At St Stephen’s Church on Sunday morning the Reverend Day once again appealed to the congregation for information about Henry Palmer. There was an atmosphere of silent regret. All present would have done their utmost to help if they could, but no one had seen the missing man and no one apart from his sister believed him to still be alive. Dr Mackenzie’s bag was also described, with the suggestion that Palmer might have been carrying it. Reverend Day said that he would be happy to speak privately to any person willing to come forward, or ladies might prefer to call on Miss Doughty. Once again there was no stir in the congregation, no sign that anyone had guilty knowledge. After the service many people, strangers to Frances, came to wish her success and commiserate with Walter, who told Frances that the same announcements had been made in other churches too, and someone, he was sure, must have seen something.
It was too cold and wet to take a walk after church, so that afternoon Frances and Sarah contented themselves with some reading. The approved literature for the Sabbath was of a religious nature and Frances often used that quiet time to think of her family, and offer the kind of private prayers that she somehow felt were best made when away from a crowd, but on that day she managed to persuade herself that Friedrich Erlichmann’s pamphlet, which considered the nature of life and death, was acceptable material on which to focus her thoughts. Sarah, who had located a booklet describing cases of doubtful death in melodramatic detail, perused it with interest and a complete lack of guilt.
The enthusiastic journalism of Mr Gillan had ensured that it was a matter of public knowledge throughout the whole of Bayswater that Frances Doughty, the celebrated lady detective, was engaged in the search for the missing Henry Palmer. The result was the arrival of a flood of messages recommending actions that she had already pursued, theories which she had already thought of, suggestions as to where Palmer might be which emanated from the imaginative brain of correspondents who knew nothing of the man’s character, offers to find him on the payment of a substantial sum of money, and recommendations for fortune tellers and mystics.
The information that Frances would take commissions to find missing persons had also excited a confidence that she was able to succeed, and she received several letters asking for her help and saw two new clients. The wife of a printer’s assistant, who had not been seen for a week, had come to see Frances in a state of both emotional and financial distress. The woman was just twenty-nine years of age, had seven children and was soon to become a mother again. Her husband, who had, when sober, claimed to welcome the impending addition to his family, had, after a glass or two of beer, expressed the hope that either his wife or the child, or preferably both, would not survive the accouchement. The unfortunate woman sat in Frances’ parlour and wept and Frances gazed at her hopelessly and wondered if she could ever find the man, and if she did, whether returning him to his family would be a good or a bad thing for them. Frances promised that she would do what she could and assigned the investigation to her eager assistant, who implied with a grim expression that the husband, once safe in the bosom of his family, would devote himself uncomplainingly to meeting his responsibilities.
A harassed mother next brought in a red-faced blubbering girl who said she had lost her puppy dog, Rosie, in Hyde Park, an animal that was apparently the most beautiful and affectionate puppy dog in the whole world. They seemed to expect that Frances would either spend all available hours running about Hyde Park in search of the dog, or produce it by some form of conjuring trick. Frances decided to ask Tom if he could look for it, half dreading that he would find it and then she would be expected to find every lost animal in Bayswater.
The only comforting event was the satisfactory conclusion of the enquiries on behalf of the gentleman of means into the bona fides of the applicant for a business partnership. Chas and Barstie had greeted the information Frances had provided with some hilarity, as the name was one of several aliases used by a rogue who was currently wanted for misappropriation of funds in more than one country. The personal description of the individual and his method of address confirmed the identification. They supplied a list of questions to be put to the applicant by Frances’ client, together with the anticipated replies, which would entirely satisfy him of the attempted deception. They added, however, that the client was not himself without blemish and it was up to him, after discovering the applicant’s true identity, whether he had him arrested, or entered into a profitable business agreement based on mutual understanding. Frances did not convey this last comment to the client, who was suitably grateful, and promised early and generous settlement of the account.
The next morning Frances received a visit from Walter Crowe, who was in a state of very great excitement. He was bearing a rank-smelling object wrapped in brown paper, and was breathless and perspiring. ‘Miss Doughty, I think I have found it! Dr Mackenzie’s bag! Of course, in all my previous searches I had not been looking for such an item – rather a – well, to be frank with you I had anticipated finding a body – but early this morning I was walking along the canal side near the gasworks and saw something floating and pulled it out, and here it is!’
