The Children of Silence (10 page)

‘Do you have other patients with the same condition?’ asked Frances.

‘Oh yes, I have five currently: two used to play in orchestras, two operated heavy machinery and one had suffered an accident resulting in concussion of the brain.’

‘Tell me about Mr Antrobus, what kind of a man do you think him?’

‘A plain man, a man of business, dull, without imagination, yet a good man, with a sense of duty. He is also, however, the kind of individual who having made up his mind about something it is very hard to sway him. He and his brother were both convinced by the family doctor that Mrs Antrobus’ troubles were all in her mind, and it was almost impossible for me to move them from that position. Matters were not helped by the fact that Mrs Antrobus and her brother-in-law entertain a hearty dislike for each other, which colours all their dealings.’ He paused, his brow furrowed with anxiety. ‘You say that you have spoken to Mr Lionel Antrobus, and I am concerned that he may have made some allegations against me – criticisms of my character.’

‘He did not make any direct allegations but referred only to unfounded rumours.’

‘Rumours with only one origin, if the truth be known,’ Goodwin declared, a sharpness to his voice betraying an indignation that had not diminished with time. ‘Mr Dromgoole, the man who wrote such nonsense to the newspapers. Do you know about that?’

‘I have read the correspondence.’

‘When I wrote to the
Chronicle
I had never met him and was unaware of how unstable he was. Had I known it I might have been more circumspect in my comments. He had the effrontery to write to me privately vowing to effect my ruin. He claimed to know secrets about me.’

‘I think everyone, even the most respectable person, has a secret that they would not want to be known, however trivial,’ observed Frances, reflecting that her profession largely amounted to the exposure of secrets.

‘Undoubtedly,’ said Goodwin, robustly. ‘I am sure I have many. I do not claim to be a perfect man, though we must all strive for perfection. Mr Dromgoole did his best to uncover some scandal that would put an end to my career and lighted upon the fact that I have a son and yet have never been married. He drew the wholly unwarranted conclusion that Isaac is my natural son born of a shameful connection that I wish to keep hidden and decided to tell the world. Isaac is not in fact my relative by blood. I found him as a waif living wild upon the street. The poor child could not have been more than seven years old. I quickly recognised that he was most profoundly deaf. I took him in; I gave him a name, language, education, religion and formally adopted him. He is eighteen now, and no man could wish for a better son. His devotion has repaid me a thousandfold.’

‘You did not try and refute these rumours?’ asked Frances. ‘If you knew their origin you could have gone to law.’

‘No. That would only have drawn attention to them and spread them further.’

‘Do you still have Mr Dromgoole’s letters?’

‘They were the ravings of a lunatic, and I burnt them.’

‘That is a pity. Sometimes when a man seeks to condemn another he only succeeds by his manner in condemning himself. I can see that such stories might well have given Mr Antrobus and his brother an excuse to reject your advice. Yet Mrs Antrobus has told me that you did effect a change, in her husband at any rate. At the time of his disappearance he had been about to make a new will that would have been far kinder to her. Did she ever express concerns about her husband’s will?’

‘No, we talked of her hearing and general health, and she sometimes said how much she missed her sons, but it would have been inappropriate to discuss anything else. I should mention that in all my visits to the house either Mr Antrobus or a maid or her sister were in the room when I saw Mrs Antrobus.’

‘Did you ever talk to Mr Antrobus when his wife was not present?’

‘Yes,’ said Goodwin, heavily. ‘There were occasions when he drew me aside for a frank discussion, and it was during those interviews that I formed my opinion of him. He was a hard man to deal with, inflexible in his thinking. I once begged him to allow his sons to visit their mother, something that I thought would cheer her dull existence, but he would not. He never said it in so many words but he thought that they were in danger of being tainted by her disease.’

‘It cannot be passed from one person to another, surely?’

‘Not at all, and I told him so very frankly, but he would not be convinced.’

‘When did you last see him?’

