A Case of Doubtful Death Read online

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 fr
om 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.’