Sarah took one look at the parcel and grimaced.
‘Let us take it down to the basement,’ said Frances, and Walter, who was cradling his find as if it was an adored infant, agreed and they hurried down the stairs and outside, where he laid it reverently on top of the ashbin. Frances was less excited than her visitor, largely because she half expected to see something that would not prove to be the missing bag, but as the paper was pulled back she saw a wet, crumpled object, scuffed and scratched brown leather, and a handle with its leather covering split and bound about with cord.
‘Well Mr Crowe, you have done wonders,’ said Frances, examining the bag. ‘Have you opened it?’
He shook his head. ‘No. Of course I wanted to, but I thought it would be best done before a witness.’
‘I agree.’ Frances’ first impulse was to take the bag straight to Kilburn police station, but she was concerned that having handed it to the police she would be thanked politely and it would be taken away, and she would never see inside it. She opened the clasp, which to her surprise parted without any difficulty, and pulled the bag open. The contents proved to be very disappointing; a shirt and a change of underlinen, neither of which were new, and a gentleman’s shaving requisites, a brush and razor of very inexpensive manufacture but apparently unused, and a pot of shaving soap, unopened. After a very thorough search, feeling all about the lining, hoping for a hidden pocket or compartment, Frances had to admit herself defeated. She asked Sarah to fetch a map and Crowe showed her exactly where he had found the bag.
‘What do you think I ought to do?’ he asked.
‘I think that it should be taken to the police. Let them know where it was found and they will pursue their enquiries.’
Walter, who had hoped for some wonderful revelation, a startling clue that would lead him to the missing man, looked very despondent as he left.
‘It seems to me,’ said Frances, as she and Sarah washed the stench of the canal from their hands, ‘that the items found in the bag show that Dr Mackenzie was intending to go away on the night he died, although it would only have been for a short while. Unless of course they are merely the things he always kept in that bag. For a longer absence he would have had to purchase more when he arrived.’
‘But there was no money,’ said Sarah.
‘There might have been a pocket book with money in his coat. Or if there was money in the bag any thief could have taken it and then thrown the bag in the canal.’ Frances brought out her map and studied it. ‘It was found by the towpath alongside the gasworks. Hardly any distance from the Life House. If Palmer had taken it, there would easily have been time for him to throw it in on his way to Mrs Georgeson’s. But why would he do such a thing? Maybe he was protecting Dr Mackenzie’s reputation by taking something from the bag and hiding it.’
Sarah shook her head. ‘Whoever put the bag there didn’t do it the night Dr Mackenzie died. That bag has never been in the water a fortnight. It was a good stout bag once all right, but the leather is that thin and worn in places, it would have been more soaked than it was. A day or two at most I would say.’
Frances nodded. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. You’re right.’
Frances later spoke to Inspector Gostelow about the bag, which Walter had duly delivered, and found that he had drawn the same conclusions as she about Mackenzie’s intentions and the length of time the bag had been in the water. He had asked his constables to pay especial attention to the area where the bag had been found, but he didn’t see that there was any more he could do. The bag and its contents, once dried out and restored to a more hygienic condition, would shortly be examined by Dr Bonner, as Dr Mackenzie’s executor, and who might take it away with him if he liked. Perhaps, suggested Gostelow, he might have some observations.
Frances went home, troubled. There was something about the bag that did not fit with a comment made to her very recently and she could not determine what it was. She decided to occupy herself with other concerns as she often found that a special corner of her mind would address a problem without her being aware of it. That evening she and Sarah, wearing their purple sashes of membership, attended a meeting of the Bayswater Ladies Suffrage Society in Westbourne Hall, where Frances had been prevailed upon to make a short speech about her work as a detective, while Sarah was deputed to act as doorkeeper in case any disruptive elements sought admission. The ladies were told that petitions were being made to Parliament, and the meeting ended in a surge of tea-fuelled optimism that it was only a matter of months before the women of Britain secured the franchise.
When Frances awoke the next morning she had the answer. Mabel Finch had mentioned that Dr Mackenzie’s beard had become grey. Why then had he been carrying all a gentleman needed for a shave?
