A Case of Doubtful Death (19 page)

‘Well,’ said Sarah, ‘I don’t think he would ask you to find something that didn’t exist, because there wouldn’t be much of a reason to do that, but if he’s telling you the truth about how his sister was too good to live, then I am an elephant in the zoo – which I am not.’

Frances was used to the fact that clients would come to her and, for reasons of their own, deliberately conceal facts that would greatly assist her in the solution of their difficulties. Often, the conundrum to which they required a solution was not the one they stated, but something else again, something they had chosen not to impart to her. She would commence her enquiries based on what she had been told, but soon enough other facts would emerge which would take her back to the client and demand that she be told what had been hidden. Sometimes this would take several visits. Dr Carmichael was an ineffectual dissimulator, but she felt that she had for the moment extracted from him all that he was likely to tell her.

For some months Frances had been in the habit of retaining copies of the
Chronicle
, which other persons might have used to light fires, for the valuable information contained therein. She carefully studied all the newspapers that might have mentioned a theft of snuffboxes from a Kensington doctor, but found nothing. This was not conclusive since the crime might have been regarded as too trivial to mention, or indeed have never reached the notice of the press. She had no connections with the Kensington police, who were supposed to be pursuing the thief, but thought it very possible that Mr Gillan did, and composed a letter asking him if he knew anything about it. She was hampered by not knowing the name of the doctor, which Carmichael had been careful she should not know, but she could pursue that aspect if necessary. She had overcome larger obstacles.

More importantly there was the question of blackmail. If the journal existed, and Dr Carmichael’s obvious anxiety strongly suggested that damaging material of some nature certainly did, then, despite Dr Mackenzie’s death, it remained of value to a blackmailer. It was possible that Mackenzie had been approached shortly before his death, adding yet one more reason why he would want to flee London. As yet, Carmichael had not been approached by a blackmailer. Was the journal being held in some secret place, waiting for the moment when it could be used to most advantage? Or was it even now on the market, being passed from grubby hand to grubby hand? Frances wished she might have been able to enter the Piccadilly Club and keep a watch on anyone approaching Carmichael. The only person she knew who was already a member was young Mr Darscot, Mackenzie’s creditor, but he seemed an unsuitable person to engage as an agent, being without the necessary cool head. She smiled to herself as she imagined young Tom a little more grown up and in a smart suit, being dispatched to join the club and act as her eyes. While she waited for him to gain some height, someone else would have to be employed and she at once thought of Chas and Barstie, who would also be well attuned to anything with a scent of money.

Not so long ago they would not have been considered as members of the Piccadilly Club, having no fixed abode in Bayswater or possibly anywhere else, and no attire – at least none un-pawned – in which to make a suitable impression. The recent election and its business opportunities, while not actually making them rich, had elevated them and brought them new friends, and they would see the advantages to be gained by making the acquaintance of men of notable fortune and little sense.

The other issue she felt she needed to pursue was more sensitive. Had Dr Carmichael had a sister called Madeleine? Had this young woman of impossible virtue really expired in saintly odour many years ago? If she had, what was the nature of her death? Any questions she might ask on this subject might, however, alert someone like Mr Gillan to the fact that there was more than ordinary interest in the matter and risk exposing the very matters that Carmichael wanted kept private. The records at Somerset House would not assist her as they included only deaths in England and Wales, and not Scotland.

Frances’ other cases were progressing more satisfactorily. The missing husband had been traced sleeping off the effects of overindulgence in beer in a cell at Paddington Green police station, from which Sarah claimed him. She had then carefully explained to him the responsibilities of parenthood, giving him to understand that were further explanations required she would be willing to provide them. He was then returned, in penitent mood, to his wife and offspring, of which there were now eight. Frances did not have the heart to charge for her services and authorised Sarah to provide a gift towards the layette, to be placed in the new mother’s hands only.

Rosie, the puppy dog, was discovered on the following day by Tom, being teased by a gang of street urchins who demanded five shillings for their prize. Tom offered them a shilling and while they debated this disappointing fall in their expectations, he snatched up the dog and ran all the way to Frances’ rooms. Rosie, unharmed but very dirty, was smartly removed by a stern-faced Sarah who washed the protesting animal thoroughly, tied a pink ribbon around its topknot and took it back to its delighted owner.

This activity by Frances’ assistants, for which she ensured they were well remunerated, gave her time to reconsider the position of Dr Mackenzie in some detail. A year ago he had taken £
500
from the Life House by deception and borrowed another £
500
from Mr Darscot. Frances now thought it probable that the sums were required to pay a blackmailer, who had threatened to expose Mackenzie’s involvement in the Erlichmann fraud, or his unsavoury past in Edinburgh, or both, or even some other transgression of which she had no knowledge. Whatever the reason it was sufficiently sensitive that he had felt unable to ask his friends for help, even assuming that either could have conjured up £
1
,
000
. Mackenzie had worked himself to exhaustion in an effort to repay the Life House, but pursued by Darscot for his loan, had tried once again to dupe Warrinder into allowing him to extract funds from the business, and failed. He had then received Dr Kastner’s letters regarding the immediate danger posed by Erlichmann’s illness, and had also quite possibly been threatened by someone with Madeleine Carmichael’s journal. Mackenzie had been facing not only financial disaster, but a catastrophic descent into ignominy and shame. Despite all this, he still felt impelled to protect the reputation of the Life House and would not wholly abandon it. He must have hoped that Erlichmann might rally, or that his letters would not amount to proof of wrongdoing, or that Kastner might be able to suppress them.

