The Children of Silence (27 page)

He paused and looked up with a willing expression. ‘Certainly, Miss.’

‘I am looking for a relative, a Mr John Dixon, who I have only just learned might be a patient here. Is that correct?’

The attendant hesitated, his cheerful smile replaced by a more serious look. ‘I think you ought to speak to the supervisor, Dr Magrath. Just wait for me to settle my patient and I’ll let him know you are here.’

‘But Mr Dixon is a patient here? I have not mistaken the place?’

‘You are not mistaken,’ he confirmed gently.

‘I had wondered about that. It was my impression that this establishment is for the very elderly, and Mr Dixon is only fifty-two. Do you have many patients in their middle years?’

‘No, he was —’ the attendant winced and made a quick recovery. ‘I mean, he is the only one. He was admitted following an accident.’

‘Oh dear!’ Frances gasped. ‘I hope he is not too disfigured! Is he very frightful to look at?’

‘No, no, not at all, it was just a scar on his temple, nothing to distress yourself about, I am sure.’

Frances did not press the attendant further as she thought she had learned all that she could from him without arousing his suspicion. She thanked him and followed him to the garden, where he called a servant to conduct her to the visitors’ room to await Dr Magrath. Frances said nothing about the purpose of her visit, only provided her card.

Dr Magrath arrived barely a minute later. He was not, as she had anticipated, pleased to see her. A man who thinks he has disposed of all his business on a single visit is always unnerved by a second one.

‘Miss Doughty, how may I assist you?’ he asked cautiously.

‘Since our last meeting I have thought of another question I would like to ask Mr Dromgoole,’ she explained. ‘It will only take a moment or two. Might I see him again?’

His expression would have sat well on the face of an undertaker. ‘I fear that that will not be possible.’

‘Really? Perhaps you might like to consider why I do not find your answer surprising. The fact is that I have recently discovered that you practised a deception on me at our last meeting.’

Magrath tried to conceal his alarm by forcing an overly bright nervous smile but only succeeded in radiating a guilty conscience. He laughed unconvincingly. ‘Surely not.’

‘It is a matter of great disappointment to me that a respected man of medicine should do such a thing,’ Frances went on. ‘Kindly redeem yourself by explaining your reasons for presenting another man to me as Mr Dromgoole and let me have your solemn promise to be truthful in future.’

‘Ah,’ said Magrath, the smile vanishing.

‘Your patient was actually a Mr John Dixon, who was admitted here after suffering a serious accident in which his wife, Adeline, was killed. Is that true?’

Dr Magrath appeared to be considering his options. A denial rose to his lips but died unspoken. His fingers fidgeted and his gaze travelled about the room as if seeking inspiration from the strange portraits on its walls.

‘Is that true?’ Frances repeated, more firmly this time, in a tone that made it quite plain that she knew it was.

He gave up the struggle and made a helpless gesture. ‘Er – yes – I am really very sorry.’

‘You chose him because out of all the residents here he is the only man near to Mr Dromgoole’s age. You could not have deceived me with any other patient. Was that why you told me not to mention Dr Goodwin to him? Was Mr Dixon a patient of his? Did he suffer with his ears after the accident?’

He gave her a rueful glance. ‘You have a good memory.’

‘So – where is Mr Dromgoole, and what is the reason for the ridiculous masquerade at our earlier meeting?’

There was a long silence, a refuge of time, which Magrath employed pacing in a circle, making an earnest inspection of the carpet. ‘Miss Doughty,’ he said looking up at last, ‘please believe me that I acted with the best of intentions, and I do not think – at least I hope – that I have done nothing against the law.’

Frances’ expression suggested that this was something of which she had yet to be convinced. ‘Please go on,’ she said, coldly.

‘You will appreciate that in an establishment such as this, our patients are either very aged or in frail health, but when he was admitted, Mr Dromgoole was neither.’

‘Then why was he here?’ Frances looked at her notes. ‘Is this something to do with the asylum company’s purchase of the house in Kildare Terrace from his cousin, Mr Malcolm Dromgoole, because it appears to me that there has been a very underhand arrangement.’

