Текст книги "The Children of Silence"

Автор книги: Linda Stratmann

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‘I expect you have already interviewed Mrs Antrobus.’

‘I have.’

He nodded. ‘And her brother-in-law, who in my opinion carries wilful ignorance to excessive extremes.’

‘Yes.’

He looked at her searchingly as if to try and judge what she thought of those two individuals. His general air of concerned amiability could not conceal a keen mind constantly in use. ‘Following some correspondence in the newspapers, I received a letter from Mrs Antrobus, who wrote to me at the Central London Throat, Nose and Ear Hospital appealing for my help. From the description of her symptoms I felt sure that she was suffering from a condition known as hyperacusis, that is she experiences severe pain from everyday sounds, with or without tinnitus aureum, which is noises in the head not of any external causation. That being the case, her medical practitioner had done her a terrible disservice in convincing her family that she was losing her mind. In my very specialist practice it is not, I am afraid, rare to uncover such errors that have been the cause of the unhappy patients being committed to asylums for the insane. I called upon the lady and carried out an examination in the presence of Mr Antrobus, which confirmed my original opinion. I could not offer a cure. There were some treatments it was worth employing and these were tried but they were not successful. My main advice was to tell her not to sit all day in complete silence, which she had been doing, but try to introduce some gentle pleasurable sounds, which might act as a balm to soothe her ears. At my suggestion Mrs Antrobus resumed her study of the piano, which she had previously abandoned, and this has given her some relief.’

‘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.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Frances 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.’

‘Yes, of course,’ he said readily, ‘and I will help you all I can. While I cannot say that I regarded him as a brother, we were close associates for many years, and I miss both his company and acumen.’

‘Has the business suffered though his absence?’

He gave a wheezing sigh. ‘Oh, we put a brave face on it, but the truth is I have been hard-pressed to maintain the trade, and while I have employed another man to undertake the travelling my partner once did, it is not the same.’ Mr Luckhurst looked despondent, but he did not strike Frances as a man who could be despondent for long. ‘You see, it was not just a matter of replacing a man, finding another who could do the same work. When a partner in a business vanishes, suppliers become suspicious. They think the trade will collapse and fear that there are dark secrets about to come to light. They start to demand immediate payment for materials. Customers think we cannot be relied upon and look elsewhere. But we have managed to keep our heads above the water. I am taking a smaller salary and have postponed improvements to conditions in the workshop.’

‘Do you know if Mr Antrobus left you anything in his will?’

He looked surprised by the question. ‘I have no knowledge of that. In any case, he is in law still alive, so it is hardly of any relevance.’ He paused and his eyes flickered with realisation. ‘Ah, yes, I think I see the relevance, now. Well it is your right, indeed your profession to be suspicious. May I assure you that I have neither the desire nor the motive to do away with my friend and partner. If he were to walk through the door now I would welcome him back with joy and relief.’ He smiled roguishly. ‘I suppose many murderers have told you the exact same tale before you unmasked them for the villains they were!’

‘I am afraid so,’ said Frances, who was warming to Mr Luckhurst’s company. While not a handsome man, his face could light up with a good humour that was very pleasing. Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to harm Mr Antrobus?’

‘No. He was never involved in any underhand trading as far as I am aware, indeed I do not think it was in his nature to do so. Of course there are always petty rivalries in business, but it is more of a friendly competition. The tobacco trade thrives despite what doctors say, and there is room enough for us all. If there was anything wrong in his personal or family life that might have led to his disappearance or death I do not know of it. I last saw him the day before he went to Bristol, and there seemed to be nothing amiss with him in any respect. From that moment I have neither seen nor heard from him. It is my belief that he met with an accident and has either lost his memory or, sadly, is dead and his body not found. I have every sympathy with his family: it is a very trying time for them all. His brother has left no stone unturned to discover the truth, and he has had his own troubles, as I expect you know.’

‘I did not know.’

‘Mr Lionel Antrobus’ wife passed away just over a year ago, after a long and painful illness. It was a very distressing time.’

‘I am surprised that he was not therefore more sympathetic to his sister-in-law’s affliction,’ commented Frances.

‘Ah, well, there is no love lost there,’ said Luckhurst. ‘He was not an easy man to talk to even before he was widowed and less so now. He has seen real bodily suffering and has no patience with anything he thinks is all in the mind.’

