Dr Warrinder was agreeable to receiving both Frances and Mr Fairbrother at his home at 10 o’clock on Tuesday morning. Frances had in the meantime been bending her thoughts to the author of the booklet about Miss Dauntless, the lady detective of Bayswater. This extraordinary lady, a creature who clearly knew no fear, thought nothing of scaling the walls of houses and clambering about on rooftops to listen down the chimneys of suspects, leaping onto the top of a hansom cab and whipping up the horses in pursuit of some luckless criminal, and even facing down a gang of thieves with a gun. Frances sincerely hoped that she would never be called upon to do any of these dreadful things. There was nothing in the story that suggested the culprit knew any more about her than could be gleaned from the newspapers, apart from the fact that the author clearly knew her address. She had already started to suspect Mr Gillan of the Chronicle, who might well have started the enterprise to add to his meagre income. She had wondered, too, about Miss Gilbert and Miss John, leaders of the Bayswater Women’s Suffrage Society, who had altogether inflated ideas of her capabilities and were constantly telling people about her achievements, but the booklet had not been produced by their usual publisher and was not on sale at their meetings. She decided to write a polite letter addressed to the author, W. Grove, care of the director of the Bayswater Library of Romance, asking him or her to desist from identifying her with Miss Dauntless, as it was creating some personal embarrassment. She asked Tom to take it to the print works and tell them to pass it on the next time a representative of that company called.
Tom had a surprise for her. Using his own initiative on the question of Mrs Pearson’s missing maid, he had surmised that Mr Pearson might know a great deal more about the business than he had claimed to know, which was nothing at all. Tom had, therefore, followed Mr Pearson and found that he was a frequent visitor at a small but tastefully appointed apartment in Maida Vale, where the missing maid, who was beginning to show a more rounded appearance than had previously been apparent, was comfortably situated. Mrs Pearson’s especial interest in the whereabouts of the maid immediately became clear. This left Frances with two difficulties. The first was what she ought to tell Mrs Pearson. That lady had become a client on telling her that she was anxious for the maid’s safety, but she had clearly wanted another kind of information altogether and had not seen fit to ask for it. It was appropriate, therefore, for Frances to advise Mrs Pearson only of the information she had asked for and a letter was carefully composed saying that the maid was safe and well, and the lady need have no further anxiety on that score. She also advised that the maid would not be returning to her service but had found another situation. There she ended the matter, resolving that if Mrs Pearson wanted to know any more, then she could return and say so.
The second question was somewhat more vexing. Frances had felt hopeful that she had identified the unknown woman in the canal as Mrs Pearson’s missing maid, but was now at a loss to think who she might have been. She had a list of missing women provided by the Kilburn police station, which covered not only the immediate area but all of Paddington, but none of them seemed to fit the description. Her theory that the body was in any way connected with Henry Palmer’s disappearance was looking like a very remote possibility, nevertheless, it was the only line of enquiry that remained.
It was with this in mind that Frances appeared at the door of Dr Warrinder’s house at the appointed time, only moments before Mr Fairbrother arrived. They were shown to the warm parlour where the maid brought refreshments, although none of those present appeared to want them.
‘I am very flattered, Mr Fairbrother, that you have asked to consult me on a medical matter,’ said Dr Warrinder. ‘I might say that Dr Bonner has spoken most highly of you; your diligence and eagerness to acquire knowledge. That bodes very well for your future career. I am sorry that I have not made your better acquaintance sooner.’
‘I am delighted to have your good opinion,’ said Fairbrother, not without a tremor of foreboding in his voice.
‘I am less certain of Miss Doughty’s reasons for attendance at our consultation. Young lady, I fear that we may speak of matters that may disconcert you, or at the very least you may find them hard to understand.’
‘Do not trouble yourself on my account,’ said Frances, with a gentle smile. ‘You may conduct the consultation exactly as if I was not present.’
‘Ah – very well,’ said Warrinder, bemused but not unwilling. ‘Then perhaps we may begin. I understand, Mr Fairbrother, that you have some queries about appearances of a body after drowning, as you recently assisted Dr Bonner in such a case. I do happen to have in my library a very useful monograph on the subject, also one or two other items which I would like you to accept with my compliments.’
‘Oh that is far too kind!’
‘Not at all, not at all, my eyes do not permit me to read for long nowadays and the print can be so very small, it is most unfortunate. You, I am sure, will have no such difficulty. Now then, I know I put them on one side for you especially …’ He rose from his chair and began to look about the room. ‘Oh dear, I hope Mary has not tidied them away, or I shall have to go and fetch them again.’ They waited as he looked about the room, which was cluttered with small tables and the kind of knick-knacks that people accumulate over half a lifetime, and spend the rest of that lifetime having them polished.