As Frances and Sarah discussed the question of Dr Mackenzie’s beard over breakfast a letter arrived from Aberdeen.
Dear Miss Doughty
I have never met Dr Mackenzie, only being acquainted with him due to some pamphlets he sent me about his work at the Life House. I was not expecting to receive a parcel of books from him. The letter to which you refer was written the day before I learned of his unfortunate death. He had recommended to me the services of an orderly, a Mr Breck, who he described as a useful, active and reliable person, and was due to appear here to take up his duties on Thursday 23rd September, but the man did not arrive and after waiting a week I wrote to Dr Mackenzie to discover what had occurred to delay him. I can advise you that as at today’s date, Mr Breck has not appeared and I have heard no word from him or indeed anyone else in connection with the appointment.
Yours truly
S. Stuart, MD
So at least the mysterious word was now clear: ‘Breck did not arrive.’ But who was Breck? It was not uncommon for a young man who wanted advancement, even in the case of something as workaday as a position as hospital orderly, to seek out a respected man and ask him to write a letter recommending him. But it was remarkable that having gone to the trouble of asking for the recommendation and impressing Mackenzie sufficiently that the letter had been written, and the position secured, Breck had then failed to keep the appointment or offer any explanation.
It was possible that Mr Breck and his ambitions and failings had nothing at all to do with the case, but Frances was aware that coincidences were beginning to accumulate around the time of Dr Mackenzie’s death in an unattractive muddle, and she did not like muddle.
Frances was not sure precisely how long it might take to journey from London to Aberdeen, which was a considerable distance, and could not, she thought, be easily done in one day. She studied her railway timetables carefully. Since Breck had promised to be in Aberdeen on the Thursday she had to work backwards and determine when he had to leave London in order to reach his destination on that day. Would he have had to leave London before Dr Mackenzie’s death?
The answer was that he did not; there were overnight mail trains from London on the Tuesday night, and fast trains early on Wednesday to both Edinburgh and Glasgow, from where he might have obtained another train, which would have reached Aberdeen in time to keep his appointment with Dr Stuart. So Breck could have been in London on the night Dr Mackenzie died, or even the following morning.
But did Breck even exist? Had Breck been a name assumed by Palmer as he hurried north for some purpose devised by Mackenzie? Had he set out as planned, and then met with an accident on the way, and was he now either an unidentified body or an unconscious man far from home, that no one would ever connect with the missing Palmer? Or was Breck another man entirely? Was he perhaps someone she had already met under another name? Hemsley? Fairbrother? She couldn’t see either Bonner or Warrinder masquerading as a medical orderly; Warrinder would have found the task too strenuous and Bonner was too much the avuncular, yet superior, doctor to act convincingly in a subordinate role. Whoever Breck was, Mackenzie’s death might have induced him to change his plans and not make his journey after all.
There was one other possibility – that Breck was actually Dr Mackenzie himself, adopting a new name, a new appearance, and applying for a post far from London and planning to flee north to escape his creditors, but dying before he could carry out his plan.
But, Frances asked herself, would a man of Mackenzie’s character do such a thing? Would he run away and abandon the Life House, into which he had put so much of his time and dedication and money, simply over some personal financial difficulty, especially when he had understanding friends whose mercy he might have relied upon? And how was he planning to explain this sudden disappearance? The abrupt departure of a man in Dr Mackenzie’s position would have caused immediate comment and cast grave suspicions on the affairs of the Life House, which would then as a matter of public demand come under scrutiny. The resultant enquiry would reveal that a large sum of money had gone missing from the Life House bank account.
Frances concluded that if Dr Mackenzie had decided to disappear in order to evade his creditors, then he would have provided a reason that would not excite suspicion. For one distracted moment she wondered if the doctor had not actually died at all, but had only pretended to be dead. That would certainly have had the desired result, but then she knew that following his death the body had lain in the Life House for almost a week before burial. It had been seen by people who knew him, and he would have had to fool not only Palmer and Bonner but Hemsley, Fairbrother, Darscot, Warrinder, and all the other people who came to the viewing the following day. No man could hold his breath for long and it would not take a doctor of medicine to observe that the supposed corpse was alive. She could easily have seen through such an imposture herself. The trick would only work if all the diverse people concerned – from Dr Bonner to Mrs Georgeson – had somehow conspired to effect it, and that idea was quite ridiculous. Nevertheless, she felt she needed to discuss the question with both doctors and was busy composing a note when Sarah, who had been out on a number of errands, returned with the certificates from Somerset House, which were especially illuminating.