Frances had earlier rejected the idea that Dr Mackenzie had feigned death because of the impossibility of fooling all the observers, and the unlikelihood of so many disparate persons being engaged in a conspiracy, but on reflection she could see that there was another much simpler plan. Dr Mackenzie had had an accomplice. All it required was one trustworthy, efficient and loyal helper, and there were only two people qualified for that role – the missing Henry Palmer and Dr Bonner.

Frances went to see Bonner again and this she knew was going to be a difficult interview. It was never a pleasant thing to accuse a person, especially a man in Dr Bonner’s position, of planning or even carrying out an underhand and possibly criminal action, but it was not the first time Frances had done such a thing and she reflected that it was unlikely to be the last.

T
here were, thought Frances, many stages of an investigation that went on for any length of time and they could be measured by the reactions of people she was obliged to interview on several occasions. In some cases initial suspicion and discomfort transformed after a time into hope and then gratitude. Those such as Dr Bonner, however, who anticipated that they would only need to speak to Frances once, were all generosity and good humour at their first meeting, helpful but serious at the second, surprised but polite at the third, irritated though still co-operative at the fourth, openly annoyed at the fifth and frightened at the sixth. This was the sixth time she had interviewed Dr Bonner.

Frances had no proof of what she was about to say and indeed was not sure if she believed half of it herself, rather she had determined to say something as controversial as possible in the hope that she might provoke some reaction and thereby arrive at the truth.

‘Dr Bonner is busy,’ said the starchy maid at the door.

‘I doubt it,’ said Frances. ‘Please don’t be offended, I know you are only saying what you have been instructed to say, but really it is pointless for him to dissemble. I intend to see him today and will not be deflected.’

‘Dr Bonner is busy,’ repeated the maid, tonelessly. ‘I will say that you have called and he will make an appointment when he is ready to see you.’

‘Tell him,’ said Frances, ‘that I know what he did.’

There was a palpable frozen silence.

After a few moments the maid, without a word or even a change in expression, turned on her heel and proceeded upstairs to Dr Bonner’s consulting room. Frances waited and was rewarded a few minutes later by the return of the maid who, staring at some point to the right of Frances’ face, told her she could go up.

Dr Bonner’s normal manner was under some strain and he greeted Frances with forced politeness observing that their interview would, due to extreme pressure of important work, necessarily be brief. Frances looked about her and saw no evidence of any work, important or otherwise.

‘I was mystified by the message you sent to me via my maid, which I feel must have become somewhat muddled in the repetition,’ he said, sinking into his chair with a slight wince of pain and propping one foot on a cushion.

‘That is possible,’ said Frances, generously. ‘What I would like you to tell me is where is Dr Mackenzie?’

Bonner’s head jerked back in astonishment and after a bewildered moment, he gave a short laugh. ‘Miss Doughty am I hearing you correctly? Dr Mackenzie is dead and in his coffin.’

‘Is he?’

‘I can assure you he is. Whyever would you think differently?’

Frances maintained her composure. ‘It is my belief, indeed I am certain of it, that Dr Mackenzie intended to leave London and assume another identity, not only that, but he made arrangements to have people believe him to be dead. He cannot have achieved this alone.’

Bonner continued to treat her words with amusement. ‘On that point at least we are agreed. It would be impossible to achieve alone.’

‘Precisely.’ Frances allowed a few moments to pass. ‘How interesting. I mentioned that he had reasons to want to falsify his death, but you have failed to ask me what they might be. Is that because you already know?’

Dr Bonner opened his mouth to reply, but thought better of it, as if there was no response he thought he might safely make. He made an effort to maintain his mask of merriment but failed, and his expression slid into a frown.

‘I think,’ said Frances, ‘that he came to you as a friend and a respected and knowledgeable man, and asked for your help. He needed to leave, but to protect the reputation of the Life House he had to make it appear that he was dead. I think you instructed Mr Palmer to assist in the deception. There was a masquerade at the viewing the next day, but thereafter the place where his body should have been was taken up by a wax model or stones or some such thing. Whatever was coffined and buried was not a body. Dr Mackenzie has gone away and Palmer may also have been sent away to ensure his silence.’

Bonner, serious now, shook his head. ‘This is quite astounding, Miss Doughty. I suggest that you contact the undertakers, who will be able to confirm that they did indeed bury a body and not some waxen object or a heap of stones. I will provide you with the name and address of the firm, and a letter of introduction authorising them to tell you what you need to know.’

That was quite a challenge and he may have expected her to back down, but she simply nodded and said, ‘Thank you, that is very kind. Of course, the assurances of the undertaker will only go to show that
a
body was buried – not
whose
.’