The Children of Silence (38 page)

‘Do you think Mr Henderson’s death was an accident?’

‘I cannot permit myself to think it was anything else.’

As they returned downstairs the servant creaked up to meet them.

‘Mr Martin has come, I’ve shown him into the front parlour.’

Charlotte’s serious face broke into a happy smile. ‘Come, we will have tea.’

As Frances entered the parlour she saw the table already laid and her uncle Cornelius rose to greet her. Not only was he attired in the first new suit he had purchased in many a year but his hair was several shades darker than at their last meeting.

‘My dear!’ he exclaimed, beaming with delight, ‘it is always a pleasure to see you but most especially so today of all days! Please join us and allow me to share our good news.’

Frances took a seat, and Charlotte managed the teacups and plates.

‘You know of course that I have been a lonely man for many years, and after poor Phoebe passed away I never imagined that I would find contentment, let alone happiness, again. But how wrong I was! Miss Pearce – Charlotte I may call her now – has consented to be my wife.’

Frances had anticipated this development but perhaps not quite so soon. She reflected, however, as she offered her sincere congratulations, that neither her uncle nor his intended bride were of an age where waiting was normally advised. ‘And it is our pleasure to invite you to a small gathering to celebrate our betrothal next Sunday afternoon.’

‘We will only have a very few guests, as you may imagine,’ said Charlotte, ‘but it will be the happiest occasion this house has known for some little time.’

The servant arrived with the teakettle and Charlotte removed a cloth from a plate of bread and butter and unwrapped a plum cake that Frances felt sure was a gift from her uncle.

‘Have you decided on a date for the wedding?’

Charlotte smiled. ‘Not yet, but we do not plan a long engagement. It will be a small affair, as I hope that Harriett will be able to attend as matron of honour.’

‘And I promise there will be no firework display afterwards,’ said Cornelius solemnly. ‘Really I think they should not be allowed if they can cause such unpleasantness as is Mrs Antrobus’ daily lot, or if not then people who go to such things should be told to bring cotton to stuff their ears.’

‘Where will you reside?’ asked Frances. ‘Does Mr Lionel Antrobus still intend to take the house for himself and his nephews?’

‘I mean to speak to him on the subject. I think he and his nephews will be very comfortable if they take the ground floor and basement portions, and I will rent the upper floor. An investment I made many years ago has most fortuitously recently matured and will produce an income, and I will retain my present home and rent it out. There will be accommodation enough here for Charlotte and myself, and Harriett will live with us of course. I know I need to learn how to be very quiet around the house, but I am sure I can do so.’ He glanced at Charlotte with an obvious expression of affection that was warmly returned.

‘Do you think Mr Antrobus will permit this?’ asked Frances. ‘I do hope so, but he can be very unreasonable and has said he does not wish Mrs Antrobus to live under the same roof as her sons.’

‘I think I can persuade him to agree. The house will be run as two quite separate establishments. He will be on hand to ensure that this is so and I will promise to respect his wishes. Once the boys are older they may make their own decisions, of course.’

Charlotte gazed at her betrothed with happiness and confidence. ‘It will please Harriett so much to have them close and receive reports about their health and how their education is progressing. It is not, of course, satisfactory, but it is very much better than the present situation.’

‘And perhaps in the fullness of time, Mr Wylie might make your sister a happier lady,’ suggested Frances.

‘I had hoped so, but I fear that may never be. I have just learned that he will shortly be leaving London to return to Bristol.’

‘For a visit only, I would have thought?’

‘No, he sent a note to say that he intended to reside there. It was very sudden.’

Frances was mystified. ‘But I thought he was quite settled in London.’

‘So we all thought, but something has happened to make him change his mind. Perhaps some family business that demands his presence.’

The peaceful celebration continued, and toasts to the happy couple were drunk in copious amounts of tea. Once home, however, Frances found the business card Mr Wylie had given her on which he had written the address of his lodgings.

‘It might be nothing at all to concern me,’ she told Sarah, ‘but I need to know why he has so suddenly changed his mind, and if he is in a hurry then I ought not to delay.’

F
rances and Sarah went together to Mr Wylie’s apartments and found him busy packing his possessions.

‘Miss Doughty? Miss Smith? What can this mean? I am afraid I am in no position to entertain visitors as I am very shortly to depart, but if you have any news for me, please let me know it at once.’

He darted about the room as he spoke, a bundle of neckties in one hand and kerchiefs in the other.

‘I have just come from the home of Mrs Antrobus,’ Frances began.

‘Ah,’ was all he could say.

‘I have received some very happy news. Miss Pearce has just become engaged to be married to my uncle, Cornelius Martin.’

‘Rich gentleman is he?’ said Wylie, bitterly. ‘Does he have a fortune to squander in the pursuit of ghosts and skeletons?’

‘I don’t believe so, but I understand your annoyance. You have expended considerable funds on Mrs Antrobus’ behalf and to no avail. I assume you will try to recover the cost of the court actions concerning the canal remains from the asylum company whose silence on the fate of Mr Dromgoole was so misleading.’

‘I have given it my consideration, but it would be a tediously long affair and I fear that any damages I receive will pass straight into my solicitor’s pockets. Then there was the second case, when – and I have to admit it – I did tell an untruth in what I thought was a good cause. And I am sure that when the next unnamed body is found it will start all over again. If I stay here any longer I will be a pauper or worse.’ He dropped the ties on a chair and held the kerchiefs to his forehead. ‘I have opened my purse for her, I have lied for her, what more she might ask me to do I cannot say.’

‘I know I spoke harshly to you at the inquest,’ Frances admitted, ‘but I do see now that what you did was from the kindness of your heart.’