In 1863, Maria Biscoby, widow, aged forty-three had married Richard Warrinder, MD, widower. The death of her son, Peter Biscoby, had taken place at Dr Warrinder’s home.
Frances’ first reaction was to be very annoyed that this fact had been kept from her, but she reminded herself that she was in possession of a great deal of information which Doctors Warrinder and Bonner were unaware that she had, and there were some incidents in the past history of the Life House which they might not have wanted broadcast to the world. A visit to Dr Warrinder was, however, called for and she sent him a message announcing that she would soon call, making it plain that it was a matter of great importance and that she also wanted to speak to his wife. If she had not received a reply she would have gone to his house in any case, but a message came back agreeing to an interview.
The Warrinders lived on Ladbroke Grove Road in an establishment very similar to that of Mrs Georgeson but altogether better kept, if containing nothing that had been purchased new in over forty years. Frances was shown into the parlour where Dr Warrinder waited to see her alone and a great deal of fuss was made about fetching tea and offering her refreshments, but no mention at all was made concerning the absence of Mrs Warrinder. Dr Warrinder looked nervous as, thought Frances, he very well might.
‘I am sorry to see that Mrs Warrinder is not here,’ said Frances. ‘It is essential that I speak with her and I believe I made that very clear in my letter.’
‘Oh, I am very sorry, but my dear wife is – er …’ he floundered.
‘Detained elsewhere? Indisposed? Unwilling to speak to me? All three at once? Please be specific.’
He sighed. ‘Oh dear!’
‘Dr Warrinder, I think when I asked very particularly to have an interview with Mrs Warrinder you may well have suspected my reasons. Refusing such an interview will not make me depart unsatisfied. What sort of detective would I be if I were to be put off so easily? Rather it increases my suspicions that you have something to hide and doubles my determination to find it out. If it has nothing to do with the disappearance of Mr Palmer then I will not use the information. Now then, can you confirm that Mrs Warrinder is the former Maria Biscoby, widow of Dr Arthur Biscoby, and the very same lady who accused Friedrich Erlichmann of fraud?’
Warrinder nodded.
‘Good, then we have some progress. I have been reading some very interesting literature of late. Dr Bonner was kind enough to give me a copy of Friedrich Erlichmann’s A Recovery From the Disorder of Death, a Gothic romance worthy of Mr Poe. I have also been perusing the Bayswater Chronicle, in particular the editions that deal with the visit of Mr Erlichmann to Westbourne Hall in 1863 and your good lady’s observations on his veracity.’
Dr Warrinder’s hands trembled and he made no attempt to pick up his teacup. ‘I can assure you, Miss Doughty, that my dear Maria is of a quite different opinion now. At the time of her unfortunate outburst she had been recently widowed and was, therefore, in a state of some distress. She was not, and never has been, insane, as was alleged.’
‘In that case, Mr Erlichmann’s comments upon her mental state were tasteless to say the least – if indeed they were his comments. Dr Mackenzie was acting as his translator at the time, was he not?’
‘Ah, yes, he was.’ Warrinder squirmed in discomfort. ‘It was all – very – ’
Frances waited. ‘I am a busy woman, Dr Warrinder. I would be obliged if you would simply tell me what you have to say and then I will be spared the time and the trouble of finding it out, which I undoubtedly will do.’
He slumped sorrowfully in his chair. ‘Maria was very upset at what was said and threatened to go to the law. She said that Erlichmann had slandered her and that the Chronicle had published a libel, and was afraid that if she was thought to be insane then her children might be removed from her care. Mackenzie didn’t take it seriously at first, he said that the lady had no funds with which to go to the law, but then it transpired that the solicitor, Mr Manley, was a relative and he was very indignant about it and took the case for nothing. Maria refused to speak to Mackenzie and Bonner tried to placate her, but failed. So I saw her. I was a widower with three children of my own and in a comfortable position in life. Maria, an excellent woman in every way, had been left in a state of great destitution by her foolish husband, dependent on the charity of a cousin for the necessaries of life, unable to give her children the establishment and education that befitted the family of a medical man.’
