Текст книги "The Children of Silence"

Автор книги: Linda Stratmann

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

Frances rose to leave. The question of who the visitor was and how he had come by Edwin Antrobus’ ring was still a mystery but one she did not believe Dr Goodwin could help her solve. ‘I will leave it to your conscience as to whether you tell the police what has occurred, but I am confident you will do the right thing.’

‘You may rely on me for that. It has weighed heavily on my mind ever since Isaac confessed the truth, and I too believe he will not incur too great a penalty.’

She left him to his thoughts.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

On the following morning Sarah at last discovered the Antrobus’ former charlady, by a method she was almost ashamed to relate. Realising that the servant might have recommended a relative or friend to the position when she decided to give up the work, Sarah had spoken to the woman currently employed at Craven Hill and found that she was none other than a neighbour of Mrs Fisher, the previous incumbent. Sarah called on Mrs Fisher and, after an interesting discussion involving beer, decided to bring her to Frances to tell her story.

Mrs Fisher had worked for Edwin Antrobus’ uncle Mr Henderson up to the time of his death and thereafter for his heir. She had been in the house at the time of the unfortunate accident with the pistol, and it was a tale she was determined to tell to anyone who would listen and probably a great many others who preferred not.

‘I shall never forget that day!’ she declared, breathing beery fumes across the parlour table. ‘The family was there for dinner, Mr Henderson and his old aunts, three of them, all long gone now, and Mr Edwin Antrobus and his intended and her family. Mr Henderson always had such lovely evenings. He used to play the piano after dinner while Mr Antrobus sang. He had a beautiful voice, very sweet and light, like a songbird. Good enough for the stage. If I got the chance I used to creep up into the hall to listen. That night I was just coming up from the kitchen, hoping to hear some music, when there was this terrible loud bang from upstairs and a big commotion.

‘Mr Edwin, he come rushing out of the drawing room and goes running up the stairs, and two of the old ladies came out, but they stayed down in the hallway; they didn’t dare go up.

‘Then after a few minutes Mr Edwin came down and he was very upset and said there had been a terrible accident and Mr Henderson was dead and there was nothing anyone could do.’ She heaved a sorrowful sigh and hiccupped loudly, wiping her face with her shawl.

‘There were rumours that Mr Henderson had taken his own life,’ prompted Frances, ‘and the inquest only held that it was an accident in order to spare the feelings of the family.’

‘I don’t know about no inquest. But he used to have a bad head sometimes, migraine he called it, and there weren’t nothing that could take it away. So perhaps he couldn’t stand no more of it and decided to blow his head off.’ She shrugged. ‘Or he might have been cleaning the gun and didn’t see it was loaded.’

‘Would a man go and clean his gun after dinner with guests in the house? Had he done such a thing before?’

‘No, he used to clean it before he went out shooting and after he came back.’

‘And of course, it was through his death that Mr Antrobus inherited his fortune.’

Mrs Fisher winced and rubbed her stomach. ‘Poor man. He said he would have given it all away just to get that terrible sight out his head. But he never could.’

‘Were he and Mrs Antrobus a contented couple?’

‘Contented enough. You know about her ears, of course?’

‘Yes.’

‘She used to play the piano like Mr Henderson, only very quiet, but Mr Edwin never sang for her. I don’t think he ever sang again after his uncle died. You know, my brother has the same thing as Mrs Antrobus. He was in the ironworks ten years, and all that banging and clanging of the hammers did for him. He can’t even bear to hear birds singing now, and he used to like to listen to the birds,’ she added wistfully.

‘Did you ever see any reason to suppose that Mr Antrobus would desert his wife, or did he have any enemies who might have harmed him?’

‘No.’

‘There was a man who tried to get into the house, a ragged looking man, who he turned away. I was told you’d chased him off.’

She laughed. ‘Oh yes, he had a cheek all right! I sent him packing more than once. Caught him trying to get in at a window and so I hit him with my broom, and off he went sliding down the drainpipe and jumped over the back wall like a rabbit. Lizzie told me he was Mrs Antrobus’ cousin, but I didn’t believe it. He was just saying that so she’d let him in.’

