Sarah brought bread and pickles to the table. ‘When did those big hoardings go up? There’s been enough about it in the newspapers.’
Frances laid the book aside. ‘It was the autumn of last year. The houses had been standing empty for a while beforehand. Then the work started and has been stopping and starting again for months during all the disputes with the vestry.’
‘I bet they weren’t empty all that time,’ said Sarah, darkly. ‘Thieves’ dens most like. Somewhere quiet and private to meet and divide up the swag. They might have quarrelled and then one of them got stabbed and left to rot.’ She lifted the muslin draping a plate to inspect the remains of yesterday’s tea party, of which there was very little since Cornelius had insisted that Charlotte be provided with a parcel of cake to take home.
‘That would explain why we have another body and no one else reported as missing,’ suggested Frances. ‘I think Mrs Antrobus may be disappointed once more. But that does lead me to another thought. Even though her disreputable cousin was in prison at the time of Mr Antrobus’ disappearance, he could have had associates who were freed before him. If he wanted to revenge himself against the man who had forbidden him the house, he might have told his friends that Mr Antrobus carried large sums of money or other valuables on his person and so encouraged them to rob and murder him.’
‘How can you find out who these friends are?’ asked Sarah reasonably.
‘If information exists then it can be found. It’s just a matter of knowing where to look and who to ask. And in this instance, I know just who to ask.’ Despite her earlier resolve to take no action pending the result of the inquest, Frances’ curiosity got the better of her, and once supper was done she wrote a letter.
While the case of the missing Mr Antrobus had recently occupied most of Frances’ time she could not ignore other clients or turn away new ones. There was one exception. A lady of great wealth, but little judgement, had written to plead with her to do all she could to prove the innocence of a prisoner who was shortly due to expiate his crimes on the scaffold. The lady offered a sum of money so substantial that it amounted to a bribe and hinted that if Frances was to admit that she had made a number of errors in her statements to the police, all might still be well. Frances, well aware that she might be making an enemy by so doing, wrote to decline the commission.
One new client for whom she had made an appointment was Mr Jonathan Eckley, headmaster of the Bayswater School for the Deaf, the very establishment that Dr Goodwin was in the process of suing. Frances had not discussed the legal wrangle with Dr Goodwin as it had no relevance to her search for Edwin Antrobus, but she was naturally curious about the unusual conflict.
Mr Eckley was a slender gentleman of about forty dressed in the dark attire most suitable to his profession, with gold-rimmed spectacles sitting on a sharp nose. He wore a handsome silver watch on a pretty chain that he seemed very proud of, as he liked to consult it at every opportunity, and Frances wondered if it was a treasured heirloom or a gift from a grateful parent. His manner, while formal and precise, was cordial, and when he spoke he was in the habit of making very large movements with his lips as if to emphasise every word.
As Frances took her seat, he closed the watch with a brisk snap and dropped it in his pocket. His card was on the table before her and he leaned forward and pushed it closer with his fingertips, to ensure that she missed not one word printed thereon. ‘It is very important, Miss Doughty,’ he began, in a voice more suitable to a public meeting than a parlour, ‘that I communicate to you a full appreciation of the expertise I bring to my profession, and then you may judge the position in which I find myself.’
Frances thanked him and studied the card, which supplied no more material than was on the sign outside the school. Nevertheless she left it where she might easily refer to it.
‘It has been my pleasure, indeed my honour,’ he went on, ‘to be engaged in the instruction of the deaf for some years. I studied with the Society for Training Teachers of the Deaf, and while I am not a surgeon, and have only a layman’s knowledge of the structure of the ear, I believe that I am as much a specialist in my field as any doctor in his.’
Frances felt sure that ‘any doctor’ was a reference to Dr Goodwin, but she let that pass.
‘You will notice, Miss Doughty,’ he said, reaching out and tapping the card with an insistent fingertip, ‘that the school is referred to as a school for the deaf and not as it was previously called, a school for the deaf and dumb. That is because,’ he paused for emphasis, ‘we undertake to teach the children to speak.’
Frances smiled and nodded. ‘Oh, yes, the signs, I have some familiarity with those.’
‘No, I do not refer to the signs,’ he said with a hard frown. ‘We use the German system. The children learn to read lips and articulate words. Only that system can enable the deaf to become full members of society. When I was appointed headmaster two years ago, the school was offering a combined system, both the oral method and signs, as it was then believed that the two could be used together with advantage. We employed deaf teachers to transmit the signs and additional classes in lip reading and articulation were given by hearing teachers. Dr Goodwin was then a consultant, and his son was working at the school as a general servant and caretaker. The boy is quite deaf and, I believe, not of the highest intelligence. He was, however, proficient in signs and aspired to become an assistant to the teaching staff.’
‘But clearly there have been changes. What brought this about?’
‘Progress,’ he exclaimed proudly. ‘There must always be progress. We must be prepared, even though it pains us, to throw out the old methods that have served us well and adopt new ones that will serve us better. And I am not talking of some whim of fashion but the results of years of dedicated work by knowledgeable men.’ He tapped the card again. ‘Last September matters were finally resolved by a conference which took place in Milan. Many learned papers were presented which showed not only that the German method was by far the best one but that all the difficulties previously associated with it were due to a single cause, the teaching of signs at the same time. I attended that conference and my course became very clear. I presented my case to the school governors and they were in complete agreement. Henceforth the teaching of signs was banned and we now educate the children solely on the “pure oral” system as it is called. Dr Goodwin, who has always been a great advocate of signs, made strong objections, but he was overruled. He resigned as consultant, although if the truth be known, had he remained he would have been told that his advice was no longer required. His son continued in his usual capacity – he knew his work and could undertake it without speech – but under strict instructions that he was no longer to communicate with the children by the use of signs.’
Frances could predict where the conversation was going. ‘I assume he did not comply?’
‘That is correct. I was obliged to dismiss him. I was sorry to do it, but it was necessary. He is a pleasant boy and was a great favourite with the pupils, but for their own good, he was asked to leave. He was not the only one, as you might imagine. Many of the teachers, in particular those who were deaf, were only able to teach signs, and they too were dismissed and replaced by hearing teachers trained in the German method.’