‘Ah, I can tell you that exactly.’ Goodwin opened a leather bound appointment book on his desk. ‘Yes, here it is, 20 September 1877. I had called on Mrs Antrobus as usual. I had been seeing her once every fortnight, sometimes applying gentle galvanism but mainly talking to her about her health. As I was leaving Mr Antrobus asked to speak to me privately. He was concerned that there was no improvement in his wife’s condition, and I pointed out that with this disease it was a happy circumstance that it had not become any worse. He was not pleased by my reply. In particular, he refused to believe that the condition had been produced by the noise of fireworks (which was his wife’s belief), presumably on the grounds that the display, which they had both attended, had been enjoyed by numerous others who had not been similarly afflicted. I advised him that it was very possible for one person to be affected but not others, but even if it was not the fireworks there are other possible causes. He seemed very disturbed by this idea, and when I asked him to elaborate he did not. I strongly suspected that something had occurred for which he was personally responsible and that he had just realised that he had inadvertently caused his wife’s condition.

On the following day he sent me a letter saying that he had decided I should discontinue my visits. He did not think that they were helping his wife and he had determined to seek another opinion.’

‘Did he say whose opinion?’

‘No.’

‘That was more than two weeks before he left for Bristol. Mrs Antrobus is convinced that it was your advice which changed her husband’s mind.’

‘Understandable, I suppose. But I think not.’

Frances was surprised. Had Edwin Antrobus consulted another doctor before he left for Bristol, and was this what lay behind his change of heart? Frances knew that she must speak to this individual, but when she thought of the number of doctors in London and the columns of advertisements in the newspapers offering certain cures for every known ailment, she despaired.

‘Can you think of anything at all you learned about Mr Antrobus which might give me some clue as to how and why he disappeared?’

Dr Goodwin pondered for a while, and a look of sadness passed like a shadow across his face. ‘I wish I could help you. I would like nothing better than to shine some light on that mystery.’

‘I believe you called upon Mrs Antrobus after that last visit?’

‘Yes, when I read in the newspapers that her husband was missing I called upon her as a matter of courtesy to express my sympathy and to ask if there was anything I could do. She told me then that the will had put her wholly into the hands of Lionel Antrobus and she feared for her future. She asked me to speak to him on her behalf and I did so, but he was most unhelpful. Of course she was unable to pay any doctor’s fees, and she did not want to trespass on my time, so it was agreed not to resume the treatments. To be honest with you, Miss Doughty, the actual treatment did not improve her condition, but what the lady truly appreciated was conversation with someone who understood that she had a genuine affliction of the ears and was not, as many have suggested, insane. Since then, I understand from the newspapers that she has been fortunate in the company of her sister and the friendship of Mr Wylie.’

‘And you have not called upon her since then?’

‘No.’

Before she left Frances asked if she might borrow a book on speaking with signs, and Dr Goodwin kindly presented her with a slim, well-illustrated volume. He also supplied a booklet of his own composition entitled
Ear Pain, its Causes and Treatment
. He had a thoughtful expression, and Frances could not help but think that there were other matters on his mind, things he might have imparted but had not.

F
rances rarely ruled out possible suspects in an enquiry at such an early stage but she thought that Edwin Antrobus’ two sons who were at boarding school at the time of their father’s disappearance would not have had the opportunity to harm him even if they had wanted to, and the respectable Mrs Davison with her nice villa was unlikely to have come to London and slit her nephew’s throat in the hope of inheriting three hundred pounds. Mr Luckhurst, however, who stood to receive two thousand pounds, had a far better motive. Was the cigarette manufacturing business really as profitable as Mr Wylie had suggested? Did Mr Luckhurst have his own financial worries that an inheritance might easily solve?

There was one circumstance, however, which to Frances’ mind cast doubt on the assumption that the disappearance and possible murder of Edwin Antrobus had a financial motive. If the victim had been killed for his money then the murderer could not have anticipated that the body would not be found for over three years, if indeed the remains in the canal were those of the missing man. If they were not, then the body was still missing. What efforts of restraint and patience must have been expended by the guilty party in order not to reveal knowledge that would have led to the finding of the body and proof of death? Frances found it hard to believe that anyone who hoped to profit from the demise of Edwin Antrobus had not so far provided even an anonymous hint as to where the body might be.