‘But she thought he was? Why was that?’

‘Can’t remember now, something about Mrs Antrobus being unhappy at having such a bad man in the family.’

‘Did he ever get in to steal anything?’

‘Not that I know of.’

‘When did you last see Mr Antrobus?’

‘Oh, I didn’t see him much at all because he was out at his business when I was there.’

‘You don’t know if he was wearing his signet ring when he left for Bristol?’

She shrugged and hiccupped again. ‘You haven’t got a bit of peppermint about you?’

‘So,’ said Frances to Sarah after Mrs Fisher had gone and the room had been sprinkled with lavender water. ‘The man who said he was Mrs Antrobus’ cousin Robert Barfield and tried but failed to get into the house, didn’t limp. Indeed everything I have heard about Mr Barfield suggests that he was very agile. But who was the limping man? And do we have several limping men or just the one?’ Frances opened her notebook and made a list.

‘We first encounter a limping man in late September 1877 when he lodged in Redan Place. He is shabbily dressed, suffers from toothache and has no bag or ring. We next find a limping man on 3 October lodging with Mrs Eves, rather better dressed, no bag, probably no ring and no toothache.’

‘The same man only with a bit of money?’ suggested Sarah.

‘Very possibly. On the 13th of October 1877 a limping man is seen with Mr Edwin Antrobus at Bristol station. Soon afterwards Mrs Eves’ lodger is carrying a bag very like the one Mr Antrobus had and wears a signet ring.’

‘Then he’s the man on the train.’

‘I think so. He then goes missing in November.’

‘When did the man fall down into the cellar?’

‘I don’t know the exact date, but there is nothing to suggest that Mrs Eves’ lodger cannot be the same man who tried to blackmail Dr Goodwin and the man whose bones were later deposited in Mr Whiteley’s property in Queens Road. But he was not Mr Antrobus. Dr Goodwin is very certain that the man who tried to blackmail him was not Mr Antrobus, and it is clear from Dr Bond’s recent examination of the remains that the limp was not feigned.’

‘We still don’t know for sure if Mr Antrobus was wearing his ring when he went away,’ said Sarah. ‘If it was too tight he might have taken it somewhere to get it made bigger, and then it got stolen. If that man had it how did he get it?’

Frances looked at her notes. ‘You spoke to the parlourmaid Lizzie before the ring was found, so she was never asked about it. Perhaps we should see her again. She might remember something.’

Lizzie was about to enjoy a rare half-day holiday but was persuaded by Sarah to spare a short hour that afternoon as long as it involved a visit to a teashop. Frances met her there and found the maid dressed in some style, in a gown most probably given to her by her new mistress, cast off as unfashionable and made over with care. Her bonnet, which had started out quite plain, had been be-ribboned almost to the point of coquettishness. Many people were shocked at such displays, and newspapers often published letters of complaint, deploring the fact that it was becoming impossible nowadays to tell the difference between a lady and a servant.

Lizzie cheerfully ordered a pot of tea, with sponge cake, scones and strawberry tarts, and there was no question but Frances would be paying for the treat.

‘I spoke to Mrs Fisher today,’ said Frances as a cream tea sufficient for four people was brought to the table. ‘She told me a very amusing story of how she chased off a ragged man from Mr Antrobus’ house with a broom.’

Lizzie laughed, helped herself to a tartlet and spooned a thick layer of cream and jam on a scone. ‘Oh, she wasn’t a person to stand any nonsense!’

‘I believe the man tried to get past you too, claiming that he was Mrs Antrobus’ cousin, but you were too clever for him.’

‘That’s right, well cousin or not, I wouldn’t let such a man into the house. He was up to no good, I’m sure of it.’ She bit into the scone and wiped a blob of cream from the tip of her nose with a practised gesture.

‘Did you think he was Mrs Antrobus’ cousin?’