‘Oh yes, she saw that I was an easy mark for her schemes,’ he snorted. ‘I am a single man, Miss Doughty, not because I cannot support a wife and family or because I have no wish to marry. I am single because I have devoted most of my life, from my early twenties, to caring for aged relatives. And I was glad to do it, make no mistake about that. When my dear mother finally passed away there was an empty place in my heart, and when I heard of Mrs Antrobus’ plight that place was filled up. But there is only so much a man can do. And I can assure you that no member of my family ever asked me to commit perjury.’ He threw up his hands in despair and frustration. ‘What can I have been thinking of?’

‘Surely that was your own idea, based on what you had learned?’

‘Oh no, Miss Doughty, what do you take me for? Do I look like a man who would even think of standing up in court to tell a lie? No, I did it because Mrs Antrobus asked me to. She told me about the injured leg and the wisdom tooth when I went to see her to tell her about the discovery.’

‘But that was before the bones had even been examined, and the statement Mrs Antrobus prepared for the court was vague enough that it could have applied to many men. It was your evidence that supplied the detail. If, as you say, she told you what to testify then how did she know about it?’

He gathered brushes and combs and pushed them into a toiletries case. ‘I don’t know and I have no intention of asking her. At the time, of course, I thought that the bones really were those of her husband and she was describing something she already knew about him and only asked me to say what I did in order to add verisimilitude to her story. Now I know differently. I have been made into a fool and a criminal. I have tackled her about it but she waves it away as if it is nothing, tries to persuade me it was just a mistake. And then —’ he shook his head.

‘And then?’

‘Oh more funds needed for some other scheme she has, but I am finished with it now. The lawyers of Bayswater have had as much of my money as they are going to see.’

When the two detectives returned home for what they hoped would be a quiet evening during which they could contemplate and discuss what had just been learned, there was a more serious concern, as they were greeted by a very miserable looking Dr Goodwin who had been waiting for Frances.

‘I did as you suggested, Miss Doughty, I told the police about the man who fell in the cellar and how the boys helped to hide the bones, and I accepted that there would be a fine for concealing a death and offered to pay it, but now they have arrested Isaac for murder!’

Frances guided him to a seat and poured a glass of water. ‘I am sorry to hear it. The police are sometimes a little eager to arrest the man nearest to the death, but they can have no evidence of wrongdoing. Dr Bond himself said at the inquest that a fall down a flight of stairs could have produced the injuries. If it is possible to show that the death could have been an accident, then I doubt that the matter will even come to court.’

‘Please, Miss Doughty,’ he begged, ‘go with me to Paddington Green and speak to Inspector Sharrock. He won’t let me help him question Isaac as he doesn’t trust me to interpret the signs truthfully. Happily, a former teacher at the school has offered to help. But I know he listens to you. You might make him see reason.’

‘I will come with you, and please do not give up hope. We may find that the Inspector is simply following a procedure that he is obliged to follow in order to clear your son’s name.’

They were just about to leave by cab when Mr Candy arrived unexpectedly with another request, and Sarah stayed behind to interview him and find out what he wanted.

‘I am afraid Isaac did himself no good when he confessed to the murder of Mr Eckley in a misguided attempt to save me,’ said Goodwin dejectedly. ‘Have you been engaged on that case?’

‘No, it is solely in the hands of the police.’

‘While I was at the station the Inspector asked me some more questions about it. I am very glad that you refused to work for Eckley in his attempts to blacken my character. I would have thought less of you had you done so, but there are others in Bayswater who are not so nice about how they earn their bread.’

‘I cannot say I am surprised.’

‘I was told that the detective employed by Eckley, thinking that his work might contain some clue as to the motive of the murderer, and probably hoping for a reward, has turned over his papers to the police. It seems he did rather well. Through means I do not pretend to understand, he was able to discover that it was I who placed Isaac with his foster parents when he was an infant. Really it seems impossible to have any secrets nowadays.’

Frances could not help smiling at this observation. ‘Were you able to help the police?’

‘I was obliged to inform them that I knew the identity of Isaac’s mother but not the father, and they pressed me most strongly on the point. But I would not reveal what I knew except to say that while there may be ladies and gentlemen in the high life, who guard their reputations so jealously that they will commit murder to keep their secrets, I do not think that can be the case here.’

As soon as they reached Paddington Green Dr Goodwin approached the desk sergeant and asked if he might see his son. The sergeant gave a sideways look at Frances but regarded the doctor with more sympathy. ‘He’s being questioned now sir, so you’ll have to wait. There’s a lady in with him who knows all the –’ he waved his hands in a rough approximation of sign language.

‘Could you at least send in a note to say that Dr Goodwin is here?’ asked Frances. ‘We will wait until the interview is over, but we would very much like to speak to the Inspector and hope that we might be permitted to take Mr Goodwin home after his ordeal.’

‘I don’t know about you taking him home,’ said the sergeant, gruffly, but he looked carefully at Dr Goodwin, who seemed to be about to break down. ‘I’ll get a note sent in to say you’re here. You have a sit down now, sir. Will you stay with him, Miss Doughty?’

‘Of course I will,’ replied Frances, seeing that she was valued as a nurse if not a detective.

It was a lengthy wait and Dr Goodwin, looking like a man haunted by memories, said very little except to reiterate that Isaac was the best of sons.

‘I am sure he has never forgotten that you rescued him from a life of destitution,’ said Frances.

Goodwin refused to be cheered by this observation. ‘My care is being used against him, now. The police have suggested that he is actuated by gratitude because his foster parents used him cruelly and turned him onto the street. It might prove necessary to tell them the truth.’