A Case of Doubtful Death (6 page)

Supposing, however, that Palmer had not gone straight to his home, but had had an errand to perform, one that would have taken him along a different route? Supposing he had been sent on this errand by Dr Mackenzie? Frances had been told repeatedly that in recent months Mackenzie had looked tired and ill. Might he have had a secret worry on his mind?

She arrived home and the walk in the crisp air had warmed her. A note had arrived from Dr Bonner saying that if Frances would call on him at
2
p.m. he would be very pleased to speak to her about the unfortunate disappearance of Mr Palmer.

D
r Bonner’s home was one of the handsome five-storey residences on Ladbroke Grove Road. There was fresh white paint, and polish, and a trim maid in a starched apron and a smart cap with stiff lace points. Somewhere Frances felt sure there was a large Mrs Bonner in a great deal of whalebone and a fashionable gown planning a busy afternoon of calls, over a silver tea service crusted with scrollwork, and a pile of sugared cakes, while a stern nursemaid ensured that the Bonner offspring were scrubbed pink and perfectly behaved.

Frances was shown up to the consulting rooms on the first floor, where she found a small, portly gentleman of about fifty with plump fingers and a ready smile. Dr Bonner wore his shiny pate without embarrassment but cultivated a long, sandy coloured ruff of hair at his nape and soft, well-trimmed side-whiskers. It gave him an air that combined abundant geniality with trustworthiness. Although Frances had approached him for an interview unconnected with her own state of health, his manner was so well established that he could not help but gaze upon her as if she was a new patient, who had come to him with some delicate female ailment and to whom gentle reassurance was essential.

Dr Bonner greeted her politely and gestured her to a comfortable easy chair of deep-buttoned brown leather, then sat facing her, not from across his desk, which was a great expanse of polished walnut, but from another such chair drawn up in front of a fireplace. Frances looked about her and saw shelves of medical books, glass cabinets of instruments, and anatomical pictures of great artistry and tasteful restraint. Her family doctor, Dr Collin, was a busy man with a large practice and his consulting room reflected that. Dr Bonner’s room was how a museum of modern life might show how a doctor’s room ought to appear, beautifully maintained, but quite unused. Frances thought that Dr Bonner was a man who did exactly as much work as he wished to do.

‘It is a particular pleasure to make your acquaintance,’ said Dr Bonner. ‘An old friend of mine sent his granddaughters to the Bayswater Academy for the Education of Young Ladies and suffered much anxiety over that unfortunate matter. His gratitude that you were able to resolve it was very marked.’

Frances, who despite all that had occurred, entertained the greatest respect for the former headmistress of that establishment and continued to pay her visits, smiled at the compliment.

‘I naturally entertain considerable confidence in your ability to discover the whereabouts of Mr Palmer,’ he added, with a smile of the most penetrating sincerity.

‘Do you believe,’ asked Frances, ‘that the disappearance of Mr Palmer and the death of Dr Mackenzie are connected in any way?’

He evinced a gentle surprise. ‘Connected? No, I don’t believe so.’

‘And yet they did occur on the same day.’

‘Hmmm.’ Dr Bonner laced his fingers and appeared to be giving the matter some thought, although Frances sensed that he did it only to indulge a lady. ‘I can see why you might think so. It has been suggested, principally by people who have never met Mr Palmer, that he was so upset by what he had witnessed that he suffered a brainstorm, as a result of which he laid violent hands upon himself or else met with a fatal accident. Myself, I cannot believe it. When Palmer left the Life House he was of course greatly sorrowed by what had occurred, but he was a sensible man, as must all men be who follow his line of work, and he had a task to perform, which I had every confidence he would carry out, and indeed he did, as I later discovered.’

‘How would you describe him as an employee?’

Bonner smiled, as if seeing the man before him. ‘Reliable, sensible, diligent, respectful. I can assure you that had we thought he was the sort of person who would lose his head and become alarmed as easily as people have been suggesting, we would not have engaged him in the capacity we did. A man who had dealt with his own tragedy – the accident that claimed his father – would be the last man to throw a fit at the loss of his employer.’

‘Supposing,’ said Frances, expanding on her new theory, ‘that Dr Mackenzie had some worry on his mind. Might he have confided it to Mr Palmer? Perhaps Mr Palmer had an urgent errand to carry out for Dr Mackenzie that he had to keep secret?’