‘He might have been. I know she did have a bad man in her family because I heard her talking to her sister about it. She’d read something in the newspapers that had upset her. I think he was in prison.’ There was a brief lull in the conversation as Lizzie’s scone disappeared in less time than Frances had thought possible. The girl scarcely paused for breath before busily attacking the tartlet. ‘I don’t want you to think I’m in the habit of listening at keyholes,’ she went on, her voice muffled by pastry. ‘That wasn’t at all how it was. I only went in because Miss Pearce wanted to have a birthday tea for her sister and cook had sent me to ask what was wanted. They had the newspaper open in front of them, and Mrs Antrobus was crying.’ Lizzie licked her lips and took a second tartlet. ‘Mmmm. Strawberries. That was her favourite.’

‘Not in February, surely?’ said Frances, recalling that this was the month in which Barfield had last been incarcerated. ‘A rare commodity at that time of year.’ She appropriated a slice of sponge cake and a scone before Lizzie could finish the plateful.

‘No, it was in the summer. Mrs Antrobus’ birthday is June or July, I think.’

‘Do you remember if this conversation occurred before or after the ragged man came to the house?’

‘It would have been afterwards, because I remember thinking at the time that it was him they must have been talking about.’

‘It wasn’t just before Mr Antrobus went missing?’ Frances wondered if the newspaper report might have stated that Barfield was to be released early, an understandable source of alarm, but on reflection realised that had that been the case Mrs Antrobus would have known he was free at the time her husband disappeared, which clearly she had not.

‘No, it was a long while before that. A year or more.’

The summer of 1876, thought Frances, but that seemed unlikely as Barfield had already been in prison for several months then. The previous year, perhaps – maybe he had served a short sentence for a minor offence.

‘Do you remember Mr Antrobus wearing a signet ring, the one he inherited from his uncle?’

‘Oh yes, I remember that very well.’

‘I don’t suppose – and of course I will quite understand if you can’t recall – if you happened to notice if he was wearing it when he went to Bristol that last time?’

Lizzie smiled, poured her third cup of tea and took the last piece of sponge cake. ‘That’s easy! He wasn’t wearing it.’

‘Really?’ exclaimed Frances in astonishment. ‘How can you be so sure?’

‘Because I helped him take it off. Poor man, it was so tight and his finger was all sore. He said he thought he would have to have it cut off – the ring, I mean, not the finger – and he didn’t want to do that because it was a memento of his uncle. So I said I knew a trick my grandma showed me, and if he had a nice bit of soap I might be able to help. And I did. He was ever so grateful.’

‘What did he do with the ring? Did he put it in his pocket, perhaps? Or hang it from his watch chain?’

‘No. He put it in the trinket box in his dressing room. He had all sorts of little studs and pins and things in there. He said when he came back from Bristol he would take it to a jeweller and get it made bigger.’

‘This was just before he went away that last time?’

‘The day before, I think.’

‘So by rights it should still be there.’ Unless, Frances thought, Mrs Antrobus had sold it and was unwilling to admit as much in case her brother-in-law discovered what she had done. It would take some delicacy on her part to tease out that piece of information, since Mrs Antrobus was undoubtedly afraid that her transgression would be met with an unkind response. It was, however, something the police ought to be told, and Frances wondered how she might best present the information to avoid unpleasant repercussions.

‘Did you look in the trinket box after he left for Bristol?’ she asked. It was just possible that Edwin Antrobus, not wishing to be parted from the cherished heirloom, had changed his mind and taken it with him just before he departed.

Lizzie dabbed crumbs from her lips and studied the menu card. ‘Oh yes. I gave the ring a bit of a polish, which it needed. It came up lovely.’

Frances decided to pay a call on Mrs Antrobus to see if by any chance there was some error in the matter of the ring. She was met at the door by Charlotte, who was undeniably pleased to see her.

‘Miss Doughty, we – that is, I – or perhaps it should be we – were thinking of making a call on you very soon.’

‘Oh? Has there been some good news?’ asked Frances as she removed her shoes.

‘Well,’ said Charlotte with a smile, ‘not about Edwin I am sorry to say, but do come into the parlour and we will talk. Harriett is having her nap now, so I will not disturb her.’

‘Before I do that, I hope you don’t mind but I need to look at something.’

‘Oh?’

