The Children of Silence (30 page)

He opened the document case and extracted a small flat parcel, which he placed on the table. ‘Your letter enquired about my late cousin’s papers and diaries. This is all I have; they were sent to me when he was first admitted to the asylum. I have looked at them, and there are some curious ramblings which mean nothing to me, but you may find them of interest.’ He took a small card from his pocket and placed it on the parcel. ‘I will be residing at this hotel for the next two weeks. Please could you ensure that the papers are returned to me before my departure.’

Frances thanked him. ‘And if there is anything further I can do to assist you —’

‘You may be invited to tell all you know to my solicitor Mr Rawsthorne. I have an appointment with him later today to examine the details of the agreement he drew up with the asylum.’

Frances had anticipated from Dromgoole’s manner, firm as iron under the fragile exterior, that he would take his case further. ‘I expect Dr Magrath will maintain that he adhered to the spirit if not the letter of the agreement.’

‘He has already made that claim to me, but I disagree. The conditions for transfer of the property were that the asylum would provide proper care of my cousin for the rest of his life. I do not believe that permitting him to steal a knife, escape his attendant and cut his throat constitutes “proper care” and I feel sure that Mr Rawsthorne will concur. I intend to take steps to nullify the agreement and have the property transferred back to my possession.’

‘I am sure you know that the house is now a sanatorium.’

He gave a thin smile. ‘I do, and a worthy endeavour no doubt, which I will not disturb providing they pay me a suitable rent.’

Frances sometimes felt guilty that many of the establishments she had encountered during the course of her investigations had been obliged to close as a direct consequence of her activities, and she felt quite relieved at this assurance.

When her visitor had departed, Frances prepared a substantial pot of tea and unwrapped the package of papers. There was overwhelming evidence of Dromgoole’s failing sanity, with half-completed letters in increasingly erratic penmanship, the words trailing across the page and sometimes ending in an illegible thread. Capital letters and exclamation marks abounded. In better order was a small notebook, which appeared at first to be a diary for the early part of 1877, but as Frances perused it she realised that it was a record of Dromgoole’s attempts to follow Dr Goodwin in the hopes of securing evidence against him. Whether or not Goodwin had known about it, Dromgoole had been keeping watch on his home and his journeys to and from the school, and he had made a record of every person Goodwin had spoken to, with additional notes of what he imagined they had said, which usually involved secret plotting against himself. There were two items of especial interest. On a date in May 1877 Dromgoole had succeeded in pursuing Goodwin on a cab ride to Kensal Green cemetery. He had followed Goodwin’s walk amongst the tombstones, which had terminated at a location where a heavily cloaked and veiled lady was waiting. The two had spoken for a long time before they went their separate ways. A week later Goodwin had met the same lady in the same location. Dromgoole, suspecting that the tombstone might provide some clues, examined it after the pair had departed and found it to be that of Albert Pearce, 1815–1873, much mourned by his loving wife Maria and daughters Harriett and Charlotte. Was this consecrated ground what Dromgoole had described as ‘a holy place’ in his letter to the
Chronicle
?

There were, thought Frances, a number of possibilities. The records of these secret meetings could have been the deliberate invention of Mr Dromgoole or products of his imagination. If real, then the location might have been chance. Supposing, however, that Dr Goodwin had been having private meetings with a lady who had good reason to be visiting that very tomb. Who was the veiled lady? The widow, Mrs Pearce, mother of Mrs Antrobus and Charlotte Pearce and reputed mother of Isaac Goodwin? That was not possible for two reasons. In 1877 Mrs Pearce was a frail invalid unable to travel without assistance. She was also deaf, and if Dr Goodwin had conversed with her he would have used sign language or writing and Dromgoole would have observed this and commented on it. Could it have been Harriett Antrobus he met? Or her sister? And what was the purpose of the meetings? Dromgoole was insinuating a criminal connection, but that might not necessarily have been the case. Importantly, did the subject of these meetings have any relevance to the disappearance of Edwin Antrobus?

