The Children of Silence (6 page)

‘She is, yes. And you knew nothing of this?’

‘No, and moreover I find it hard to believe. Why would Edwin place all his estate in the hands of a madwoman? You know that she is so obsessed with noise that she hardly ever leaves the house?’

‘I have spoken to her,’ Frances went on, trying not to be ruffled by his attitude, ‘and she struck me as intelligent and more than capable of dealing with her own affairs.’

He gave a brief snort of contempt. ‘You have spoken to her once and no doubt she presented herself well on that occasion, but I have known her for many years and beg to disagree. She has made my brother’s life intolerable with her strange imaginings.’

‘And yet,’ Frances reminded him, ‘there was one doctor who advised your brother that his wife was not losing her mind but suffered from a disease of the ears.’

‘And half a dozen others who thought she should be locked away,’ he retorted.

‘But Dr Goodwin is a highly regarded expert in these matters, a specialist in his field.’

‘Goodwin?’ he exclaimed with an expression of great distaste. ‘Miss Doughty, if you take my advice, you will keep away from Dr Goodwin. He has a reputation and, in my opinion, is not to be trusted.’

‘A reputation?’

‘I have no intention of elaborating further,’ he snapped.

‘Of course I cannot expect you to repeat what may be no more than the slander of a jealous rival, but if I am to pursue my enquiries I must speak to everyone who knew your brother and that must include Dr Goodwin. Do you have any proof of what you say?’

‘No,’ he admitted, reluctantly, ‘but it is well known amongst the medical fraternity and gentlemen’s clubs in Bayswater.’

All-male establishments, Frances reflected, no doubt populated by the very men who were always complaining about the female love of gossip. Whatever Dr Goodwin’s peccadillos, however, she could not see that they impinged on his medical expertise.

‘Very well, I will judge the gentleman for myself. And now, would you be so kind as to show me your brother’s will, as requested in my letter.’

He turned to the cabinet, unlocked a drawer and produced the document. ‘There, and much may it profit you,’ he said, pushing the will across the desk. ‘But I am sure you appreciate that if anyone had wanted to make away with Edwin for his fortune they would not have planned to wait seven years for it.’

Frances unfolded the papers.

‘If you wish to accuse me of murdering my brother, please do, it has been said before.’

She returned his stare. ‘I never make accusations unless I can prove them.’

He tapped his fingers impatiently on the desk as she studied the will. ‘This is a strange profession for a woman, Miss Doughty. So much prying into the private business of others, does it give you pleasure?’

‘It puts food on my table and pays my rent.’ She almost added that it also made her independent of men, a circumstance that seemed doubly attractive to her after only five minutes in the company of Lionel Antrobus.

The will was much as she had expected. There were bequests of twenty pounds each to the servants and a sum of three hundred pounds to a Mrs Davison who resided in Maidstone. To his brother, Lionel, Edwin Antrobus had left three thousand pounds and his half share of the shop and to his partner in the cigarette business, Mr Luckhurst, two thousand pounds. Harriett was to receive only a few personal items. A fund of which she was unable to touch the capital would pay her a small annuity. All the rest of the estate was to be divided equally between the couple’s sons, Edwin jnr and Arthur, provision being made to meet the cost of their education if required. A clause included the instruction that if the testator died before his eldest son was of age, the estate was to be administered by Lionel Antrobus and all decisions concerning the two boys were to be taken by him until Edwin jnr’s twenty-first birthday.

‘Do you think this is a fair will?’ she asked.

‘I do, yes.’

‘And you have examined your brother’s financial papers and this is a true description of his estate? There were no debts to reduce the value?’

‘None to speak of. The usual tradesmen’s bills, which have been settled.’

‘He had no rivals or enemies who might have wished him harm?’

‘No.’

‘I have been told of a Dr Dromgoole whom he found annoying.’

‘Oh, that fellow!’ he exclaimed contemptuously. ‘He made something of a nuisance of himself but then it was shown that he was a fool and a charlatan and his reputation was quite exploded.’

‘Did they quarrel?’

‘They may have done. In fact – yes, Edwin once told me that Dromgoole had accosted him in the street and been most abusive. The man was almost incoherent. He was probably more of a danger to himself than anyone else.’

