CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Frances’ reflections were enlivened when Sarah bustled back, full of news. She had interviewed the Antrobus’ former parlourmaid, Lizzie, who had said she knew of no reason for her master not to return home from Bristol, there having been nothing unusual in his manner or state of health before he disappeared. Edwin Antrobus, she declared, had been neither better nor worse than any master she had worked for previously or since, and his conduct had been perfectly proper at all times. Mrs Antrobus’ affliction, which had required her to creep about the house like a mouse, she had thought very strange, but it was not for her to question the arrangements. Mr Antrobus was very sad about the unfortunate position but bore up well. As far as she was aware there had been no disagreements between husband and wife, although had there been any they would have been conducted almost in whispers.
Few visitors had come to the house. Mr Luckhurst was sometimes there. Mr Lionel Antrobus and his family called, Miss Pearce came once a week to see her sister and there were any number of medical men. The only person with whom she had ever seen Edwin Antrobus have an altercation was a poor man who had repeatedly come to the house and was very persistent in his appeals for money. He didn’t look like someone who had been living on the street, only someone very ill-clad who had not attended to his toilet as often as he should. On the first occasion he had actually dared to come to the front door and asked to see the lady of the house. Lizzie had directed him to the servant’s entrance, but he had refused to go, saying he had as much right as anyone to come in through the front door. The maid, naturally not wanting to let him in, had shut the door, leaving him standing on the doorstep while she fetched Mr Antrobus.
Her master, when told of the visitor, had been very relieved that the man had not been allowed into the house. He had hurried to the door and found the man still waiting outside. There had been a sharp exchange of words ending with Mr Antrobus angrily ordering the man away and telling him never to return. Later he told the maid that the caller was a thief and a beggar, and she had done right not to admit him.
‘Could she describe him?’ asked Frances, thinking that this was another person who might have set upon Edwin Antrobus in the street.
‘Between thirty and forty. Hungry looking, with long dirty whiskers. After that he came to the back door a number of times, but he was always turned away. The charwoman also told the maid that she’d seen a poor man peering through the back windows and trying to get into the house through the servants’ entrance, but it was obvious that he was up to no good and she shooed him away. Once she even saw him trying to squeeze through a bedroom window that was part open to air the room and saw him off with a broomstick. Might have been the same man as came to the front door, but as far as they knew he never actually entered the house. They didn’t see him again after that.’
‘How long ago was this?’
‘It was a few years before Mr Antrobus went missing. She couldn’t be exact.’
‘I suspect he wasn’t a beggar at all but Mrs Antrobus’ cousin, the burglar who seems to spend so much of his life in prison. If he didn’t return it was probably because he was in custody again.’
The maid had also confirmed that Mrs Antrobus almost never went out, except very occasionally when she and Miss Pearce hired a closed cab and went to visit their father’s grave at All Souls’ in Kensal Green, or sometimes on very quiet mornings they liked to walk in Hyde Park. On those occasions Mrs Antrobus was so muffled against any sound, it was an extraordinary sight to behold.
Lizzie remembered very well Mrs Antrobus’ distress and confusion when her husband did not return from his business trip, and Miss Pearce had been sent for to comfort her. There had been a number of callers to discuss the dreadful situation: Mr Luckhurst, Mr Lionel Antrobus, some policemen and one or two other men who she thought were lawyers or detectives.
The servants had stayed on for a month after Mr Antrobus disappeared but left when the lady of the house confessed that she was no longer able to pay their wages.
There remained one more servant to trace, the charlady, a Mrs Fisher, who had been quite elderly. Lizzie thought that she had probably given up heavy work and gone to live with her married daughter, whose name she didn’t know.
‘I’ll find her, though,’ said Sarah.
Next day Frances received a visit from Tom’s most trusted ‘man’ who, in default of knowing his real name, was usually called Ratty. He had been living on the street making a living by his wits when Tom offered him the only home and regular employment he had ever known. Ratty had proved himself to be fast on his feet and highly observant, able to follow and spy upon anyone without their noticing he was there and with an excellent memory for faces. His recent work for Frances had led to a sudden ambition to become a detective.
Some months ago Ratty had supplied information that had helped to solve a murder for which Professor Pounder had briefly been a suspect, and Frances had rewarded the boy with a suit of clothes to replace the assortment of ill-fitting rags he usually wore. As far as she was aware he had only worn the suit once, when he was invited to a tea party hosted by Cedric Garton to celebrate Frances’ success and his sparring master’s freedom. Frances had assumed that the suit had gone to the pawnshop, but when Ratty arrived that morning he was wearing it, and she realised that, as the best article of clothing he had ever owned, he had been preserving it for a suitable occasion. The effect was a little curious since, being at the age when boys suddenly grow almost in front of one’s eyes, he was several inches taller than he had been only six months ago, and his clothes were too short both in the leg and body, revealing an unsavoury looking torn grey shirt underneath. He had made an attempt at washing his face but had not yet learnt that for completeness he should extend his efforts to reach his ears. A boy’s round hat was perched oddly on the side of his head.
‘Well, you are looking smart today,’ said Frances.
He struck a jaunty pose. ‘Bein’ a ’tective, I thort I should look like one! Won’ get no customers less I got the togs! ’N Tom is showin’ me ’bout letters an’ writin’ and all that kind ’v thing.’
‘Perhaps you should join the police force,’ Frances suggested. ‘You’ll soon be tall enough.’
He pulled a face. ‘Don’ like coppers, Miss. Never did, never will.’ He looked about him. ‘Any tea?’
‘There’s always tea,’ she reassured him, ‘and Sarah has made jam tarts.’
Ratty grinned.
Over tea and pastry Ratty reported that, as per Frances’ instructions, both the school for the deaf and Isaac Goodwin had been under close observation. No pupils boarded at the school, and most lived in Bayswater. A few arrived by carriage every weekday morning from further afield and were taken home the same way, and there was a family of three girls who were brought by a nursemaid and collected by her in the afternoon. Two small boys were taken to and from the school by a parent. None of these children ever conversed with Isaac Goodwin. There remained three boys aged between twelve and fifteen, two of whom were brothers, who lived near Porchester Gardens and walked from their homes to the school and back unaccompanied. During the luncheon period, they would sneak out of the school and dart into the nearby mews to engage in a very active conversation in sign language, and they conversed in the same manner all the way home.