Frances decided to try and obtain some clarification by interviewing Dr Goodwin, who was, as far as she was aware, still in custody.

Frances took a cab to Paddington Green police station, where the desk sergeant, with a surly look, advised her that Dr Goodwin had been released after questioning but was still under suspicion. Inspector Sharrock was out, having rushed away on another case.

Frances was just about to leave when the sergeant muttered, ‘Not looking for a missing ring, are you?’

‘No,’ replied Frances.

‘Oh, then you might have been saved some work, because one has just turned up. Funny thing, that. People usually come in all of a bother to say valuables have been stolen, not when they find them again.’ He shook his head, as if the behaviour of other people was destined always to remain a mystery.

There was nothing Frances could do at the station, so she decided to go to Dr Goodwin’s home and speak with him. She had descended the steps and was on the pavement looking for a cab when a thought suddenly struck her and she re-entered the station and returned to the sergeant’s desk. ‘What kind of a ring?’ she asked.

The sergeant shrugged. ‘Signet ring of some sort. Don’t know about the worth. Young man came in very excited saying it was his uncle’s.’

Impulsively, Frances reached for his record book.

‘Oi! Not so fast! The cheek of it!’

‘I am sorry,’ said Frances, contritely. ‘Please let me know the name of the young man who reported the finding of the ring. It could be important.’

He scowled and thrust his head forward belligerently. ‘You ought to be at home, minding your own business.’

‘I know what I
ought
to be doing, I am reminded of it very frequently.’

Uttering a throaty grumble, he ran a thick finger down the open page. ‘John Antrobus. Isn’t that the same name as — ?’

Frances turned and hurried out of the station. She found a cab, hardly knowing where she should be going, then decided it was best to go to the Antrobus Tobacconists shop. All the way to Portobello Road she reread her notes and tried to remember what Lionel Antrobus had told her about his brother’s signet ring. It had been at their first meeting when she had asked how his brother’s remains might be identified. He had mentioned the business cards and also the ring, the one that had originally belonged to Edwin’s maternal uncle who had left him the house, a ring that had never left its new owner’s finger. If young John Antrobus had been so excited that he had rushed round to the police station then there could be no mistake, the ring had been found, and it could be the start of a new trail of clues that could lead to the missing man.

Lionel Antrobus and his son were not in the shop, but the young woman Frances had seen earlier, who she assumed was John Antrobus’ wife, was minding the premises, and she quickly explained her business.

‘I remember your speaking to my father-in-law,’ said the timid girl. She seemed to be avoiding Frances’ eyes and moved about behind the counter, gently adjusting the position of goods on the shelves to a state of perfection.

‘Can you tell me anything about how the ring was found?’

‘No, only that John came in after making a delivery, saying he had seen it when passing by a pawnshop. He went in and looked and there was no mistake, it was his uncle’s. My father-in-law sent him to tell the police and then went out.’

‘Do you know which shop it was?’

‘I think it was Mr Taylorson’s, on Golbourne Road.’ Frances was about to depart when she saw the young woman sway on her feet and rest her hands on a shelf for support.

‘Are you feeling unwell?’

‘I —’ the pale creature looked embarrassed, and there was a light sheen of perspiration on her brow.

‘I hope you don’t mind my mentioning it, but Mr Antrobus did reveal to me that a happy event was anticipated.’ Frances looked more closely. ‘You are clearly feeling faint, and I really do think you should sit down.’

‘Oh, I am not supposed to use the customers’ chair,’ the young woman protested.

‘I don’t see how anyone can object under the circumstances. Come now, I insist.’