Bonner looked astonished.

‘I am only guessing, of course,’ said Frances.

‘Oh,’ said Bonner, after a long pause, ‘I would say you are very wide of the mark. Dr Mackenzie regarded Palmer as an employee and not as an intimate friend who he could take into his confidence. If he had personal worries, I am sure he would have confided them in me. But he did not.’

‘Apart from yourself, who were Dr Mackenzie’s closest friends?’

‘There is Dr Warrinder, of course, who assists in the management of the Life House.’

‘Is that all?’

‘As far as I am aware.’

‘And he had never married?’

‘No, he had not.’ Bonner gave a little shake of the head and a sad smile. ‘Oh, I can guess what you are thinking.’ Frances doubted this very much, but let him go on. ‘You are thinking that he was a dull fellow without sentiment, but that was not the case. There was a lady he admired, indeed loved, many years ago, a lady of beauty and accomplishment but with no fortune. Unhappily, her father prevailed upon her to marry a man of wealth, who treated her with great cruelty, and Dr Mackenzie swore he would have no other lady for his bride and would wait in the hope that she might one day be free.’

Frances was not entirely convinced by this story, but decided not to pursue it. ‘Did he know a Dr Darscot?’

‘Yes, but how well he knew him I cannot say.’

‘Did he have a club, or belong to any societies?’

‘No, I wish he had.’ Bonner sighed despondently. ‘Perhaps if he had indulged in some recreation he might not have placed himself under such a strain. But I am afraid all he ever thought of was work. Not only the Life House, but he spent his evenings writing medical pamphlets, he lectured occasionally, and in recent months he had also started to see some patients again.’

‘Where were his consulting rooms?’

‘He had none. I allowed him the use of mine as a favour.’

‘I understand that you and Dr Warrinder are his executors.’

‘Yes. The principal concern of his will was to safeguard the future of the Life House. He owned a half share in the business and I own the other half. Mackenzie’s will divided his share equally between Dr Warrinder and myself, and his personal property was wholly assigned to the use of the Life House.’

‘Was there much in the way of personal property?’ asked Frances.

‘Very little. When the report has been completed it will almost certainly show a value of less than £
100
. Considerably less, I would say.’

‘But he was in receipt of a salary?’

‘Yes, a modest one.’

‘In addition to which he saw patients and wrote pamphlets and lectured, lived very frugally, was unmarried, followed no recreation and had no vices.’

Bonner twiddled his fingers. ‘I see what you mean, but I saw all his papers and can assure you that he had very little to dispose of. I can only assume that he gave sums to charity of which I was unaware. That would be so like the man.’

‘He had no family?’

‘An elderly mother in Scotland, to whom he wrote occasionally. I suppose he might have sent her some money. And there was a brother, but I do not think they have been in communication since before he went to Germany. That was a great many years ago.’

‘Germany?’ asked Frances.

‘Yes. Dr Mackenzie was born and educated in Edinburgh, but more than twenty years ago he went to study with some very eminent medical men in Germany. That was where he first became acquainted with the principle of “waiting mortuaries”, as they are generally called. The idea impressed itself very greatly on his mind and he made it his special study. Realising that there was no such establishment in Great Britain, he determined to found one and returned to London for that purpose.’

‘I was not aware that there were establishments in Germany similar to the Life House.’

‘Oh yes,’ said Bonner, appearing more comfortable now that he was in his own area of knowledge, ‘the very first of them was in Germany – a physician called Hufeland opened one in
1792
, naming it the Asylum for
Vitae Dubiae
, or doubtful life, although it was more commonly termed a
Leichenhaus
.’

‘I speak no German – does that mean Life House?’

‘I am not familiar with the language, however, I have been told that it simply means “mortuary”. When Mackenzie first promoted his scheme here the press took up the word and mistranslated it as Life House. He at once saw that this was a name that inspired hope and so adopted it for his use.’

‘Has his family been notified of his death?’

‘I do not have his brother’s address and did not find it in Dr Mackenzie’s papers, but I did discover a notebook with his mother’s address and sent her a telegram, then followed it with a letter giving all the circumstances. I have not received a reply.’

‘You dealt with his personal effects?’