‘I do not doubt the very sincere esteem for Mrs Biscoby that led to your making her an offer of marriage,’ said Frances, ‘but may I take it that it was agreed that once you were married and the fortunes of her children secured, she would cease to criticize Mr Erlichmann and also take no action regarding the slander and libel?’
‘I – er – believe that we may have discussed that.’
‘I am glad that we are clear upon that point,’ said Frances. ‘And now, if you please, I wish to speak to Mrs Warrinder.’
‘Oh, is that really necessary?’ said Warrinder, apprehensively.
‘It is. Please reassure her that I have no wish to reveal anything that might harm the reputation of either the Life House or its directors.’
Reluctantly, he rang for the maid and asked if Mrs Warrinder could be advised that Miss Doughty wished to speak with her. He took it upon himself to remain in the room, something for which Frances could hardly blame him.
Mrs Warrinder was a robust and handsome lady of sixty. She was dressed in a violet shade of semi-mourning with a discreet line of dark pearls at her throat, suggesting a loss that was distant either in relationship or in time. Frances, still in mourning for her father and brother, felt no great anticipation of the day when she might temper her sombre black with some other acceptable colour.
‘My dear,’ said Dr Warrinder, ‘Miss Doughty gives us her word of honour that she will not say or write anything that will do harm either to us or the Life House.’
‘My only interest is discovering what has happened to Mr Palmer,’ said Frances.
‘I will do all I can to assist you,’ said Mrs Warrinder pleasantly. Such anxiety as existed in the Warrinder household appeared to rest entirely with her husband.
‘It is my belief,’ said Frances, ‘that Mr Palmer may have been in Dr Mackenzie’s confidence over some matters concerning either the Life House or his personal arrangements. He may have been instructed to carry out some task. Therefore, I need to know about anything that may have been causing Dr Mackenzie some concern or difficulty.’
Mrs Warrinder’s eyes hardened very slightly and her lower lip stiffened. Mrs Warrinder had not forgiven Dr Mackenzie for the slander of 1863.
Frances tried to find a careful and delicate method of introducing the subject and failed.
‘What can you tell me about Friedrich Erlichmann?’
The lady nodded slowly and a little smile graced her mouth. ‘I assume, my dear,’ she said to her husband, ‘that I am to speak openly. This is on the understanding that what I am to say remains within these walls. Any attempt by Miss Doughty to reveal what I am about to tell will be met with the full force of the law.’
‘I can promise you,’ said Frances, ‘that will not be necessary.’
‘Very well. You know I suppose that my first husband, Arthur Biscoby, and I resided in Germany for some years, where he both taught and practiced surgery. Friedrich Erlichmann was a student of medicine, but he failed in his studies, largely due to idleness. He left the university and we thought we would hear no more of him, but then we found that he was attracting a great deal of attention to himself by telling the tale of how he had been brought back from the dead. We thought little of it at the time, as Arthur had no interest in such things, but then we discovered that a Dr Mackenzie had become interested in the story and believed it. Arthur went to see Mackenzie and warned him that Erlichmann was no more than a plausible rogue, that he had known him during the time when he was supposed to have died and nearly buried, and nothing of the sort had happened or he would have heard of it. Mackenzie refused to believe him, Arthur called him a fool and no more was said. Not long afterwards we returned to England where, sadly, Arthur passed away. I then heard that Mackenzie was raising funds to establish the Life House in Kensal Green, and that in order to do so he had employed Erlichmann to lecture and write pamphlets for him. Now, telling a tale to amuse one’s friends is one thing, but telling lies to take the public’s money away from them is, in my opinion, quite another. That was why I made my attempt at denouncing the man at his lecture. It is still my opinion that he is a fraud and a villain, but as my dear Richard has pointed out to me, there are many genuine cases of recovery from a state of doubtful death and it would be most unfortunate if the Life House was to suffer for the sake of one charlatan.’