‘Are they the items on the table beside the bust of Hippocrates?’ asked Frances.
Dr Warrinder was so startled by her question that he turned abruptly and knocked over another small table, which was draped in a purple-fringed velvet cloth and bore a small collection of framed photographs. ‘Oh dear!’ he exclaimed, staring about him.
‘Allow me to assist you,’ said Fairbrother, jumping to his feet. ‘Please be seated and I will attend to everything.’ He took Warrinder by the elbow and guided him back to his chair, then knelt on the carpet by the fallen pictures. ‘Have no fear sir, the carpet has prevented any damage, and all is well.’ He began to replace the pictures on the table. ‘Of course, I do not know how they were arranged before but I am sure your maid will advise me. There.’ The smile suddenly vanished from his face.
‘What is the matter?’ asked Frances.
‘Oh dear, I do so hope nothing is broken!’ exclaimed Warrinder.
Fairbrother had picked up one of the pictures and was staring at it as if confronted with some ghastly apparition. Frances went over to look. The subject of the picture was a pale, slender young woman with a sweet smile curving her lips. There was a black velvet bow tied to the scrollwork of the ornate frame.
‘Who is this a portrait of?’ asked Frances.
Warrinder come over to peer at it. ‘That is the late Mrs Templeman. She is my wife’s great niece. Recently passed away, I am sorry to say.’
‘How recently?’ asked Fairbrother, like a man who had lost his voice and had had to re-learn the power of speech.
‘Oh, I am not sure I know the exact date, but not long ago.’
‘Was it before or after the night when Dr Mackenzie collapsed?’ asked Frances.
Dr Warrinder frowned. ‘I – er – before. Very shortly before. Two or three days. It was a Sunday, I do remember that.’
‘That would make it the 19th of September,’ said Frances.
‘The 19th?’ exclaimed Fairbrother and gave a great sigh of relief. ‘I had thought, just for a moment – but it had been pressing on my mind … I must have been imagining it … and yet …’
‘Did you think,’ asked Frances, ‘that Mrs Templeman resembles the woman who was taken from the canal?’
‘Yes, I did, only it could not possibly be her, because the date of death is far too recent to account for the decomposition. Also, if Mrs Templeman had drowned, I am sure I would have heard of it.’ He turned to Dr Warrinder. ‘Mrs Templeman did not drown, did she?’
‘Drown? What a curious idea!’ exclaimed Warrinder. ‘She was a very delicate young woman and expired in her bed after a lengthy illness. There was, I assure you, no opportunity for her to drown.’
‘I was obviously mistaken,’ said Fairbrother. He put the picture down, but it continued to fascinate him. He found the books and returned to his seat.
‘May I?’ said Frances, holding out her hands for the books, and with an expression of surprise he handed them over.
There was a paper on the subject of examination of bodies of the drowned and two more general volumes, one on the conduct of post-mortem examinations and another on diseases of the chest. The two gentlemen smiled indulgently as Frances opened the books, as they might have done if a child had tried to read a treatise far beyond its understanding, and she realised that neither of them was aware that she had from an early age been used to perusing the medical volumes in her father’s small collection.
As the gentlemen’s discussion turned to the subject of post-mortem lividity, Frances discovered what it was she had been looking for.
‘Dr Warrinder?’ she asked. ‘Forgive my interrupting you, but can you advise me if Mrs Templeman suffered from a disease of the lungs?’
‘Er – yes, in her final weeks she was very afflicted with pneumonia.’
‘And this causes an accumulation of fluid in the lungs?’
‘It does, but I can’t see what —’
Fairbrother gasped. ‘Of course, I should have realised!’
‘What is all this about?’ asked Warrinder.
‘Perhaps nothing at all,’ said Frances, ‘but if you could answer some questions about Mrs Templeman it would be of very great assistance.’
‘It would set my mind at rest on a matter of concern,’ pleaded Fairbrother.
Dr Warrinder looked surprised. ‘Oh, well, if you wish it.’
‘Did Mrs Templeman have a family?’ asked Frances.
‘There was a child born, but it did not live.’
‘And did she ever suffer with her teeth?’
Warrinder stared at Frances. ‘How could you possibly have known that?’
‘Did Dr Bonner know that she suffered with her teeth?’
‘Bonner? No – I don’t think he was ever acquainted with her.’
‘Who was her medical attendant?’