‘Could you conduct me to Mr Antrobus’ dressing room and allow me to examine the trinket box there?’

Charlotte was surprised by this request but not discomfited, and she at once took Frances up to the little room. There, all the clothes and other items of gentleman’s apparel were carefully stored against the owner’s return, his hairbrushes, combs, soap and toilet water laid ready for his use.

‘It looks as though he has just stepped out and will return at any moment.’

Charlotte gave a sad smile. ‘That is how Harriett has always insisted it be kept. She never loses hope.’

There was only one small trinket box, and Frances opened it. It was empty. ‘Might I ask who comes in here?’

‘Only myself. I dust and clean, and keep it fresh.’

‘Not the servant?’

‘No, she does the heavy work of the house.’

Frances showed Charlotte the open box. ‘I was expecting to find some studs and pins in here. Is that not where your brother-in-law kept them?’

Charlotte stared into the box, puzzled. ‘I imagine he must have done, but let us look in case they are somewhere else.’

A quick search through some drawers revealed nothing more. ‘Would your sister have sold any of these things?’ asked Frances. ‘The reason for my question is that I have just learned that Mr Antrobus removed his signet ring before he went to Bristol. It was last seen by the maid, Lizzie, in this box.’

Charlotte was astonished at this news. ‘Oh no, she would never have dreamed of it. They were not hers to sell, but in any case, even if Edwin never returned she wanted his personal jewellery to go to her sons. I will ask her about it when she wakes.’

Frances did briefly wonder if Lizzie might have taken the items before she was dismissed but reflected that had the maid stolen the ring then she would not have revealed that it had left the owner’s finger.

They were in the upper hallway when Frances said, ‘You were here in this house when Mr Charles Henderson died, were you not?’

Charlotte paused. ‘Yes, how did you know about that?’

‘From my study of the newspapers. I was told that Mr Antrobus was greatly affected by the incident.’

‘He was, as were we all.’

‘Tell me about that night.’

‘I don’t understand. How can it be important?’

‘Mr Luckhurst told me that even years later it weighed on Mr Antrobus’ mind. Maybe what happened to him is connected in some way.’

Charlotte looked far away, seeing and not wanting to see. ‘It was a terrible time. And it all began so pleasantly, never a suggestion of the tragedy to come. We had dined and then retired to the drawing room. Mr Henderson said he would show us his collection of snuffboxes and went to get the key, but he was gone a long time.’

‘And all the company was in the drawing room when you heard the shot?’

‘Not all. Aunt Lily had been exclaiming on how long it was taking him to find the key and said she knew where it was to be found; it was in a cupboard in the hallway, and so she went to fetch it. And mother was feeling very tired so Harriett took her into the parlour. There was a chaise longue where Mr Henderson liked to recline when his head ached and Harriett settled mother there and sat by her and bathed her temples with eau-de-cologne. I was in the drawing room with Edwin and the other two aunts and father.’

‘So at the time you heard the shot the only person who was not in the company of anyone else was Aunt Lily?’

‘Yes, but only because she was looking for the key.’

‘Can you show me the study?’

‘Of course. It is never locked nowadays.’

The study was smaller than Frances had expected, and she thought that had the house been occupied by a family then it might have served as a nursery. It was furnished with a desk and chair, and there were bookcases, some of which were secured with glass doors. A few volumes stood on the open shelves, but there was no sign of any snuffboxes or pistols.

‘Lionel has taken all the items that might be of value to a collector and placed them in the bank,’ explained Charlotte. ‘He claimed it was to keep them safe, but we think it was to prevent us from selling them.’

‘You did not witness the scene of death, I take it?’

‘No, when we heard the shot Edwin told us to stay where we were and rushed out. Then when he came back – I shall never forget the terrible expression on his face – he said his uncle was dead, and he was sending for a doctor but there was nothing to be done. He told us all not to go upstairs. Then he went to fetch Aunt Lily and Harriett and mother and told them to join us. Aunt Lily had been in the hallway when she heard the shot, so she was nearer than anyone else and was in hysterics. She had been particularly fond of her nephew, and the shock turned her mind – she died not long afterwards.’

‘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.’