‘I understand,’ said Frances. ‘But of course, here in Bayswater the establishment of the Life House rested to a considerable extent on Mr Erlichmann’s story and even if the public were advised of other cases, that fraud could well taint the entire venture.’
‘Precisely,’ said Mrs Warrinder. ‘Personally I am happy that Richard’s connection with it is very peripheral and that he has quite given up the practice of medicine, so that any collapse of the venture would not reflect on him. Dr Bonner would also not be deeply affected, but of course to Dr Mackenzie it was his whole life.’
‘He would have been very anxious indeed if he had feared that Erlichmann might confess his guilt,’ said Frances. ‘Did he think there was any danger of that?’
‘I think there has always been a danger of it,’ said Mrs Warrinder. ‘Erlichmann was a blabbermouth when in his cups. I have a dear friend from my days in Germany with whom I still correspond. She once informed me that Erlichmann had confessed that the story of his marvellous recovery was not as he had told it and that he felt some remorse about the whole affair. He claimed that he was led on by Mackenzie and the promise of wealth.’
‘Oh, do not concern yourself, my dear,’ said Warrinder, quickly. He turned to Frances. ‘Erlichmann has not yet spoken after so many years and it is unlikely that he will do so now. He still makes a tidy income from his lectures and pamphlets, and is often wined and dined liberally on the strength of the story – no, no we have nothing to fear on that score. Nothing at all.’ The fear in Warrinder’s eyes was unmistakable. Frances realised that Dr Kastner’s letters had been translated by Mrs Warrinder, the one person the partners could rely upon to keep the contents secret. The letters had mentioned documents deposited with a solicitor and Frances now saw why Dr Kastner had been so troubled. Erlichmann, struck by conscience in his declining days, must have left a confession of fraud in a sealed letter to be opened on the event of his death, catastrophic to the Life House’s reputation and income. Reputation was a hard thing to measure, but money was not. If she had learned one thing from Chas and Barstie, it was that a mystery would often be solved by following the money.
‘I understand that Dr Mackenzie left his interest in the Life House to yourself and Dr Bonner. Has it been valued?’
‘Not yet, no.’
‘And will you both continue to run the business?’
‘Ah well, that is something Dr Bonner and I have discussed. It will be very hard, I fear, to continue without the dedication and energy of Dr Mackenzie. We have not yet decided what to do.’
Frances could see what the dilemma was, but said nothing. She thought about it all the way home. She saw now that, in addition to his earlier financial problems, the reasons for which she had yet to establish, Mackenzie had been facing the personal and financial disaster that would have resulted from Erlichmann’s confession. A planned flight looked more and more probable.
Later that day, she found herself discussing her theories with Chas and Barstie.
‘How much would you say the Life House is worth as a business?’ she asked them.
‘Hard to say,’ said Chas, leaning back in Frances’ easy chair and introducing his toes to the warmth of the fire. It was late and cocoa and biscuits had been provided as a soothing preparation for a night of dreamless sleep. ‘It’s not your normal kind of trade now is it? I don’t quite have a picture in my mind of how it operates.’
‘I would want to see the accounts,’ declared Barstie. ‘That and view all the assets. Do they have creditors? Almost certainly. What business doesn’t? Do they have debtors? I expect they do. Do they have debtors who are cast-iron sure to pay? That might be another matter.’
‘I would say,’ said Frances, ‘that given the nature of the trade, their customers are likely to be respectable people of means.’
‘Well, that’s no guarantee of liquid cash,’ said Chas, ‘far from it.’
‘The biggest asset must be the Life House itself,’ said Frances.
‘No,’ said Chas, ‘the biggest asset is the land it sits on. I mean, who wants to buy a mortuary unless you’re a mortician? That land when it was first purchased all those years ago was probably being used to grow cabbages and I expect Mackenzie got it for a song. Then, instead of building some nice cottages like a sensible man would, and renting them out, he builds a mortuary. Don’t call it a Life House, we all know what goes in there.’
‘Never saw one of the customers walk out,’ said Barstie.
