Frances did not feel very clever and she did not share the confidence of the ladies of Bayswater. Between herself, Walter Crowe and the Kilburn police every possible location in the area where Henry Palmer might have come to accidental grief or been the victim of a crime had been thoroughly searched. She wondered if he had left Bayswater – but where could he be? Scotland? Germany? Anything was possible.
Walter had a copy of the new edition of the Penny Illustrated Paper, which had, as he requested, printed an engraved copy of the portrait of Henry Palmer with an appeal for anyone who had seen him to come forward. Thus far he had received five communications, one of an indecent nature, which he refused to describe, the others suggesting that a man of vaguely similar appearance had been seen in places as diverse as Liverpool and the Isle of Wight. ‘It is early days yet,’ he said, hopefully. ‘They will print it again next week if he is not found before then.’
Frances began to wonder if she had been wasting her time on strange fancies. She knew that she had them and sometimes they led her true, but it could be that this time she had gone astray. She was often thankful for the blunt, practical views of Sarah, which could bring her down to earth with a well-needed jolt. Had the death of Dr Mackenzie and Palmer’s disappearance on the same day been a coincidence after all? Did Palmer have reasons to want to disappear that had nothing at all to do with his employer? Reasons so urgent that after carrying out his duty at the Life House he had run away as originally planned?
Although these questions had already been disposed of at their first meeting, Frances asked Alice if anything had occurred to her since then about her brother’s state of mind. Had he been unhappy in his work? Had he been in debt? Had there been any quarrels? The answer to all these questions was in the negative.
Miss Finch, a pretty young woman who knew how to display her eyes and hair and rosy cheeks to their best advantage, was just as mystified as her friends. She had known Alice for a year, since they worked in the same emporium. Mabel hesitated to mention the precise nature of her occupation in front of Walter, but alluded in the most delicate way to ladies clothing of a variety which both supported and enhanced the female form. She and Henry Palmer had been on terms of a singularly pleasant friendship.
‘I am sorry to ask questions which may be of a prying nature,’ said Frances.
‘Oh, please, do not worry yourself about that!’ exclaimed Miss Finch. ‘If anything I can say will help to find Henry – I mean Mr Palmer – I will help you in any way I can and I care nothing for my own feelings on any point.’
‘Had you and Mr Palmer spoken of marriage?’ asked Frances.
Mabel simpered in a way that Frances understood gentlemen found interesting. She often wanted to take girls that simpered and give them a good shaking, but then she was not a gentleman. ‘Nothing of that kind has actually been said, I mean, nothing out loud, but sometimes, there is a look in a young man’s eye that one can read. I think you understand me?’ She simpered again and Frances hoped that Mabel could not read the look in her eye.
‘Did you anticipate that the ocular appreciation shown by Mr Palmer would eventually be translated into words?’
Mabel smiled demurely. ‘I thought it very probable that it would.’
‘And if Mr Palmer had made you an offer of marriage, how would you have received it?’
Mabel smiled at Alice, who pressed her fingers encouragingly. ‘I would have blushed a great deal and told him I must speak to my father, then I would have confided in Alice, made the dear man wait a week while I planned my trousseau, and said yes.’
‘Do you think Mr Palmer anticipated that if he made an offer it would be accepted?’
‘Oh, I really don’t know,’ said Mabel, coyly.
‘No? What did his eyes tell you?’
If Mabel had been holding a fan she would have pressed it to her heart. ‘I think he may have known the reply would be favourable.’
‘What I am endeavouring to discover, Miss Finch,’ said Frances patiently, ‘is whether Mr Palmer might have been in a state of violent emotion; disappointment in love, or whatever it is that gentlemen feel at such times, and, if he had been, he might have felt the need to be alone with his thoughts. How does that strike you?’
‘I can assure you, Miss Doughty,’ Mabel whispered, ‘that whatever the reason for poor Henry going away, it was not I who was the cause.’
Alice broke in. ‘Henry did observe only recently that he thought Mabel had a very fine complexion,’ she said.
Given the nature of Palmer’s occupation, Frances thought that as compliments went this was not altogether an outstanding one. Nevertheless, it was clear to her that there had been a strong attraction between the two young people, and neither had anticipated anything other than a mutually happy outcome.
‘Is there anything that any of you can recall Mr Palmer saying, not necessarily immediately before he disappeared, but at any time beforehand which suggested that he might have had some secret anxiety troubling him? Did he say anything about Dr Mackenzie or Dr Bonner or Dr Warrinder that you thought even slightly unusual? Had he been given a task to perform which was not part of his normal duties?’
They looked at each other. ‘He said he thought Dr Warrinder’s eyesight was getting worse,’ said Alice, ‘only the poor gentleman didn’t like to admit it.’
‘Did any of you ever meet Dr Mackenzie?’ asked Frances.
Walter and Alice shook their heads, but Mabel said, ‘I haven’t exactly met the gentleman, but he did once give a lecture at Westbourne Hall. That was about three months ago and Henry – I mean Mr Palmer – was assisting him by selling pamphlets, and he suggested I go along and listen as he had a free ticket and then we might take a walk afterwards.’
