‘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.’
‘Did he ever speak to you about the arrangements he had made in the event of his death?’
‘Not in so many words, but he was naturally anxious for his family because he felt that his wife was unable to look after either herself or his sons. If there were any legal documents he had prepared he did not discuss them with me.’
‘I have been told that shortly before he departed for Bristol he changed his mind and became convinced that Mrs Antrobus should be entrusted with the management of her affairs. He was intending to make a new will to that effect. Do you know anything about that?’