‘He told me that his brother was too honourable to desert his wife. Do you agree?’

‘I do. Many another man has to endure the unhappiness that comes with a wife’s delicate health. Some can bear it, others cannot. Antrobus did all that he ought to have done, and it was hard for him as the complaint was so mysterious.’

‘Were they a contented couple before Mrs Antrobus’ illness?’

‘Oh, if ever a couple married for love it was they! Do you know,’ added Luckhurst, with the serene expression of a man recalling happy memories, ‘I was present on the day they met. In fact it was also the day that I first met them both. There was a gathering at the home of a mutual friend. Miss Harriett Pearce was such a beauty. She is handsome now, but back then she illuminated the room! So enchanting, and with a pretty soft musical voice and dainty manners. A man could not help but fall under her spell. Her father, I was told, was a good, hardworking man who lacked both ambition and fortune, but somehow that mattered nothing. Had I been taller I might have wooed her myself, but it is not the fashion to declare one’s admiration for a lady from a footstool. After the ladies retired Antrobus spoke very knowledgeably about the tobacco trade. I thought then that he was a man to watch, and we agreed to meet again and talk business. But when we did all his conversation was of the beautiful young girl who had captured his heart. He saw her constantly and six months later they were engaged to be married, but at the time it looked as if they might have to wait several years before a wedding date could be set. He was impatient to claim his bride, but marriage is an expensive business and a man likes to make his fortune before he has a wife and children to spend it for him. But then his uncle died and left him a handsome legacy, so they were married soon afterwards.’

‘And was it a happy marriage?’ asked Frances, gently bringing him back to her query.

Luckhurst knew that he had strayed from the point and gave a rueful smile, earning Frances’ instant forgiveness. ‘I haven’t really answered, have I? But there was a purpose to my story. I suppose they were as happy as many other couples. But Edwin once told me that his uncle’s death, the very event that had enabled him to marry, weighed heavily upon him. His uncle suffered from terrible headaches that sometimes left him melancholy and, well, it was deemed to be an accident, but those who knew him suspected otherwise. It placed a cloud over the marriage from the beginning, a cloud that only grew darker with his wife’s illness.’

‘You are more sympathetic to Mrs Antrobus’ sufferings than her brother-in-law,’ observed Frances, ‘and possibly more sympathetic than her husband.’

‘I am no expert on diseases of the ear but I can see when someone is in pain. The doctors who suggested she was feigning should be made to endure what she does for just one day and then they would change their tune.’ He made no reference to his own health, but Frances felt sure that he was no stranger to pain.

‘Mrs Antrobus has provided me with a list of her husband’s friends. It was a very short list, I am afraid, and I was hoping you might know of any business associates who could provide me with some information.’

‘I will do my best,’ he offered, ‘but I fear my list will also be short.’ He took up pen and paper and wrote down the names of a number of suppliers and customers. ‘Not that any of these men would have meant him harm. None would have profited from my partner’s absence and most would not have been in either Bristol or London at the time he disappeared.’ Frances looked at the list, which included the men the Bristol detective had already interviewed and a few others with businesses in London he had not.

‘I understand that Mr Wylie has approached you with a proposal to merge your interests?’

‘Yes, he has. We have had a number of discussions on the subject, he has examined our accounts and is pleased with what he has seen.’

‘Is this something that might have occurred if Mr Antrobus was still a partner?’

‘Hmm,’ pondered Luckhurst. ‘That is a very good question, and I can’t say that I know the answer. I had never met Wylie until a year ago, although Edwin often mentioned him.’

‘You never went to Bristol on business?’

‘I have never been there for any reason.’

‘Did you ever encounter a Mr Dromgoole?’

‘No, although the name is familiar. Was he not the doctor who claimed that tobacco was the cause of ear diseases? Antrobus is not a violent man, but even he said that the fellow needed a good whipping. You don’t think he may have had something to do with this?’

‘No, I am sure he did not; I had hoped he might be able to help me with information, but his mind has become clouded. Do you know a lady called Adeline?’

‘I do not. Is she young and pretty?’ he added, hopefully.

‘I’m afraid I know nothing about her except her name. But if you should hear anything at all that might help me please do let me know at once.’

‘It will be my pleasure,’ said Luckhurst warmly, and he eased down from his chair as she prepared to leave. He took her fingertips in his with the air of a great gallant. ‘And we will speak again, perhaps next time over a cup of tea?’