‘And then what happens?’ Chas continued. ‘One minute the whole area is fields as far as the eye can see, next minute it’s all houses. If Mackenzie didn’t kick himself for missing an opportunity he was a fool.’
‘So the land will be worth a great deal more than its purchase price?’ asked Frances.
‘Very much more,’ said Chas, ‘except the disadvantage to the man who is only interested in the land is that it’s got a mortuary stuck on top of it.’
‘If the business was simply broken up into assets,’ said Barstie, ‘any buyer would either have to convert the mortuary into something else, like a warehouse or a workshop, which most probably wouldn’t be worth their while, or knock it down and build houses. All that trouble and expense would bring the price down.’
‘What about the business as a going concern?’ asked Frances. ‘Would it find a buyer?’
‘Now that’s an interesting one,’ said Barstie, ‘because the new building around the cemetery has brought many potential customers into the area. I think if we were to see the accounts we might find that business is on the steady up and up. That being the case it might be quite valuable as it is, to the right person, if that person can be found.’
‘It’s finding the person that often doesn’t come cheap,’ said Chas. ‘Is it for sale?’ he asked, with a sideways glance.
‘Not at present,’ said Frances. ‘I just thought that with Dr Mackenzie’s death, the current owners might think of it.’
‘Now you have the inside view,’ said Barstie, smiling, ‘any little hints you feel free to pass on …’
‘Of course,’ said Frances, ‘and if you should hear of anything …?’
‘Our pleasure!’
Frances was troubled. For reasons that she was honour bound not to divulge, she knew that Bonner and Warrinder were aware that the business was in danger of imminent collapse, and if they put it up for sale as a going concern, it might be sold to a person quite unaware of the bombshell that was about to explode. She could not decide what she would do if that situation arose.
Early the following day, Frances returned to Dr Bonner’s house but was told that he was at the Life House, as was Mr Fairbrother. She decided that she might essay another visit and accordingly was soon knocking boldly on the door of the chapel. The door was answered by Mr Fairbrother who greeted her with some surprise but a very welcoming smile. Frances wondered if there was anything of significance in his eyes, but whatever the skill required to read such things it was one she clearly did not have.
‘Miss Doughty – is this to be a professional call in connection with Mr Palmer, or are you here for a viewing?’
‘I had not appreciated that there was a deceased person here to be viewed,’ said Frances. ‘It is a professional call.’ He stepped aside and she entered.
There was one coffin laid out on a trestle and in it the body of a lady who had once been rather plump, but whose face was shrunken and fallen, grey and blotched. She was packed about with great swathes of fresh cut flowers, and there were candles burning on the little altar exuding a sickly scent, and a great deal of carbolic. Her jaw was bound in a white cloth, but not so tightly that she would be unable to speak supposing that there was any life remaining, which, as far as Frances could see, there was most decidedly not. As a result the jaw sagged open, revealing a dark cavern of a mouth from which a foetid odour was escaping.
‘It is not very pleasant, I am afraid,’ said Mr Fairbrother, ‘and unlike the undertaker we are not permitted to occlude any place where the natural functions of life may be apparent, neither are we to paint the face to make it appear as in life, as that might confuse matters.’
‘I think I knew this lady,’ said Frances. ‘She was the daughter of a milliner and had a very bad husband. How did she die?’
‘She fell down in a fit. I was told she was in love with her footman and lost her wits. Or some say that she lost her wits and only then did she fall in love with her footman.’
Frances thought it had been a close run thing. ‘I was wondering how well you knew Dr Mackenzie,’ she said.
‘I worked under his supervision a number of times. I have only been in London a month and during that time I have mainly been studying with Dr Bonner.’
‘When did you last see Dr Mackenzie?’
‘Alive, you mean? The day before he died. I was here with Dr Bonner and he called in. I must say, he looked very unwell but it was not my place to say anything. Even in the short time I knew him I saw a decline in his energy. About a week before he died he arrived here having left his keys on his desk at home and was too exhausted to go back for them. I offered to order him a cab but he wouldn’t hear of it, so I sat him down and gave him some brandy.’ He shook his head. ‘Poor man. At least he took my advice and rested for two or three days before he returned.’
‘I regret that I never met him. Can you describe him to me?’