‘Was it a very interesting talk?’
‘I can’t say as I thought so.’
‘How did Dr Mackenzie impress you?’
‘He was a very sad-looking person. I think he must have been handsome when he was a young man. I was told he was under fifty, but he seemed a great deal older to me. And then only about a week before he died, I happened to pass him in the street and I knew him straight away though of course he didn’t know me, but he was quite bent like an old man, very unwell and tired and his beard was quite grey. I was sorry to hear that he had died but I cannot say that I was very surprised.’
The next morning Frances once again called at Mrs Georgeson’s house in response this time to a note from Mary Ann, who had remembered what it was that was missing from Dr Mackenzie’s room.
The maid was apologetic and spent some time twisting her pale head on its stalk, needing considerable reassurance that the delay in her memory was a matter of no moment at all, the main thing being that it had returned. Frances eventually gave her threepence, which seemed to help.
‘Dr Mackenzie used to have this travelling bag,’ said Mary Ann. ‘Sometimes he gave lectures in places where he had to go by train and stay overnight, and then he used to put his requisites in it and take it with him. That was the thing that was missing.’
‘Do you know if he took it with him when he went out that last night?’
‘I don’t know; I didn’t see him go out. But Mrs Georgeson was expecting him back, so I suppose he wouldn’t have taken it.’
‘Dr Bonner didn’t pick it up? He might have used it to pack up Dr Mackenzie’s papers and books.’
‘No. He put Dr Mackenzie’s books and things in a box, and arranged for a carrier to take them. He didn’t take anything away himself. But the bag used to be in the wardrobe at the bottom and I cleaned it out and I’m sure it wasn’t there.’
‘Can you describe it to me?’
‘Oh it was an old thing, brown leather, very worn and scratched.’
‘Did it have any initials on it? Would you know it if you saw it?’
‘Not any initials, no, but the leather on the handle was split and he had bound it up with a bit of cord. So I would know it by that.’
Frances was pu
zzled. Had Mackenzie taken the bag from his home that night or had someone else removed it? If Mackenzie had taken it then it suggested that he had lied to Mrs Georgeson about his intention to return home and was instead intending to go away, perhaps to avoid his creditors. But the bag would then have been discovered at the Life House after his death, and no one had mentioned it.
Before she departed, Frances asked Mrs Georgeson if she knew whether Mackenzie had been carrying his bag when he left, but the landlady was unable to remember. As far as she was aware it was not in the house. She did, however, supply Frances with two missives that had recently arrived for Dr Mackenzie, one from Scotland, and the other she referred to as ‘another of those foreign letters’. Frances at once recognised Dr Kastner’s handwriting.
Frances hurried home, and Sarah was deputed to do what was required to extract the papers and then take the German letter to Cedric Garton for translation.
The letter from Scotland was, for reasons of bad handwriting, almost as indecipherable as the German one. It was addressed ‘Dear Mackenzie,’ and signed formally ‘S. Stuart MD’, and was written on the printed notepaper of the Aberdeen Hospital for Incurables, which Frances assumed was an establishment for the care of the elderly and dying. The first word, which she was unable to make out, was either Brook or Breck, or possibly even Brooker, and then it read ‘did not arrive. Please advise.’
Frances made a careful note of the content, including as precise a copy as she could make of the word she was finding so hard to decipher, and resealed the letter.
While Sarah was on her errand Frances received a visit from Mr Gillan. Having promised not to disclose what she knew about Mackenzie’s financial difficulties, she could say nothing about the matter, but Gillan could easily see that she was busy.
‘Do you have further clues about Palmer? Do tell!’
‘Well you may print that Mr Palmer, who was supposed to have been last seen walking south down Ladbroke Grove Road towards his home, was seen just a few minutes later walking in the opposite direction. Invite your readers to supply any information if they saw him that night. They will be detectives in their own easy chairs.’
Gillan smiled. ‘I like that, and so will they.’
‘And Mrs Pearson’s personal maid is missing.’
‘Mrs Pearson the banker’s wife?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. The woman is a termagant. She has a new maid every quarter. I think she eats them.’
‘Perhaps you might elaborate on that.’
He laughed. ‘Only that she would try a saint, and her girls always run off, usually in tears. But how are you involved in this?’
‘She has asked me to find the girl.’
‘Now that is unusual. Why should she bother when there are more maids to be had?’
‘She thinks the girl has been kidnapped. Or so she says.’
Gillan shook his head. ‘I wish you every success with that one.’
Frances wondered why everything was so complicated.
Sarah returned with a sheet of paper on which Cedric’s elegant sweeping hand had rendered Dr Kastner’s letter in English:
Dear Alastair
Following my last hopeful letter I am distressed to inform you that Friedrich has suffered a relapse and the doctors hold out very little hope for him. I have tried to speak to him but he is beyond anything now, and even if he has changed his mind he would be quite unable to say so or to give any instructions to that effect. I have made every effort to discover the identity of the solicitor with whom the documents were deposited but without success. And even if I was to find the man, I have no power to restrain him from carrying out his duty. If Friedrich was serious in his intentions the results could be catastrophic, and you would suffer far more than I. At this juncture I am at a loss to know what to do and would welcome your advice.
