after his death, and decided between themselves that it had no connection with Palmer’s disappearance and had made a compact to conceal it from her. She determined to tackle them on that point and be blunt about it. There was a time and a place for delicacy, but she felt that this was long past. Perhaps Mackenzie, desperate for money, had applied to dubious, even criminal sources for further loans and used Palmer as a messenger, and it was that errand which had led to the young orderly’s fate.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Once Darscot had departed, Frances sent a note to Dr Bonner saying that she would call on him that afternoon and wished to see him and Dr Warrinder together. She felt obliged to pace out Henry Palmer’s new route north, though not with any real hope that she would learn a great deal, although as she travelled up the road, looking carefully about her, she reflected on the possible reasons for him going that way. Mary Ann had seen him stop to think and then turn to walk south in the direction of his home, and Frances had no reason to doubt this. But something had happened shortly afterwards, either he had met someone or seen something or it could even have been his own musings – an incident or just a thought had made him change his mind, and after a very short while he had turned and walked north again. Once again she wondered if Palmer had some mission to carry out for his employer. Supposing he had thought at first that this duty had been rendered unnecessary by Mackenzie’s death, but then, after further reflection, decided that it still needed to be done.

  Where had Palmer been going? There was the Life House itself, of course, but he had not been seen there again that night and there were several other possible places along the route: Dr Bonner’s home; Dr Warrinder’s home; Hemsley’s lodgings and the canal. Then there was the Great Western Railway and Westbourne Park Station, which was not far distant, or the London and North Western Railway, and of course Kilburn police station, as well as many other possible places she did not as yet know about. For an instant, she had a vivid mental picture of the distraught man casting himself in front of a railway train and being mangled into tiny pieces, but that, she knew, would hardly have gone unnoticed even if the remains could not be identified. At the very least the artist for the Illustrated Police News would have been there the very next morning to make a sketch. Frances also reflected deeply on the revelation that Dr Mackenzie had borrowed a large sum of money that he had then been unable to repay, and the interesting fact that he had borrowed it from a man he had just met and not his old friend. Was this because he did not want Dr Bonner to know the reasons for the loan? Had Mackenzie known, even as he borrowed the money, that he would never be able to repay it and did not, therefore, want to cheat a valued friend? He might well have had fewer qualms about reneging on a loan from a moneyed gadfly like Darscot. Clearly it was something about which he felt unable to approach a bank.

  Frances was struck by another possibility – that Dr Mackenzie had not, as certified, died from an affliction of the heart, but had taken his own life, something his friends would naturally have gone to some trouble to conceal, both out of concern for his reputation but also to avoid any taint on the Life House.

  For the meeting, which took place in Dr Bonner’s study, Frances had decided that the two doctors should sit side by side, and that she should be facing them. It was not, as it transpired, necessary for her to ask for this since the gentlemen naturally arranged themselves as she wished. In the minds of the doctors, they would seem to be presenting a united position, two men of the world confronting one
young woman. To Frances, it was her position that was the more powerful as she would be able to see any unspoken consultation that passed between them before they responded to her questions.

  Dr Warrinder was a gentleman of about seventy with weak legs, a mild manner of address and a misty look in his eyes. Dr Bonner folded his arms across his rounded stomach and assumed his usual expression of self-satisfied content, something that Frances intended to puncture at the earliest opportunity.

  ‘I have asked to meet with you, sirs, because I feel there may be matters which, for perfectly understandable motives, you have seen fit to conceal from me,’ she began.

  Dr Bonner’s genial beam widened until it was almost a grimace, but Warrinder looked nervous and appeared to be inspecting the carpet for matters of urgent interest to him.

  ‘I am sure,’ said Dr Bonner, ‘that you have been given every piece of information that could be of any interest regarding the disappearance of Mr Palmer.’

  ‘You must allow,’ replied Frances, ‘that the only person who is qualified to judge whether a fact is of interest to me is I myself. Now then, it has come to my notice that during the last year Dr Mackenzie was experiencing severe financial anxiety, although the reasons for this are as yet unclear, and that he borrowed substantial funds from another party to meet his obligations. I would like to ask if he approached either of you gentlemen for a loan, or indeed if either of you knew the reasons for his difficulties.’