‘Oh no, please believe me, it was all fully legal. Our solicitor Mr Rawsthorne drew up the papers. That house is now, as I expect you know, a female sanatorium.’

‘But was it a condition of the purchase that the asylum cared for Mr Dromgoole?’

‘It was.’ Magrath drew up a chair and sat to face her. ‘Mr Dromgoole was originally placed in the public asylum by his medical friends. His cousin was most distressed by this, and having acquired legal control over his estate, he hoped that he might be able to rent the house in Kildare Terrace to pay for him to be better accommodated, but the property was very dilapidated and there were no funds for its repair. Even if he had been able to sell it as it was, the amount raised would have been swallowed up in a few years and Mr Dromgoole would then have had to be returned to the public asylum. So we came to an agreement. The ownership of the house would be transferred to the General Asylum Company gratis and in return the company agreed to accommodate Mr Dromgoole.

‘Unfortunately this proved to be more difficult than we had anticipated. As I have already mentioned, an establishment such as ours would not be tolerated in this neighbourhood unless the public was assured that our residents pose no threat to their safety. But Mr Dromgoole was erratic, not of great age and far from feeble. He made more than one attempt to escape, saying that he would take vengeance on the men who had destroyed him. We were therefore obliged to transfer him to a place where he could be more securely housed. I had not expected anyone to call asking for him but his attendant Mr Fullwood and I had already agreed that if that was ever to occur, a harmless deception would be required.’

‘Harmless,’ repeated Frances in a tone that left Dr Magrath in no doubt as to her opinion on that point. ‘I see. And what did his cousin have to say about Mr Dromgoole being moved from here?’

Dr Magrath faltered.

‘You failed to mention it to him, I take it?’

‘Er – yes – I am afraid so.’

‘Deliberately.’

Magrath could only nod.

‘What did you intend to do had Mr Dromgoole’s cousin come to visit? You could not have deceived him, surely? Harmlessly or otherwise.’

‘We thought a visit from him unlikely as he lives in Dundee and does not travel. But had he done so we would undoubtedly have had sufficient advance notice to return Mr Dromgoole here for a brief period. But I do not feel that we have strayed from the essence of the original agreement, as we promised to provide suitable care and accommodation and that is what we have done, albeit in a different location. It was unforeseen circumstances which demanded that Mr Dromgoole was an unsuitable resident for this house.’ Magrath, having explained everything to his satisfaction, was relieved enough to venture a smile again.

Frances was not convinced that Dr Magrath did believe he had complied with the agreement or he would have been open with her from the beginning. Underneath his disarming manner there was something else he was concealing, though whether this had anything to do with her enquiries she did not know.

‘When was Mr Dromgoole moved?’’ she asked.

‘He was here for about two months.’

Frances looked at her notes. ‘He was admitted on 5 July 1877, and if that is correct he left before Mr Antrobus’ disappearance and has been securely confined ever since.’

‘Yes, so he could not have been in any way responsible for whatever happened to Mr Antrobus.’

‘Even so, Mr Dromgoole may have information which I would find useful, so I would like you to tell me where he is.’

Magrath was startled. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I want to speak to him, which is what I had hoped to do when I came here first.’

‘But, his mind has quite gone. You will learn nothing from him.’

‘That is as maybe, but I will judge that.’

He hesitated.

‘Please let me have the address, and I will travel there today.’ Frances sat with her pencil poised over her notebook in anticipation.

After a brief pause, Magrath leaned back in his chair and folded his arms firmly across his chest. ‘I am sorry, but that information is confidential.’

‘Is it?’

‘I am afraid so. There is a very strict limit on what I can reveal to someone who is not a blood relative of the patient.’

Frances had met with worse opposition and was not perturbed. ‘You put me to a great deal of trouble, Dr Magrath. I want the information and I will have it, one way or another.’

‘It would be detrimental to the health of Mr Dromgoole to undergo questioning, and you have no power to force me to open a confidential file.’

‘As to the first, you must forgive me if I do not believe you, and I have more power than you think.’

He remained obstinate. ‘I doubt it.’

‘Very well, I will write to Mr Malcolm Dromgoole and obtain an order from him for you to open the file. He will no doubt be extremely interested to hear of the change in arrangements. I do not at present have his address, and I am sure that you will refuse to supply it, but I would not be any kind of a detective if I could not have that information in my hands before the end of the day.’