Assuring you of my friendship always
Ervin
Frances sent a note to Dr Bonner saying she had more letters for him to see, and was rewarded within the hour with an invitation to take tea. Sarah, meanwhile, determined to return to the Pearsons’ house.
When Frances arrived at Dr Bonner’s front door, a bustling lady with a vexed and ill-mannered expression pushed past her and departed in a carriage. Frances was shown into the parlour, which she found as elegant as many another person’s drawing room, and was introduced to Dr Bonner’s assistant, Mr Fairbrother. That gentleman was no more than twenty-two, tall, slender and neatly dressed, and, thought Frances, well-named, as he was not only exceedingly handsome but appeared to be quite unaffected by it. Needing no whiskers to conceal any weakness in his features, he was clean-shaven. While Frances admired a luxuriant moustache as much as the next woman, she could also appreciate faultless grooming, so much so that she began to find Mr Fairbrother’s appearance curiously distracting. Not liking to be distracted from her errand, she took care to rest her eyes as much as possible on the less pleasing countenance of Dr Bonner.
The prim maid served tea and coffee and departed, her manner as starchy as her apron. Bonner said that he would have liked to introduce Frances to his dear wife, who was from home, having just departed on an urgent errand, but hoped that they might meet at a future date, as her command of the tea table was so much better than his own. His deep regret at Mrs Bonner’s absence was tinged with a hint of relief.
Frances handed Bonner the German letter which he accepted as if unsure what to do with it, advising her that since he had written to Dr Kastner two days ago to inform him of Mackenzie’s death, she would not be troubled with similar letters in future.
Mr Fairbrother smiled with great charm and said that he did not speak German, but if there was any service he could offer to assist in the matter he would be delighted and honoured to do so.
Bonner opened the Scottish letter and frowned as he read it.
‘May I see?’ asked Frances and did not wait for his assent, but peered at it like an inquisitive aunt. ‘I see it is from a doctor in Scotland. It has always been of great surprise to me that in medical matters, where accuracy is so essential, the clarity of gentlemen’s handwriting is often wanting. Why, the first word in this letter quite defeats me. Do you think it has any bearing on Mr Palmer?’
‘I doubt it,’ said Bonner. ‘The word is a little hard to read but I suspect it may be “Books”. It seems likely that Mackenzie sent Dr Stuart a parcel of books that he did not receive. I will write to him and discover what it was he requested and see that he has them.’
‘I don’t suppose either of you gentlemen, or Dr Warrinder or Mr Hemsley, has seen Dr Mackenzie’s travelling bag?’ Frances asked.
‘Travelling bag?’ said Bonner, ‘– oh, I know the item you mean – no, I don’t recall seeing it.’
‘You didn’t find it when you looked through his effects after his death?’
‘No, I’m afraid I didn’t.’
‘Was he perhaps carrying it on the night he died? Might he have brought it to the Life House and left it there?’
‘I don’t recall. I didn’t see it.’
‘But when he went away to give a lecture, and intended to stay overnight, if he called in at the Life House on his way there, he would have been carrying the bag on such occasions?’
‘Yes, he would,’ agreed Bonner. ‘I will ask Dr Warrinder and Mr Hemsley, only they would have known it to be Dr Mackenzie’s property and have handed it to me. Mr Fairbrother, you have not seen a travelling bag – leather, well-used?’
Mr Fairbrother regretted that he had not seen it.
‘But surely,’ said Bonner, ‘Mackenzie would not have been carrying it that night as he had no intention of – oh I see what you mean. He might have been about to go away and not mentioned it to me. Oh dear! The foolish man! I am sure I could have helped him out of any difficulty if he had asked me.’ The doctor shook his head. ‘There could be a simpler explanation, I suppose. It was a very old bag, perhaps he threw it away.’
> Frances thought for a few moments, then she presented Dr Bonner with her notebook and pencil. ‘May I ask you to draw a ground plan of the Life House?’
He was surprised but complied, and as he did so Frances sipped her tea and smiled at Mr Fairbrother, who sipped coffee and smiled back. ‘I read in the Chronicle …’ he began.
‘Oh, the Chronicle spins a wonderful tale,’ she replied.
‘It says that you are the most celebrated detective in Bayswater.’
Frances found her cheeks becoming uncomfortably warm. ‘I have been fortunate recently in solving some mysteries which have attracted a great deal of attention,’ she said. ‘But I have not courted notoriety, in fact I have sought to avoid it.’
‘Oh, I am quite sure of that – I hear that you are greatly admired, not only for your skill, but for your discretion.’
‘That is very flattering,’ said Frances, with a quaver in her voice.
‘Ahem!’ interrupted Dr Bonner. ‘I have completed the drawing.’
Frances took it from him, grateful for the interruption, and studied it carefully. ‘Now this is the main entrance on the eastern side. And only the doctors and orderlies have the keys, and only they or medical visitors are permitted to enter that way?’
A Case of Doubtful Death Page 10