‘Is he still practising medicine?’

‘I don’t know. It would not surprise me if he is. I have yet to meet an entirely sane doctor.’

Frances wondered if Dr Dromgoole, having suffered a reversal in his medical career, was currently employed at the Bayswater Female Sanatorium in Kildare Terrace, which had once been his home, and felt sorry for any woman who had recourse to such a place and such an attendant. More importantly, if Dromgoole’s prospects had been damaged as a result of his encounter with Edwin Antrobus, it was a possible motive for murder.

She completed her notes and returned the will, which disappeared swiftly into the drawer from whence it had come. ‘What do you think happened to your brother? I take it you have heard nothing from him since he last departed for Bristol in 1877?’

‘Nothing at all. Edwin and I are half-brothers and while we respected each other we were not close. We did not meet often and when we did our conversation was more of a business than a social nature. But you will want to know his character. Even Harriett will not have him as other than honest and well meaning. I do not think he would have deserted her – he was too honourable for that – although had he done so I would have found it hard to blame him. He would not, however, have voluntarily left his sons without a father. I believe that he must have met with an accident or was taken ill or was the victim of a crime. Either he has died or, if alive, is unable, rather than unwilling, to communicate with his family.’

Frances sensed that despite his protestations Lionel Antrobus did care about his brother’s fate, if only because he believed that it was his duty to protect a younger relative.

‘From his portrait there is little to distinguish him in appearance from many another gentleman of his age and class. Can you think of any way that he might be identified?’

‘He always carried business cards, and there was a signet ring that once belonged to his uncle and which he never removed. But cards may be lost or damaged and rings stolen.’

‘When did you last see him?’

‘About a week before he went to Bristol.’

‘What did you talk about?’

‘Tobacco, mainly.’

‘He did not mention Mrs Antrobus? Or his will?’

‘No. He said his sons were doing well at school and he hoped in time to create positions in the business for them.’

‘When did you discover that he was missing?’

‘That would have been two or three days after he was expected home. Harriett wrote to ask if I had seen him. I replied that I had not. I assumed at the time that he had been detained on business. It also occurred to me that he might simply be taking the opportunity of spending some additional time from home.’

‘Was it unusual for him to take additional time?’ asked Frances, wondering if there was some compelling half-life the missing man might have led.

‘He was occasionally away for longer than he had planned, but when he was delayed he would write and say so. You may read into that what you wish. I have no further information. When I heard nothing more from Harriett I assumed that Edwin had returned.’

‘When did you realise that the matter was a serious one?’

‘Some days later I received a letter from his partner, Mr Luckhurst, who said that nothing had been heard from Edwin and his friend Mr Wylie was making enquiries in Bristol on Harriett’s behalf. He agreed to send me a telegram as soon as anything was known, but after a week I decided to go to Bristol myself. I spoke to all Edwin’s known associates there and the hotel but learned nothing. I went to the house and examined all of Edwin’s papers, such as they were, but they furnished no clue as to his whereabouts.’

Frances studied her notes. ‘What of the lady to whom your brother left three hundred pounds? Mrs Davison?’

‘Edwin’s maternal aunt, a respectable widow who lives in Kent near the school. She has a pleasant villa and the boys reside with her during their holidays. I visited the school and spoke to the boys, also their headmaster who knows Edwin by sight, and they have assured me that he has not been there. I also spoke to Mrs Davison but she has not seen or heard from my brother.’

‘I have read the report of Mr Ryan the detective employed by Mr Wylie. The hotel where your brother stayed was the George Railway Hotel, the one he always used when in Bristol, and there was no evidence that he had transferred to another. Mr Ryan placed notices in the newspapers in case your brother had taken a room in a lodging house or an apartment, but with no response. None of his friends or associates said they had given him accommodation. Mr Ryan also made enquiries at the telegraph offices but it does not appear that your brother sent any messages. Either he remained in Bristol at some unknown location or returned to London or travelled elsewhere.’

‘This I already know,’ replied Antrobus, although he appeared impressed with the thoroughness of her approach. He gave a regretful shake of the head. ‘It is hard to see what more can be done. The police have all the facts, and I have kept Mr Ryan on a permanent salary to continue his enquiries. Copies of Edwin’s portrait have appeared in the newspapers.’