‘Dr Collin, in the main, although when he was not available Dr Mackenzie did sometimes call to see her.’
‘Can you describe Mrs Templeman’s teeth?’ asked Fairbrother anxiously.
Warrinder’s surprise had transmuted into astonishment. ‘I really do not see why —’
‘Oh, please, I beg of you!’ exclaimed Fairbrother. ‘And I very much regret it but I cannot say; I cannot explain why I need to know.’
‘How extraordinary!’ said Warrinder. ‘Very well, I can tell you that the poor woman’s incisors grew very crooked and she was most ashamed of them. Maria begged her to see a dentist, especially as it seemed that the teeth were pressing on the gum and giving her a great deal of pain, and she did go and he wanted to take them out, but she wouldn’t agree to it, she didn’t want a horrid gap in her mouth.’
‘And you are quite quite sure that she died on the 19th of September?’ asked Fairbrother.
‘Yes, I am.’
‘And when was she buried?’
‘Oh – it would have been the next week – yes, it was the Monday of the following week.’
‘Monday the 27th?’ said Frances.
‘Yes, I do recall that because it was the day of Mackenzie’s funeral, also.’
‘And was the body at her home during the interval?’
‘Only until the following day. We had a private viewing for the family on the morning after her death and she was taken to the Life House that same afternoon.’
Frances and Fairbrother looked at each other. ‘Then that accounts for the faster decomposition,’ said Frances.
‘Whatever do you mean?’ exclaimed Warrinder. ‘What is all this about?’
Fairbrother rose from his seat. ‘Dr Warrinder – I hardly know what to say.’
‘I think,’ said Frances, ‘that for the moment you had better say nothing.’
Later, in a nearby café over a cup of coffee and a pot of tea that neither of them felt much like drinking, they discussed what was to be done. ‘I am ruined,’ said Fairbrother.
‘That is nothing to the odium that will pour upon Dr Bonner’s head,’ Frances observed. ‘At least if the body in the canal does turn out to be that of Mrs Templeman we know that she was not the victim of a crime. But Dr Bonner must have been at the Life House during the period when Mrs Templeman’s body was held there, which was from the 20th to the 26th of September, and I can’t believe he never examined her once during that time, so how come he didn’t recognise the body taken from the canal?’
‘Perhaps this is all a mistake?’ said Fairbrother hopefully.
‘Did you examine Mrs Templeman?’
‘No, I don’t recall her at all. But then I spent most of that week assisting at post-mortem examinations at Paddington workhouse. I was at the Life House for the viewing of Dr Mackenzie, but not for several days thereafter.’
Frances suddenly recalled something. It may have meant nothing especially since the witness was so thoroughly unreliable, but all the same it could furnish a clue. She looked through her notebook for what Dr Carmichael had told her of his visit to the Life House.
‘I spoke recently to a medical gentleman who toured the Life House wards on the 23rd of September when Mrs Templeman should have been there, and he told me that there was only one female patient, who was very elderly,’ said Frances. ‘Can you account for that?’
Fairbrother looked mystified. ‘I cannot.’
‘Is there a record kept of the times when orderlies or doctors are on duty in the Life House?’
‘Yes, the orderlies sign a record book when they arrive and again when they depart. The doctors also make a note when they have done a round of examination, and of course the admission of patients and burials are also recorded. It is very meticulous.’
‘Good. I will need to see the entries for the days between the 19th and the 27th of September. I suggest we proceed to the Life House at once.’
‘I can only admit you to the chapel,’ said Fairbrother, ‘but I will bring the record book which is held in the office.’
‘Might I see the office?’
He shook his head. ‘Oh no, visitors may only enter the chapel, nowhere else. I am in enough difficulty already without transgressing again. Dr Warrinder is bound to speak to Dr Bonner about our interview when he returns, and I dread to think what he might say and do.’
‘You may place all the blame on me,’ said Frances. ‘I questioned you with great violence and fearsomeness, and dragged the information out of you and then took the whole matter forward myself.’
It was a moment or two before he saw the import of what she had just said. ‘When you say “took the matter forward”, to what are you alluding?’
‘Well, we must have the body exhumed, mustn’t we? Until we have proof that the body in the canal was actually that of Mrs Templeman we can make no further progress.’
‘But – the distress that this will cause – to Dr Bonner, and Dr Warrinder!’
‘Dr Bonner has been lying to me repeatedly since our first meeting and you will forgive me if I feel no guilt at any distress he may feel. As to Dr Warrinder, do you think he will want to leave a relative’s body in a common grave? If Mrs Templeman was your relative, what would you do?’
