‘Would you kindly explain exactly what is happening here?’ demanded Lionel Antrobus, with a face of fury.
Frances was about to do so when young John returned. ‘Father, we should thank Miss Doughty. Esther was taken ill while I was away from the shop, and Miss Doughty was kind enough to send out for medicine and look after her. Esther is resting now, and I am sure she will be well soon.’
For a brief moment Lionel Antrobus was speechless, then he recovered and said. ‘I see. Well, naturally I am … grateful.’
‘Miss Doughty is a lady of many talents,’ observed Inspector Sharrock, ‘the main one of which seems to be turning up all over Paddington when I least expect her.’
Frances was content to relinquish the place behind the counter to John Antrobus, his father staring at her with an expression of intense curiosity. ‘I came here because the sergeant at Paddington Green told me about the ring being found,’ she explained.
‘Oh did he now?’ said Sharrock. ‘I shall have to have a word with him about revealing police secrets.’
‘Was it Mr Edwin Antrobus’ ring?’
A customer entered the shop. ‘Let us go into the office,’ suggested Lionel Antrobus, quickly. He stood aside to allow the Inspector and Frances to precede him.
‘Not Miss Doughty as well?’ complained Sharrock.
‘Yes, Miss Doughty as well; she seems to know her business.’
Sharrock gave a snort of protest but gave in.
‘Did you receive my message about Mr Barfield?’ Frances asked the Inspector.
‘I did,’ he growled, ‘and I won’t ask where you got your information from because I might not like the answer. I’m looking into it.’
With three people in it, the little office was overcrowded. Lionel Antrobus offered Frances the visitor’s chair, and Sharrock, not even thinking of sitting behind the desk in the proprietor’s place, stayed by the door, looking as if he was used to being required to stand, which he probably was.
Lionel Antrobus took the family portrait from the wall of the office and laid it on the desk. ‘There are other pictures of my brother, but this is the only one where you can clearly see the ring on his finger.’ While Frances and Sharrock studied it, Antrobus took a jewellery box from his pocket and put it on the desk by the picture.
‘My brother’s ring.’ He opened the box. ‘It belonged to his maternal uncle Charles Henderson and is engraved with Henderson’s initials.’ The ring was gold, a plain, heavy-shouldered item set with a carnelian stone carved with the letters ‘C.H.’ and a spray of oak leaves.
‘And he wore it always?’ asked Frances.
‘He did. He had a great sentimental attachment to it.’
Sharrock nodded thoughtfully. ‘That being the case we can now feel sure that Mr Antrobus must have returned to London. It doesn’t seem likely that he went missing elsewhere and the ring found its way back here on its own.’
Frances agreed. ‘Does the pawnbroker have a record of where and from whom he obtained it? How long has it been in the shop?’
‘I always thought it was the police who asked the questions,’ said Sharrock.
‘Apparently not,’ observed Antrobus, dryly. ‘Unfortunately Mr Taylorson does not have the individual’s name. It was a woman of the poorer class who said she had found it lying in the street, and she brought it to him about two months ago.’
Frances was astonished. ‘Only two months?’
‘Which does rather leave us with the question of where it has been since it was last seen on Mr Antrobus’ finger,’ added Sharrock.
‘Has the pawnbroker seen the woman since?’ asked Frances, ‘because I am not at all convinced by her story.’
Sharrock gave a sceptical chuckle. ‘I’d like sixpence for every item of value pawned that’s said to have been found lying in the street. He hasn’t seen her lately, but if she comes back he’ll let us know, and the constables will keep their eyes open.’
‘I can help the police find her if you wish,’ Frances offered. ‘If you can supply me with a description, I will ask Tom Smith’s men to keep a look out for her.’
‘A kind of junior police force that Miss Doughty has at her beck and call,’ explained Sharrock to Antrobus. ‘Sharp-eyed lads, quick on their feet; when they grow up I could do with some of them in uniform.’
‘Very well, I will fund the work, whatever is required,’ said Antrobus.
Sharrock consulted his notebook. ‘The woman was about fifty years of age, dark dress, brown bonnet, coarse woven flowered shawl, neither stout nor thin, complexion sallow, slight cast in one eye, probably washerwoman or charwoman.’
Frances copied the details into her notebook. ‘If she is seen I will make sure that she is followed home and a report made of where she lives.’
Lionel Antrobus had been staring thoughtfully at the ring. ‘I think it will be necessary to speak to my sister-in-law about this, difficult as that will be.’ He replaced the ring in its box. The Inspector held out his hand, but Antrobus slipped the box into his pocket. ‘I will secure a cab.’
The two men hurried outside, walking up towards Ladbroke Grove where there were more cabs to be had. Frances, although uninvited, quickly followed and the Inspector turned to confront her. ‘Now then, this is police work! Or do I have to handcuff you to something?’
‘Mrs Antrobus is my client,’ insisted Frances. ‘I am engaged by her to find her husband.’
Sharrock grunted and began to sprint down the street after a cab that stopped as he waved. He stood back to allow Lionel Antrobus to mount the steps first, but Antrobus paused and looked at Frances. ‘I rather think the Inspector intends to drive away without you Miss Doughty.’
‘I think so too.’
‘What is this, musical chairs?’ exclaimed the Inspector as Antrobus waved him into the cab then stood aside for Frances to climb in. There was a lurch as Sharrock sank heavily into his seat, and while Frances was safe enough, it was surely only gentlemanly courtesy that led Antrobus to clasp her firmly by the arm to steady her.
Frances thanked him, climbed into the cab and took her seat, her cheeks unnaturally warm. She was still being troubled by the nightmares, experiencing again and again the brutish strength of her attacker, the imprint of his fingertips gripping her shoulder, the foul smell of his breath, the sting of the chloroformed cloth as he tried to press it onto her face. This was different, a man’s strong clasp offered as a woman’s support and not her danger. She collected herself by making a close examination of her notebook.
‘Perhaps, Inspector, you can tell me if there is any news on the murder of Mr Eckley?’
Sharrock scowled. ‘I thought we had our man, and we may still do, but there was nothing we could use so we had to release him. I don’t mind, I can wait.’
‘Are you looking into murder, Miss Doughty?’ enquired Lionel Antrobus, disapprovingly.
‘I am afraid Mr Eckley was a client of mine,’ admitted Frances.
‘Do you lose many of them that way?’
‘Miss Doughty is not only a danger to herself but all of Paddington,’ Sharrock snarled. ‘Wherever she goes, companies fail, banks close and buildings come tumbling down. If you employ her, Mr Antrobus, you should be very careful.’
‘Inspector, I would prefer you not to undermine my business,’ objected Frances, sharply.
‘I do it because I don’t want you ending up dead in an alleyway as you very nearly did last winter!’ thundered Sharrock. There was an uncomfortable silence.
‘Is that true?’ asked Lionel Antrobus, evenly.
‘Not precisely,’ said Frances, feeling disinclined to prolong the argument.