Frances passed behind the counter, took the distressed girl firmly by the arm and guided her to a chair, not before time, for she would certainly have fainted if she had remained standing much longer. Frances loosened the collar of her patient’s gown, fetched the carafe and glass from the back office, gave her some water to drink and bathed her forehead with a wetted kerchief. While she was thus occupied, the delivery boy arrived. Frances gave him no time to consider whether he should be obeying the orders of a stranger but handed him some coins and instructed him what to fetch from the nearest chemist. He scampered away. Frances was engaged in securing the comfort of the young woman, who was slowly recovering, when John Antrobus arrived.

‘Esther?’ he exclaimed.

‘Your wife is feeling a little faint and nauseous, that is quite usual and to be expected, but she does need to rest. Long hours on her feet will not help her.’

‘I will be quite well in a few moments,’ said Esther. ‘Miss Doughty has been very kind, she knew just what to do.’

‘And I insist that you lie down and rest for at least an hour,’ Frances told her firmly. ‘And repeat that whenever you feel tired or faint, as often as is necessary.’

John Antrobus was able to persuade his wife that she should go up to the apartment and proceeded to help her there. Frances promised that she would mind the shop in his absence, and any customers who came in would be asked to wait for his return.

Taking up a position behind the counter, Frances tried to look as if she understood the business and had every right to be there. A gentleman entered and since he knew exactly what he wanted, and was able to point out the item on the shelf, she decided not to ask him to wait, but consulted the price ticket and made the sale. The cash register, which looked like a large iced wedding cake made of brass, was a little daunting, but she had seen such machines operated before, quickly saw what needed to be done and succeeded in entering the price and providing change. Her father, who had never employed anything other than a lockable box, would have been horrified at such an invention. The next customer required an ounce of pipe tobacco. After years of weighing powders and making neat packages in the chemist’s shop, Frances’ fingers had not lost their skill, and she was handing the gentleman his purchase when Lionel Antrobus and Inspector Sharrock walked in. The customer nodded politely to the astonished shopkeeper as he departed.

‘Would you kindly explain exactly what is happening here?’ demanded Lionel Antrobus, with a face of fury.

Frances was about to do so when young John returned. ‘Father, we should thank Miss Doughty. Esther was taken ill while I was away from the shop, and Miss Doughty was kind enough to send out for medicine and look after her. Esther is resting now, and I am sure she will be well soon.’

For a brief moment Lionel Antrobus was speechless, then he recovered and said. ‘I see. Well, naturally I am … grateful.’

‘Miss Doughty is a lady of many talents,’ observed Inspector Sharrock, ‘the main one of which seems to be turning up all over Paddington when I least expect her.’

Frances was content to relinquish the place behind the counter to John Antrobus, his father staring at her with an expression of intense curiosity. ‘I came here because the sergeant at Paddington Green told me about the ring being found,’ she explained.

‘Oh did he now?’ said Sharrock. ‘I shall have to have a word with him about revealing police secrets.’

‘Was it Mr Edwin Antrobus’ ring?’

A customer entered the shop. ‘Let us go into the office,’ suggested Lionel Antrobus, quickly. He stood aside to allow the Inspector and Frances to precede him.

‘Not Miss Doughty as well?’ complained Sharrock.

‘Yes, Miss Doughty as well; she seems to know her business.’

Sharrock gave a snort of protest but gave in.

‘Did you receive my message about Mr Barfield?’ Frances asked the Inspector.

‘I did,’ he growled, ‘and I won’t ask where you got your information from because I might not like the answer. I’m looking into it.’

With three people in it, the little office was overcrowded. Lionel Antrobus offered Frances the visitor’s chair, and Sharrock, not even thinking of sitting behind the desk in the proprietor’s place, stayed by the door, looking as if he was used to being required to stand, which he probably was.

Lionel Antrobus took the family portrait from the wall of the office and laid it on the desk. ‘There are other pictures of my brother, but this is the only one where you can clearly see the ring on his finger.’ While Frances and Sharrock studied it, Antrobus took a jewellery box from his pocket and put it on the desk by the picture.