Fairbrother had no answer and unwillingly accepted that Frances would proceed to do what she felt necessary, whatever he might say about it.
They took a cab up to the Life House, where Fairbrother, after knocking on the chapel door, spoke to Hemsley, who fetched the record book and returned to the wards. Only then was Frances admitted. The little chapel was much as she had seen it before although there were no burials waiting. ‘I don’t suppose,’ said Frances, ‘that under the exceptional circumstances, I might be permitted just to look inside the office and the wards?’
Fairbrother turned pale. ‘Please, I beg you, do not attempt it!’
‘But you are the senior medical man here. You have the authority to admit me.’
‘Mr Hemsley would inform the partners.’
‘You could instruct him not to.’
‘If you were to be taken ill, I would be blamed.’
‘If I am willing to brave a visit to the wards then I believe you should be brave enough to admit me. The circumstances are very unusual.’
He wavered, but at last he shook his head. ‘No! I dare not!’
‘Then I will apply to Dr Bonner again on his return,’ said Frances. It seemed somewhat inappropriate but needs must, and she took the heavy volume to the little altar and rested it there.
Nothing of any moment appeared to have occurred on Sunday the 19th of September. The orderlies had been medical students who, said Fairbrother, regularly took the Sunday periods of duty. Dr Mackenzie had visited during the afternoon.
Henry Palmer had reported for duty at midday on the 20th of September and made detailed notes of his work. He had made hourly surveys of the patients, cleaned the wards, tidied the flowers, and tended the fire. The admission of Mrs Templeman was recorded at 4 p.m. and Palmer had seen to everything necessary. He had been alone in the Life House until 7 p.m. when Dr Mackenzie had called and examined the patients, including Mrs Templeman, staying there for an hour. Neither Bonner nor Warrinder had been there that day, and Palmer left at midnight, being replaced by Mr Hemsley.
There had been no visitors until the following morning, the 21st of September, when Dr Warrinder attended between the hours of 9 and 10 a.m. and examined the patients. Even with his poor eyesight, thought Frances, he can hardly have failed to recognise his wife’s niece. Palmer had then signed in at midday, for what would prove to be his last period of duty. Dr Bonner had arrived at 9.30 p.m. and Dr Mackenzie had called half an hour later. Palmer’s signature, which was a little shakier than his usual neat handwriting, showed that he had departed at 11 p.m.
In the crucial hour before Palmer had left, Frances knew, events had occurred that the record book would not show. Mackenzie had suffered his collapse, there had been attempts by Bonner and Palmer to revive him, and his body had been consigned to the chapel. Palmer had arrived at Mrs Georgeson’s at about 11.10 p.m., but had then turned north again about five minutes later. At about 11.30 p.m. or thereabouts, Mr Darscot had arrived at the Life House by cab and viewed Dr Mackenzie’s body, and then departed a few minutes later. There was no record of this, but Fairbrother said that visitors to the chapel were not recorded; there was merely an appointment book.
Following Darscot’s departure, Bonner had been alone until Hemsley arrived and signed in at midnight. No visitors had been admitted to the wards at any time during this period. Hourly examinations of the patients had been carried out as usual by Hemsley. There was no record in the book to suggest that Palmer had ever returned.
Although Bonner had been alone in the Life House before the arrival of Hemsley, he had been in a state of some distress at the sudden death of his friend. Frances thought that he would easily be able to persuade a court that he had not examined Mrs Templeman at all, and that his failure to recognise her in Kilburn mortuary was, in the circumstances, unsurprising. The record book showed that Bonner had departed at 1 a.m. and returned at 8 a.m. the next morning, the 22nd of September. The names of the attendees at the viewing of Dr Mackenzie’s body were not recorded. Hemsley had left at midday and Dr Warrinder had stayed on until a temporary orderly could be found.
‘You did not go into the ward that day?’ Frances asked Fairbrother.
‘No.’
‘Where did you go after the viewing?’
‘I assisted Dr Bonner at Paddington mortuary.’
Frances reflected that it was very possible for someone on duty alone in the Life House to allow in an unauthorised visitor and not record the fact. Bonner had only been unaccompanied briefly, but both Palmer and Hemsley had been alone there for substantial periods of time. So when had Mrs Templeman’s body been removed?
‘Since there was a family viewing of Mrs Templeman’s body at her home on the morning of the 20th, I assume that there was not one here?’ she asked.
‘I believe not,’ said Fairbrother.