‘I did, such as they were. Many of the books you see behind me are from his library. Their monetary value is minimal, I assure you.’ Frances glanced at the bookshelves, and while she was no great judge of antiquarian books, was content to believe that the collection of well-thumbed medical volumes was unlikely to be a significant item in Dr Mackenzie’s estate.

‘And what in your opinion was the cause of his death?’

‘Principally, I believe a seizure of the heart was no doubt the immediate cause, but he also suffered an affliction of the intestines which contributed to his debilitated condition. People thought he was a man with a great worry on his mind, and perhaps it might have seemed so, but in fact what they observed was the unhappiness of a man who was in constant discomfort with his bowels. I think the poor man must have suffered more than anyone – even those closest to him – realised. The advance of sepsis in the area was very rapid.’

Frances paused to write her notes and Bonner looked more cheerful, anticipating that this signaled the end of the interview.

‘And now,’ she said, facing him once more, ‘I would like to examine in detail the events which occurred at the Life House on the evening of Dr Mackenzie’s death.’

‘Ah – yes – but of course.’ He settled back in his chair, making every effort to appear unconcerned.

‘You were already there when he arrived?’

‘Yes, I had come to do my regular rounds and check with Palmer that all was well, and advise him of any new patients or forthcoming interments.’

‘Were you expecting Dr Mackenzie to call?’

‘Not at that precise time, but it was his habit to call in often, so I was not surprised when he did.’

‘Was there anything at all of an unusual nature that you can recall about that evening – an event, a comment made either by Dr Mackenzie or Mr Palmer, or something in the manner of either that struck you as noteworthy? Even the smallest observation would be of assistance.’

Dr Bonner looked sad, as if he was about to tell an anxious wife that her husband might not rally. ‘I am sorry, I have given this a great deal of thought as you can imagine, but it really was an evening like any other.’

‘What were you doing when Dr Mackenzie arrived?’

‘I was in the ward, discussing one of the patients with Palmer. The gentleman had showed signs which we believed suggested he might be revived and I examined him, but concluded they were due to other processes.’

‘What time was this?’

‘It was about ten o’clock.’

‘Please describe for me in as much detail as you can what happened next.’

Bonner passed a hand across his brow. ‘Mackenzie arrived and we greeted each other, and he said he was just looking in for a few minutes. We discussed the patients and Palmer continued on his rounds. Palmer was examining a patient and Mackenzie went to look on, and then —’ Bonner gave a little gasp that was almost a sob, ‘it was really very sudden and without any warning at all, he suddenly clutched at his stomach and then his chest, and went very white. Palmer said something like “are you all right sir?”, but the poor man was in too much pain to speak. I went to assist, but before I could reach him he had fallen against Palmer, who supported him and prevented him from falling to the ground. Moments later he collapsed entirely. Palmer and I got him onto a bed, then Palmer fetched my instruments and I examined him. We then carried out every restorative method at our disposal. You can imagine, Miss Doughty, that in an establishment such as the Life House the medicines and equipment are second to none and right to hand. If any man is about to suffer a critical seizure this would be the best place for him to do so, with the most favourable chance of recovery. I worked for the best part of an hour with Palmer assisting me, but to no avail. There was no respiration, no pulse, and none of our efforts could restore them. Of course the final, unequivocal signs of death had not appeared, but I was aware that my dear friend had become a patient in his own establishment. Both Palmer and I were very upset, of course, but Palmer remained calm and practical, and asked me what he might best do to help. I thought of sending a telegram to Dr Warrinder, but as it was late at night and I know he retires early, I could see nothing to be gained by rousing him from his bed. I decided to send for him early the next day.

‘After some thought I decided to lay Dr Mackenzie in the chapel; that is the side room where we place patients in a plain coffin for relatives to view them if they require it, also we coffin bodies there prior to burial. In view of the respect in which Dr Mackenzie is held, I thought it would be appropriate to invite selected medical friends to view him the next day. I told Palmer to call at Dr Mackenzie’s lodgings on his way home and let them know what had occurred, since I know his landlady Mrs Georgeson worries about him and would have been most anxious at his failure to return. There was only an hour left of Palmer’s period of duty, so I told him that once he had delivered the message he might proceed home, and that I would attend to anything else required. In any case the other orderly, Mr Hemsley, would be arriving very soon. Palmer said he would do as I asked and he left. I am sorry to say I have not seen him since that moment.’