  Bonner’s happy smile faltered and then, under Frances’ continuing gaze, vanished.

  ‘If you are aware of anything affecting the good reputation of Dr Mackenzie, I can assure you I have no wish to broadcast it. I am no gossip, neither do I have any wish to do harm to the business of the Life House. My only concern is to discover Mr Palmer, hopefully safe and well. But if Dr Mackenzie was engaged in some unusual dealings he may have used Palmer as a courier, and that may have led to his disappearance.’

  ‘He did not come to me for money,’ declared Warrinder. He glanced anxiously at Bonner.

  ‘Nor I,’ said Bonner, unable to resist a brief warning flicker of the eyes towards Warrinder.

  ‘But there is more to tell,’ said Frances. ‘I know it, and want only the detail.’

  ‘Oh, this is too unfortunate!’ exclaimed Warrinder. ‘I really feel I can say nothing!’

  ‘I have been faced with such silences before,’ said Frances. ‘They only serve to increase my suspicions and delay my eventual acquisition of the information I require. Dr Bonner, will you speak? I must remind you both that a man’s life may be at stake.’

  Bonner looked pained and after a long hesitation, glanced at Warrinder, who reluctantly nodded. ‘Very well, but only if I have your promise that what I am to say will not go from this room.’

  ‘You have my word,’ Frances assured him.

  Bonner took a deep breath. ‘The financial affairs of the Life House have always been supervised by Dr Mackenzie, in consultation with Mr Hawks, the bookkeeper. Our bank account hardly ever holds a great deal of funds in any case. But about a year ago, I hosted a grand reception to which I invited the most eminent and wealthy men of Bayswater for the purpose of acquiring donations and new customers. It was a great success and a welcome amount of money flowed in.’

  Frances thought that it was in all probability this event that had resulted in the discussion at the Piccadilly Club that had attracted Mr Darscot’s attention.

  ‘About two or three months later, I was considering the purchase of new beds for the Life House and improving the amenities in the chapel. I asked the bookkeeper for the balance held in the bank account and found, to my astonishment, that a sum had been extracted without my knowledge. No less than £500. Such an action requires the signature of two directors and when I mentioned it to Dr Warrinder he told me that Mackenzie had asked him to sign something, but he had been under the impression that the sum required was very considerably smaller.’

  ‘£25, I think he said,’ muttered Warrinder, miserably.

  ‘I made discreet enquiries and established that the sum for which Warrinder had signed was actually £500, and that it had been extracted by Dr Mackenzie. I also found, however, that since taking the money, Mackenzie had been gradually replacing it. Only small sums at a time, but they were very regular contributions, and it was our belief that he had taken the money as a loan only, and was in the process of repaying it. We realised that whatever the reason for the money’s disappearance it was a matter of such delicacy that Mackenzie had felt unable to raise the matter with us. We discussed it at some length and decided that we would keep a watch on the situation, but that as long as the money continued to flow back in, we would say nothing. We decided to treat it as a legitimate private transaction, and that was what we told Mr Hawks.’

  ‘When Dr Mackenzie took the money, what was the actual balance in the accounts?’ asked Frances.

  ‘Oh, about £600 I believe. No more, certainly.’

  ‘Do you think,’ Frances asked, ‘that the reason Dr Mackenzie took on so much additional work recently – the new patients, the pamphlets, the lectures – was for the purpose of repaying the money he took from the Life House?’

  ‘I have no doubt of it,’ said Bonner, ‘and of course it shows the fundamental integrity of the man.’

  ‘Do you think Mr Palmer knew about this situation?’

  ‘I really do not know. I think it very unlikely.’

  ‘And then …’ said Warrinder with a sigh.

  ‘And then?’ exclaimed Frances.

  Warrinder flinched and appeared to be blinking back tears. ‘It was about a week before he died. Mackenzie came to me and asked me to sign another paper. He said he needed £20 for a plaque commemorating a valued patron of the Life House. I looked at the paper, but it was very hard to make out his writing. I said I was suffering terribly with pains in my finger joints and was unable to sign anything, and suggested he see Dr Bonner. He was – upset.’