In order to visit the workshop and office of Antrobus and Luckhurst Fine Tobacco Frances had to venture into Notting Hill, where at the end of a row of lofty houses was a lower almost featureless structure, consisting of two storeys and an attic with no basement. The windows were small and very plain, and there was a drab brown door with a worn handle and a tarnished plate with the company name. By contrast with the residences in the same street, the property was not so much neglected as built and subsequently maintained without any regard to external appearance. Frances glanced through a window which was largely shrouded in grey net and at first saw no more than what appeared to be the outline of seated people, but finding a gap between the curtains, she stooped to peer in and saw a gloomy room with long tables at which girls and women sat working. In front of them were deep basins heaped with mounds of loose tobacco, blocks of paper squares and trays to carry away the finished product. Small fingers moved rapidly, rolling and trimming, while a supervisor, the only male in the room, passed behind them, watching the operation and checking the materials and finished product for quality. The odour of rubbed tobacco was very apparent even through the small amount of ventilation available at the top of the windows.

Frances rang the bell, and after a minute she heard footsteps inside and the door opened. A young man of a clerkly appearance stood in a narrow hallway leading to a flight of stairs.

Frances presented her card. ‘I have an appointment with Mr Luckhurst.’

The clerk gave her a critical look, as if she was not the kind of visitor that gentleman usually entertained, but all he said was, ‘You are expected. Follow me.’ They mounted the echoing wooden staircase at the top of which there was a turn into a short corridor, where there was a door with a narrow brass plate that bore the name G.H. Luckhurst, but the clerk took the other direction, into a suite of offices. The clerk’s domain was a small anteroom where a desk sat ringed about with cabinets. In such a trade Frances might have expected that the room would smell of burnt tobacco and there would be a box of cigarettes and an ashtray on the desk, but there was no scent of a smoker and no cigarettes. If the clerk smoked, he did not do so on the premises. He tapped on an adjoining door and a voice bade them enter.

The man who sat at the desk was in his mid-forties, with an unusual set to his shoulders, which seemed to be unnaturally drawn forward. With a cheery smile, he descended from his chair to greet Frances with an odd little hopping movement. She saw at once that Mr Luckhurst was not a good candidate to commit a violent crime. He was very slight of build, about five feet two inches in height, and, since his legs were not the same length, able to walk only with the assistance of a thick-soled surgical boot. His back was bent, his chest more concave than convex and the action of his breathing spoke of cramped lungs. The absence of tobacco smoke in the office was explained. ‘A strange looking fellow, am I not?’ he said, with a little gasping laugh.

‘Oh, I am very sorry!’ said Frances, embarrassed at the thought that her expression had offended him. One thing she could now be sure of: the man who had met Edwin Antrobus at the hotel in Bristol could not have been Mr Luckhurst or the clerk would have noted his distinctive appearance.

‘Think nothing of it,’ he said kindly, ‘a look of interest from a lady is always a pleasure. Please take a seat. How may I assist you?’

‘I have been engaged by Mrs Harriett Antrobus to enquire into the disappearance of her husband,’ began Frances, once she was seated. ‘In particular I am examining the evidence that he might have returned to London from Bristol.’

‘Ah, yes, the body in the canal,’ said Luckhurst, climbing back on to his chair with an agility that spoke of long custom. ‘Which it seems is not my partner after all.’

‘It cannot be shown to be him. That is not quite the same thing.’

‘No, of course not.’

‘Did you view the remains?’

‘I did, very briefly. It is not a memory I wish to dwell upon. I did not think it was my partner, neither could I offer any suggestion as to who it might have been.’

‘I am trying to learn as much as I can about Mr Antrobus and any events that might have occurred just before he disappeared, his state of mind and health at the time, his plans for the future, his friends and rivals.’