‘But until now the investigation has centred on Bristol where he was last seen. Perhaps the answer lies nearer to home. It is this aspect of the enquiry in which I am engaged.’

‘Then I wish you success,’ he said dryly. ‘Oh I do not underestimate you Miss Doughty. I am given to understand that men do so at their peril, nevertheless I do not see what you can possibly achieve.’

‘In your opinion,’ Frances continued, ‘who of all your brother’s acquaintances in London knew him the best?’

‘Luckhurst, since they worked so closely together.’

‘No one else?’

‘No.’

‘What is your opinion of Mr Wylie?’

‘In what respect?’

‘In every respect.’

He placed his hands squarely on the desk as a judge might have done before pronouncing sentence. ‘Do you mean is it my belief that he wishes to prove my brother is deceased in order to overturn the will and have Harriett come into Edwin’s fortune, and then marry her so that he might acquire it for himself?’

‘That is a possible sequence of events,’ Frances admitted. ‘Or he might genuinely esteem and wish to protect her and will offer to marry her in due course, even if she fails to overturn the will.’

‘I could never make him out,’ mused Antrobus. ‘He is effective enough as a man of business, but he is also, or at least appears to be, weak. Whether that is the case or merely a means of disarming suspicion, I do not know. He has never been married, or as far as I am aware wished to be; still I know nothing against his character.’

‘He pays Mrs Antrobus’ legal fees,’ Frances observed, to see how he would respond.

‘He does, and I can hardly imagine that my sister-in-law can, in her current position, be such a prize as to be worth his investment. I doubt very much that she has told him all her history. I am certain that she has not told it to you. She comes from tainted stock. Her father may have been honest but she has a cousin who has served several terms in prison for theft. If Wylie secures her,’ he added with a note of undisguised satisfaction in his voice, ‘he may live to regret it.’

Frances took her leave fearing that she had uncovered only the smallest part of the hatreds and prejudices that existed in the Antrobus family, which bubbled more violently and poisonously than the Paddington basin in summer.

K
ildare Terrace, where Dr Dromgoole had once lived, was a quiet leafy residential street running south from St Stephen’s church and terminating in some pleasant gardens, where wooden benches nestled amongst flowering shrubs under the shade of mature trees. Mr William Whiteley, who, whatever his faults, had been instrumental in converting Westbourne Grove from a place where businesses rarely flourished to the Oxford Street of West London had lived at No. 2 for some years.

The weather continued fine, and Frances decided to walk there from Portobello Road. Not long ago her father’s parsimony had obliged her to walk almost everywhere whether wet or dry, and by and large she had enjoyed it. She had never felt the need to protect her complexion from the sun as did so many young women who equated pale cheeks with beauty, neither had she worn the kind of gowns that might take damage from a little dust or mud and could not be made good with a stiff brush.

From a distance the sanatorium looked like any other house, apart from the small brass plate beside the door. When examined more closely the sign was smart enough to be recent and read ‘Bayswater Female Sanatorium, supervisor Dr T. Caldecott, all enquiries to Mrs Caldecott’. The house itself, however, was in need of substantial repair to the external brickwork, and the window frames were past any hope that might be afforded by a simple coat of paint.

The doorbell was answered by a stout, red-faced maid, who looked fully capable of dealing with any kind of visitor. ‘I would like to see Dr Dromgoole if that is possible,’ said Frances, presenting her card.

The maid squinted at the card. ‘No doctor of that name here.’

‘I believe he used to live here. Perhaps Mrs Caldecott might advise me?’

The maid looked at Frances closely, judging her to be respectable and unlikely to create a disturbance. ‘Come in then. Wait here.’

Frances entered a narrow hallway where the harsh smell of carbolic was unable to conceal staler less pleasant odours and was shown a door marked ‘Visitors’. At the end of the hall a charwoman was kneeling beside a bucket, attacking the tiled floor with a scrubbing brush. There was an abrupt movement of footsteps on the floor above, the banging of a door, a hurried conversation and a loud wailing cry, which went on for some moments and ended with a gulp.