  ‘Only he did not come to me,’ Bonner interjected. ‘My eyes are sharper than Dr Warrinder’s and he knew he could not dissemble with me.’

  ‘He came back to me a few days later asking how my hand was,’ said Warrinder, ‘and I told him the same lie. What else could I do? If I had said anything he would have known that we suspected him. I spoke to Dr Bonner about it and he said he would find some way of approaching him and perhaps offer some help.’

  ‘But before I could do anything the poor man was dead,’ said Bonner.

  ‘Well that is very interesting,’ said Frances, thoughtfully. The private loan from Darscot and the extraction of funds from the Life House had occurred at approximately the same time. The two events had to be connected. Mackenzie, she surmised, must have needed £1,000 but the Life House account would only supply half that amount and he had had to go to Darscot for the rest. He undoubtedly did not dare take all the funds of the Life House in case other expenses caused cheques to be returned which would expose what he had done. His desperate attempt to draw more money from the Life House shortly before his death was, she felt sure, for the purpose of repaying Darscot’s loan.

  ‘Do either of you know why Dr Mackenzie needed the money he took?’ she asked.

  They looked at each other and she could see that neither had any clue as to the reason.

  ‘Was he a gambler? A drinker? Did he belong to the Monmouth Club?’

  ‘Not that I am aware,’ said Bonner. ‘I can’t imagine where he would have had the time, not for that or any kind of vice.’

  ‘Do you think,’ asked Frances, ‘that Dr Mackenzie’s worries could have been connected in any way with that unfortunate business with Mr Erlichmann? I mean of course the incident in 1863 which you, Dr Bonner, failed to mention to me, but which of course I have since learned of. Why do you think Dr Mackenzie was receiving letters from Dr Kastner in Germany concerning Mr Erlichmann?’

  ‘I really don’t think that a brief disturbance that took place seventeen years ago can have anything to do
with Dr Mackenzie’s financial distress,’ said Bonner, confidently. ‘No, I think you may entirely rule out that line of enquiry.’

  There was no doubt however, despite Dr Bonner’s easy manner, that Dr Warrinder had found the question unsettling. ‘Have you anything more to tell me, Dr Warrinder?’ asked Frances.

  ‘Oh no,’ he said, ‘nothing at all; really I have no more information – none.’

  Before she returned home, Frances extracted a solemn promise from both men that they had told her all they knew and would not conceal anything from her in the future. She did not believe either of them.

  It was, she felt, useless at this point to ask further questions of the two doctors. She needed more information which she could use to prise out what she was sure were bigger secrets. She wrote to Chas and Barstie, asking if they had heard of any financial issues in which Dr Mackenzie might have been involved, be it investments, gambling, loans made or received, or sending funds abroad.

  Sarah’s enquiries about Mrs Pearson’s missing maid had revealed little. Being a ladies’ maid the girl had thought herself rather above the other servants, which had not encouraged friendly conversation. She had attended to her duties diligently and there had been no male callers, neither had she ever mentioned a sweetheart. On half days and Sundays she did dress in a manner above her station, and some of the servants thought that she hoped to attract a husband in a better walk of life, but they had to admit that there was nothing flirtatious or indecent in her manners, and no suggestion that she had ever made eyes at young gentlemen. Mrs Pearson had been entirely satisfied with her services.

  That evening Frances and Sarah both went to the little apartment on Golborne Road where they found Walter Crowe and Mabel Finch keeping Alice company, alternately holding her hand and fluttering anxiously about her. The young woman still looked frail and thin, but there were some dishes of food, broken pieces of pie and cake and buttered bread, which looked as though they had been sampled, and even a glass of milk. As soon as Alice spied Sarah, she picked up the glass with trembling fingers and took a sip. Alice had recently returned to her work in the shop, and although the long days spent on her feet and sometimes ascending steps to fetch down items from high shelves was telling on her strength, it did provide an occupation which was far better than moping at home, and also relieved her of financial anxieties. Everyone had been very kind to her, she said. Many of the ladies who called in asked her in the gentlest possible way if there was any news of her dear brother, and when she confessed there was none, expressed their sympathy and their unshakable confidence that he would soon be found. All had offered to pray for his safe return and several had suggested she employ that clever Miss Doughty, who could find out everything.