‘But Dr Mackenzie, who had attended her in life, examined her body only a few hours after it was admitted here, and we must assume that he recognised her then. Dr Warrinder would have seen her the following morning when he made his ward round, and even with his poor eyesight he must have known his wife’s relative. So if the body in the pauper’s grave is indeed Mrs Templeman, what happened to her after Dr Warrinder’s round?’ Frances studied the book again. ‘You were next in the ward on the 25th of September assisting Dr Bonner while he tried to find a replacement for Mr Palmer.’
‘Yes.’
‘And did you and Dr Bonner examine Mrs Templeman’s body?’
Fairbrother frowned. ‘I don’t recall it. In fact, I rather think it was not there.’
‘But she was not buried until two days later.’ Frances peered at a note in what she felt sure was Hemsley’s muddled hand. ‘Ah,’ she said at last, ‘I think this says that Mrs Templeman’s body was taken to Kilburn mortuary on the morning of the 24th of September. Why was that done?’
‘I think I can guess. In cases where decomposition occurs very quickly and there is no doubt that the person is deceased, but the family has not yet completed arrangements for burial, bodies may be placed in a conventional mortuary where they are kept in cold conditions so as not to constitute a danger to health.’
‘I’d better speak to Mr Hemsley again, and since I cannot go to him, you had best bring him to me.’
Fairbrother recognised the unspoken word ‘now’ at the end of that sentence and hurried away, returning a minute later with Hemsley, who looked as though he might have been awoken from a doze.
‘Mr Hemsley, do you recall a patient here by the name of Mrs Templeman?’ asked Frances. She showed him the admission entry for the 20th of September.
‘Not specially, that’s Palmer’s writing. Has he been found?’
‘Not yet, no. I see that Mrs Templeman’s body was removed to Kilburn mortuary on the 24th of September. Can you advise me of the reason for that?’
‘I can’t say. I just get orders to move them or sometimes the undertaker’s men call with an authority to take the bodies.’
‘I was informed by someone who toured the Life House that Mrs Templeman was not on the ward on the 23rd of September. Where was she?’
He scratched his head and looked at the book again. ‘In the chapel, I expect. She couldn’t have been anywhere else.’
‘But there was no family viewing here for Mrs Templeman. Why would she be in the chapel?’
‘Well, sometimes, if the patients get a bit – well, you know – we don’t want them in the ward and we take them off somewhere a bit colder. Now I come to think about it, when they took her away she wasn’t on the ward, she was coffined in the chapel. Yes, that was it, I remember now! She was so bad she had to be coffined almost at once, and then she had to be taken away early.’
‘Was she already coffined in the chapel when you came on duty on the night of Dr Mackenzie’s collapse?’
He frowned. ‘I expect so. I don’t rightly remember.’
‘Did you transfer Mrs Templeman to the chapel?’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t think I did. It must have been Palmer.’
‘Would he have recorded that?’
‘We have to record when a patient comes in and when they go out, but not moving from the ward to the chapel. So – no, if he did it wouldn’t be in the book unless he chose to.’
‘Isn’t that the kind of thing that a man like Mr Palmer, with his attention to detail, would have recorded?’
Hemsley looked surprised. ‘Er – yes, I suppose it would be.’
‘Do you recall a young woman’s body being in the chapel?’
‘There was a coffin in there ready for burial, but I couldn’t say whose it was.’
Frances felt she had learned all she could from Hemsley, who returned to his duties.
‘It is clear that I was mistaken,’ said Fairbrother. ‘The body in the canal cannot have been that of Mrs Templeman, who was admitted here on the 20th of September and removed four days later. While I was assisting Dr Bonner at Kilburn on the 23rd, the lady’s body was coffined here.’
‘When you attended the viewing for Dr Mackenzie,’ said Frances, ‘was Mrs Templeman here then? In the chapel?’
‘There was another coffin here, yes.’
‘Open or sealed?’
He paused.
‘Sealed, then.’ Frances concluded. ‘Did you look inside it?’
‘No.’
‘Exactly. For all we know her body was already in the canal and is even now in a pauper’s grave. The only question is, who put it there and why?’
‘But this is all conjecture! Can we not agree to proceed no further?’
‘You know I cannot,’ said Frances. ‘I will have the body taken up.’
‘That could take many weeks,’ said Fairbrother. ‘You would need to obtain an order from a magistrate and then he will approach the Home Office. And there is no guarantee of success.’
‘I think,’ said Frances, ‘I may know a way to help things progress a little faster.’
Fairbrother, who had hoped to dissuade her, was disappointed.
Back home Frances sat at her writing desk, selected her very best quality notepaper and her finest pen, and began a letter: ‘Dear Mr Gladstone …’