Magrath tried to conceal his alarm but failed.

‘Or you could save us both time and trouble and let me know now where Mr Dromgoole is currently located.’

He hesitated. ‘I shouldn’t, of course.’

‘I think you should.’ Frances poised her pencil once more.

‘It will be a long journey,’ he objected.

‘Then I had better start at once. So, if you please, the name of the asylum, its addresss and the name of the supervisor.’

Magrath stared at her with growing discomfort.

‘I also intend to speak to Mr Rawsthorne, as he will need to check that the agreement he drew up is still being complied with. I should mention that Mr Rawsthorne is an old friend of my family and has been a great help to me in many of my cases.’

Magrath threw up his hands. ‘Oh, you may safely leave that with me!’ he exclaimed.

‘Why does that assurance not inspire me with confidence?’ said Frances dryly. ‘Now then, the information.’ She waited. ‘Unless of course the story of Mr Dromgoole being moved is just another lie.’ Another wait. ‘Yes?’

He groaned. ‘I really – I am so sorry. I am afraid that you cannot see Mr Dromgoole – in fact no one can. He is dead.’

There was a long silence during which Frances favoured Dr Magrath with a look that had made many a stronger man quail. ‘Where is the record of his death?’ she asked. ‘Where is his grave? Forgive me for doubting you but I think I have good reason.’

‘No record and no grave,’ said Magrath, miserably.

‘No proof, in other words. If this is yet another lie I shall be very displeased.’

‘I wish it was not true but it is.’ After further thought, and with an air of extreme reluctance, he rose and rang for the maid. They waited in silence until Doris arrived and was sent to fetch the senior attendant without delay.

‘Mr Fullwood will tell you all you need to know, as he was present at the death,’ said Magrath.

‘When did it take place?’

‘I don’t recall the exact day. Dromgoole had been here for just over two months.’

‘The date on which, according to your file, he was transferred from here, in other words some weeks before Mr Antrobus disappeared.’ It seemed that that line of enquiry was now over, assuming that Frances could now trust what Dr Magrath said, although she was a long way from doing so.

Fullwood arrived and Magrath waved him to a seat. ‘Mr Fullwood, it seems that Miss Doughty has lived up to her formidable reputation and discovered our deception concerning Mr Dromgoole. Much as I know it will pain us both, I feel that we have no alternative but to tell her the entire truth.’

Fullwood looked uncomfortable. ‘We’ve done nothing against the law,’ he muttered defensively.

Frances doubted that very much, since Dromgoole’s death, assuming that he was indeed dead, had never been reported or registered. No one who worked in an institution where most of the residents were of advanced age could fail to know the obligation to report a death to the Registrar, an omission that was at the very least a punishable misdemeanour. She decided to wait for Mr Fullwood’s story before she voiced an opinion.

‘He was always a difficult patient,’ Fullwood began. ‘I saw from the start that he would need watching, since he was so much younger than the others and with no bodily infirmities.’

‘But he was never violent,’ Magrath interrupted. ‘He made no attempt to attack any of the other patients or the attendants.’

‘No, he didn’t. He made threats against the other doctors, the ones who’d had him committed, but it was never to do them actual hurt. He said he knew things against them and he would write to the
Chronicle
, and
The
Times
and the
Lancet
and the Royal College of Physicians, and when he did they’d be sorry for what they’d done to him. I rather thought he didn’t know anything and it was all wild fanciful talk – one man was supposed to be charging his patients twice over, one had been negligent and yet another was romancing a married lady – I thought it best not take note of any names. We didn’t allow him to send letters, but I don’t think he wrote any. After he had been here a few weeks his mood changed, and he stopped talking about the other doctors, and he cried and said he was a prisoner and couldn’t breathe properly. He said he would like to go for a walk and I thought —’ he paused.

‘We both thought,’ said Magrath, charitably, ‘that as long as it was quiet and there were not too many people about it would be safe to allow it. We didn’t want to risk him bumping into one of the other doctors he knew or having him get lost in a crowd or confused by the noise.’