The Children of Silence (31 page)

‘My brother’s ring.’ He opened the box. ‘It belonged to his maternal uncle Charles Henderson and is engraved with Henderson’s initials.’ The ring was gold, a plain, heavy-shouldered item set with a carnelian stone carved with the letters ‘C.H.’ and a spray of oak leaves.

‘And he wore it always?’ asked Frances.

‘He did. He had a great sentimental attachment to it.’

Sharrock nodded thoughtfully. ‘That being the case we can now feel sure that Mr Antrobus must have returned to London. It doesn’t seem likely that he went missing elsewhere and the ring found its way back here on its own.’

Frances agreed. ‘Does the pawnbroker have a record of where and from whom he obtained it? How long has it been in the shop?’

‘I always thought it was the police who asked the questions,’ said Sharrock.

‘Apparently not,’ observed Antrobus, dryly. ‘Unfortunately Mr Taylorson does not have the individual’s name. It was a woman of the poorer class who said she had found it lying in the street, and she brought it to him about two months ago.’

Frances was astonished. ‘Only two months?’

‘Which does rather leave us with the question of where it has been since it was last seen on Mr Antrobus’ finger,’ added Sharrock.

‘Has the pawnbroker seen the woman since?’ asked Frances, ‘because I am not at all convinced by her story.’

Sharrock gave a sceptical chuckle. ‘I’d like sixpence for every item of value pawned that’s said to have been found lying in the street. He hasn’t seen her lately, but if she comes back he’ll let us know, and the constables will keep their eyes open.’

‘I can help the police find her if you wish,’ Frances offered. ‘If you can supply me with a description, I will ask Tom Smith’s men to keep a look out for her.’

‘A kind of junior police force that Miss Doughty has at her beck and call,’ explained Sharrock to Antrobus. ‘Sharp-eyed lads, quick on their feet; when they grow up I could do with some of them in uniform.’

‘Very well, I will fund the work, whatever is required,’ said Antrobus.

Sharrock consulted his notebook. ‘The woman was about fifty years of age, dark dress, brown bonnet, coarse woven flowered shawl, neither stout nor thin, complexion sallow, slight cast in one eye, probably washerwoman or charwoman.’

Frances copied the details into her notebook. ‘If she is seen I will make sure that she is followed home and a report made of where she lives.’

Lionel Antrobus had been staring thoughtfully at the ring. ‘I think it will be necessary to speak to my sister-in-law about this, difficult as that will be.’ He replaced the ring in its box. The Inspector held out his hand, but Antrobus slipped the box into his pocket. ‘I will secure a cab.’

The two men hurried outside, walking up towards Ladbroke Grove where there were more cabs to be had. Frances, although uninvited, quickly followed and the Inspector turned to confront her. ‘Now then, this is police work! Or do I have to handcuff you to something?’

‘Mrs Antrobus is my client,’ insisted Frances. ‘I am engaged by her to find her husband.’

Sharrock grunted and began to sprint down the street after a cab that stopped as he waved. He stood back to allow Lionel Antrobus to mount the steps first, but Antrobus paused and looked at Frances. ‘I rather think the Inspector intends to drive away without you Miss Doughty.’

‘I think so too.’

‘What is this, musical chairs?’ exclaimed the Inspector as Antrobus waved him into the cab then stood aside for Frances to climb in. There was a lurch as Sharrock sank heavily into his seat, and while Frances was safe enough, it was surely only gentlemanly courtesy that led Antrobus to clasp her firmly by the arm to steady her.

Frances thanked him, climbed into the cab and took her seat, her cheeks unnaturally warm. She was still being troubled by the nightmares, experiencing again and again the brutish strength of her attacker, the imprint of his fingertips gripping her shoulder, the foul smell of his breath, the sting of the chloroformed cloth as he tried to press it onto her face. This was different, a man’s strong clasp offered as a woman’s support and not her danger. She collected herself by making a close examination of her notebook.

‘Perhaps, Inspector, you can tell me if there is any news on the murder of Mr Eckley?’

Sharrock scowled. ‘I thought we had our man, and we may still do, but there was nothing we could use so we had to release him. I don’t mind, I can wait.’

‘Are you looking into murder, Miss Doughty?’ enquired Lionel Antrobus, disapprovingly.

‘I am afraid Mr Eckley was a client of mine,’ admitted Frances.

‘Do you lose many of them that way?’

‘Miss Doughty is not only a danger to herself but all of Paddington,’ Sharrock snarled. ‘Wherever she goes, companies fail, banks close and buildings come tumbling down. If you employ her, Mr Antrobus, you should be very careful.’

‘Inspector, I would prefer you not to undermine my business,’ objected Frances, sharply.

‘I do it because I don’t want you ending up dead in an alleyway as you very nearly did last winter!’ thundered Sharrock. There was an uncomfortable silence.

‘Is that true?’ asked Lionel Antrobus, evenly.

‘Not precisely,’ said Frances, feeling disinclined to prolong the argument.

Sharrock grunted. ‘Luckily her servant was with her and flattened the man’s nose for him. He’ll live but his mother won’t know him again.’

Frances felt unable to meet the gaze of either man.

At Craven Hill all three were admitted to the Antrobus house by Charlotte Pearce, who looked dismayed to see the Inspector and even more so to see her brother-in-law.

‘Now then, Miss Pearce,’ began Sharrock, ‘I want to see Mrs Antrobus, and I won’t take no for an answer!’

‘Inspector, I beg you to moderate your voice or you will simply be torturing a very ill woman.’

‘It is pointless to argue,’ Antrobus told him. ‘Agree to what she wants so we can hold the meeting.’

With a certain amount of grumbling, the gentlemen submitted to the inconvenience of removing their boots, the Inspector offering a nice display of Mrs Sharrock’s neat darning, while Charlotte, having ascertained the reason for the visit, went to speak to her sister to advise her of what had transpired.

‘Mr Wylie is with her now,’ said Charlotte when she reappeared, ‘perhaps in a minute or so —’

Sharrock shook his head. ‘No, let him stay, I’ll speak to him too.’

‘Very well. But please ensure that only one person speaks at a time.’

It was a difficult arrangement. Harriett gazed in alarm at the visitors as her private sanctuary was invaded, and Mr Wylie, rising to his feet in decidedly shaky fashion, looked as if he was afraid of being arrested for perjury.

Charlotte took the signet ring from Lionel Antrobus and handed it to Harriett. ‘This was found in a pawnshop. Is it Edwin’s?’

Harriett held the ring in her hands and then clasped it tightly. She squeezed her eyes shut and tears rolled unchecked down her face. At length, she wiped her face and looked up at the visitors. ‘Yes, I would know it anywhere. A pawnshop, you say? But who brought it there?’

‘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.

F
rances 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.’