‘He was quite tall but walked with a slight stoop, of a moderate build, tending to thinness, and with grey hair and whiskers.’
‘Do you know where I might see a portrait of him?’
‘Yes, as it so happens there is one which Dr Bonner has had placed in a frame to be hung here in the chapel as a tribute. It is in the office now – I will fetch it.’
Frances rather hoped that he might pass through the ward on his way to the office, affording her a glimpse of the interior, but he merely smiled as if he knew what she was thinking. He rapped three times on the connecting door, but did not open it, and left through the side door. The wheeled stretcher was in its usual place, but Frances leaned across it and gently tried the handle of the connecting door. It was locked. Fairbrother returned a minute later with the portrait.
‘They do not yet entrust you with keys?’ asked Frances.
‘No, I am not employed here permanently. I had to alert Dr Bonner to admit me by the main door just now. In any case, we never open the connecting door while there is a visitor in the chapel. Prying eyes, you know.’
Frances studied the picture. It was of a man facing the camera, his head set well on his shoulders, his gaze even, and his eyes clear and untroubled. There were a few wrinkles at the corners of his eyes but they were not unattractive, and she could imagine how he had smiled them into being. Mackenzie had a full luxuriant beard, moustache and side-whiskers. He looked very much like a man in his late forties, but she thought that he might appear younger if he was clean-shaven.
‘I believe it was taken a year ago,’ said Fairbrother. ‘Dr Mackenzie had become thinner of late, but this is a good likeness.’
Frances felt sure that the shaving materials found in Mackenzie’s bag were items of such cheap manufacture that they could hardly have been intended as a gift. They must, therefore, have been for the doctor’s own use. It now seemed probable that on the evening of his death Mackenzie had been on his way to Aberdeen, intending to shave off his beard and moustache before he arrived as Mr Breck. There might have been money or a ticket in his bag, both of which could have been stolen, either by Palmer or, more probably, a thief who had attacked Palmer and taken the bag. Perhaps the thief had become alarmed at hearing the bag described in sermons all over Paddington and decided to dispose of it.
‘And now, if I may, I would like to speak with Dr Bonner.’
‘I have already mentioned that you are here – he said he would come and see you in a moment.’ He smiled. Frances smiled back. She hoped it was not a simper.
Dr Bonner arrived before they ran out of conversation; he was walking with a pronounced limp and leaning on a stick. ‘My old affliction,’ he explained with a pained smile. ‘It is of no moment. What can I do for you, Miss Doughty?’
‘I have been speaking to the Kilburn police regarding Mr Crowe’s discovery of Dr Mackenzie’s travelling bag.’
‘Yes, extraordinary thing, that. I can’t imagine how it came to be where it was. I took a look at it, and it was undoubtedly his. You may come and see it if you like, before I dispose of it, but there is nothing of any interest in it I assure you.’
‘My understanding is that it contained only such items as a gentleman might carry if he was going to be from home for a night, but there was one thing I was told which engaged my curiosity.’
‘Oh?’
‘Dr Mackenzie was carrying shaving materials, but as I can see from his picture it was not something he had employed for many years, if ever.’
Dr Bonner paused as if the thought had never occurred to him. ‘Do you know, Miss Doughty, you are right. Of course, if I am away I carry my shaving things as a matter of course and so did not think when I saw them in Mackenzie’s bag, but now that you mention it, it is very strange. A man might decide to shave his beard for many reasons, to look younger perhaps, or at the whim of a lady.’ He nodded. ‘Yes, maybe there was a lady in the case. He might have been going to see her. We shall never know now.’
‘Have you been contacted by a lady about Dr Mackenzie?’
‘No, I have not,’ he admitted.
On her way home, Frances realised to her annoyance that she had missed a valuable opportunity. She had been so eager to confront Dr Bonner on the question of the shaving materials and display her cleverness to Mr Fairbrother that she had not thought it would be better to ask to see the contents of the bag before revealing that she already knew what they were. If Dr Bonner had been complicit in any plan of Mackenzie’s he might have removed the suspicious items before showing the bag to her. Even if he had, and she had challenged him, he would almost certainly have found a way of talking himself out of the anomaly.