Frances could not help but find his attentions flattering. ‘Delighted.’

‘I do not think that Dr Goodwin is a Lothario,’ Frances told Sarah over supper as she looked at the list supplied by Mr Luckhurst and decided how she might best visit all those named. ‘He has his own secrets and troubles of course – there is a legal dispute with the Bayswater School for the Deaf, which I did not discuss with him – but he was a model of courtesy.’

Sarah was studying the book of signs and made a gesture with her thumb.

‘What does that mean?’ asked Frances.

‘It means I’m very pleased.’

‘He said that the signs are much used by spies, who I suppose will want to have conversations that others cannot understand. A detective and her assistant might also find it useful. Shall we see what we can learn?’

Sarah looked through the book and made another sign. ‘That means “yes”,’ she said.

Once Frances had completed her plans, which included a visit to Dr Collin, who had consented to an appointment, there followed a pleasant evening’s diversion, after which they had both managed to learn the finger alphabet and some useful signs.

‘I can see how a child might learn this very quickly,’ said Frances. ‘If a teacher makes the sign for a house and shows the child a picture of a house, and then the word “house” written down, then the child has learned to speak and read at the same time. Imagine,’ she went on, ‘the fate of children born before such a thing was devised. They would live their lives in silence, unable to speak or play a part in the world. How wonderful that there is a school to teach the signs and men like Dr Goodwin.’

Frances spent most of the next day on her round of visits to Edwin Antrobus’ London associates. After a succession of stuffy shops and offices she found that his connections in the tobacco trade knew nothing of him as an individual and had not seen or heard from him since his departure for Bristol in October 1877. She also felt that she had inhaled so much tobacco scent that she had almost become a partaker of it herself.

Frances had received a note from Charlotte Pearce with the names that she and her sister had been able to recall of the doctors who had attended Mrs Antrobus. There was some awkwardness about approaching medical men, however, since they all started with the assumption that Frances wanted confidential information about a patient, and she had to take great pains to explain to them that it was the patient’s husband about whom she was enquiring. With the exception of Dr Goodwin, all were in general practice, and while even those who had only visited the Antrobus home once easily remembered the unusual case, none was able to supply any useful information about the missing man. All tended to assume that since they had not been asked for a second visit their proposed ‘cures’ had been successful and that Mrs Antrobus’ current condition was due to her failure to follow their advice or an unexpected relapse.

Dr Collin was of greater interest since he was the Antrobus’ family practitioner, better acquainted with the missing man, and had also examined the remains found in the canal. The ease with which Frances had secured an interview with him was explained as soon as she entered his consulting room.

Dr Collin was a tall lean man in his fifties with an assured air and a manner of practised kindliness towards his patients. Ladies especially took great comfort from his silver grey hair, which implied wisdom, and the sympathy expressed in his mild eyes. His clarity and confidence made him much sought after as a medical witness at trials and inquests, but Frances was well aware that a tone of certainty in the voice and being correct did not always go hand in hand. She had seen the prideful fallible man under the mask, and he knew it.

‘You appreciate that although this is not a medical consultation my time is valuable, and you will receive a bill for my usual fee,’ he said brusquely when she had explained her mission.

None of the other doctors had been unkind enough to charge Frances for a brief conversation, but she did not say so. If he was hoping to deter her, he would be disappointed. ‘That will be quite in order,’ she replied. ‘When was the last time you spoke to Mr Edwin Antrobus?’

Dr Collin consulted his appointment diary. ‘That would be the last time I saw Mrs Antrobus. It was 5 June 1877.’

‘I appreciate that this was over four months before his last journey to Bristol, but did Mr Antrobus say something or was there anything in his manner which you think might have a bearing on his subsequent disappearance?’

Collin snapped the book shut. ‘It is easy to look back on the past with the greater wisdom of time and see what one ought to have seen then or perhaps even see what was not there.’

Frances gave him a quizzical look. Was this an olive branch?

‘I try not to do so,’ he added, firmly. ‘It was a professional visit like any other.’

‘What was your very first impression when you heard that Mr Antrobus had not returned from his visit to Bristol?’

He nodded. ‘A good question. I suppose I thought at first that he must have suffered an accident or been taken ill and would soon be found, but as time passed, I admit that I did start to wonder if he had gone away of his own volition. I surely do not need to say what might have driven him to do so.’