A Case of Doubtful Death Read online

  When Mr Darscot had departed, Frances settled herself in the parlour with a glance at the mantel clock, but was obliged to wait only a few minutes before the door opened to admit Mr Fairbrother.

  ‘I am afraid Dr Bonner had quite forgotten any arrangement he may have made to see you and is in any case too exhausted by events to submit to any questioning,’ he said. ‘His foot, which as you know is afflicted with gout, is troubling him sorely. He cannot see you today. I hope that will not be an inconvenience.’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Frances. ‘Had it been essential to speak with him immediately I would have intruded upon his presence whatever excuse he supplied. I will question you in his place.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Fairbrother, and Frances gathered from his manner that he had been deputed by Bonner to see her to the door and not submit to questioning himself.

  ‘If Dr Bonner thinks I am deflected so easily he has not been reading the Bayswater Chronicle,’ said Frances. ‘My adventures are a regular feature in its columns and I can assure you that it does not publish the whole story.’

  Reluctantly, Fairbrother closed the door behind him and sat down. ‘Shall I ring for some refreshments?’

  ‘No, let us to business at once. I just saw Mr Darscot here, can you advise me of the reason for his visit?’

  ‘Oh, that is quite impossible – firstly because he received a private consultation with Dr Bonner, and even had I been present, which I was not, the confidences of the patient are always honoured. And I am afraid I cannot assist you regarding the examination of Dr Mackenzie’s remains. The Home Office has sent for Professor Stevenson of Guy’s Hospital and he is a very busy man and has not yet commenced his work. Even if he had, I would be obliged to remain silent until evidence is given at the inquest.’

  ‘Professor Stevenson is an expert on poisons,’ recalled Frances.

  ‘Oh yes, one of the most respected men in the country.’

  ‘Then I await his findings with especial interest. But I have not come here to ask about Dr Mackenzie, I am here on another matter with which you were directly concerned.’

  ‘Oh?’

  Frances handed him her copy of the Bayswater Chronicle and pointed to the short item about the inquest on the unknown woman. ‘I don’t understand,’ said Fairbrother when he had glanced at the piece, ‘I remember it of course, but what possible bearing can it have on Dr Mackenzie or Mr Palmer?’

  ‘Perhaps none,’ Frances admitted, declining to mention that she was clutching at a very slender straw, ‘but there is a theory that I am pursuing which requires me to know more about this case. Since it has been reported on and concluded I assume that you are free to discuss it.’

  ‘I – yes – I will help you of course – but might I ask —’

  ‘My reasons? No. Am I correct in assuming that the identity of the woman has never been established?’

  ‘That is correct, yes.’

  ‘Can you describe her? Her age, her height, any distinguishing features?’

  ‘As to her age, that can be hard to establish with any precision where there is significant decomposition and the person is poorly nourished. She was a fully developed adult; that much is certain, but not very aged. We thought between twenty and twenty-five. She was about five feet four inches in height, no injuries or birthmarks. She had borne at least one child. I believe she may have suffered with her teeth as her incisors were growing crookedly and impacting the gum, which must have caused her some pain. But it is most unlikely that she was a class of person who would have consulted a dentist.’

  ‘What was her state of health prior to her death? Poorly nourished, you say?’

  ‘Yes, decidedly so. The stomach was empty and she had not eaten solid food in quite some time.’

  ‘But she did not die of starvation?’

  ‘No, the state of the lungs demonstrated that the cause of death was drowning. We formed the hypothesis that she had become destitute and took a desperate course of action.’

  ‘How was she dressed?’

  There was an awkward pause. ‘She – was not fully clothed.’

  ‘I beg your pardon? What was she wearing?’

  ‘Undergarments only, no shoes.’

  France stared at him. ‘That is very extraordinary. Surely if she had been wandering the street in that state someone would have noticed.’

  ‘Dr Bonner, who has more experience than I, informed me that he has seen many cases of suicide by drowning where the individual removes their outer clothing before entering the water. We thought that the woman in question had done so, leaving her gown and shoes on the canal bank, where they were stolen.’

  ‘I see. No jewellery of any kind, I assume.’

  ‘No, but there were signs that she had once worn a wedding band and earrings. Pawned, I imagine.’

  ‘And the garments she was wearing were of a poor kind?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, they were not.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘Well, I am no – er – expert on such things of course,’ Fairbrother said with some embarrassment, ‘and I was obliged to accept the advice of Dr Bonner – who – ah – being a married gentleman —’

  ‘I understand. What can you tell me of the garments?’

  ‘They were of good quality and undamaged.’

  ‘Then they had a monetary value,’ said Frances. ‘The lady might have been able to pawn them, change them for some ragged ones. Instead of which she chose to jump to her death wearing clothes that might have fed her for some little time.’

  ‘It does seem so, yes.’ Fairbrother shifted in his seat and looked as though he would have very much welcomed some liquid refreshment at that moment. ‘We did talk about it, I recall, and I think the conclusion was that she had once been a very – er —’ he drummed his fingers on his knees, ‘sought after – er – person who might once have enjoyed valuable gifts, but she had fallen on hard times due to ill health and saw no point in extending her unhappy life.’

  Frances thought that the medical gentlemen had been too hasty in concluding that the deceased was an immoral woman, but that, she had observed, always seemed to be the first thought of gentlemen in any walk of life. The dead woman might equally well have been a maidservant who had been given her mistress’s cast-off clothing, or stolen some coveted garments.

  ‘Was any attempt made to identify her through these clothes? You might have taken them to Whiteley’s or any other Westbourne Grove drapers.’

  ‘We might, I suppose, but we did not.’

  ‘Why not?’

  He seemed puzzled. ‘I am not sure. I never thought to do so.’

  ‘Were they retained against the possibility that someone might come forward and identify her?’

  ‘No, she was buried in them.’

  ‘In a pauper’s grave, I assume?’

  ‘Yes. A common grave in All Souls.’

  Frances consulted the Chronicle again. ‘According to this report, the body was displayed before burial in a nearby stable and persons invited to view it for identification.’

  ‘Yes, but only briefly as we thought it might be a hazard to the public health. Quite a number of persons whose relatives were missing came to see it and there were one or two names suggested, as is so often the way in these cases, but no one felt certain enough of the identity to claim the body and pay for the funeral.’

  ‘Do you have a record of the names?’

  ‘No. Dr Bonner asked me to pass them on to the police, which I did.’

  ‘In a case such as this, even if they had identified the woman it might not have been reported in the newspapers,’ Frances said. ‘I must go back to Kilburn police station and enquire there.’

  Fairbrother appeared to be about to make an observation.

  ‘What is it you have to say, Mr Fairbrother?’

  ‘It is only – have you considered, Miss Doughty, that your undertaking is quite an unsuitable one for your age and sex? I have heard that there are lady detectives, but their enqui
ries are on matters more suited to their sensibilities. The behaviour of female servants, for example. Surely it is not appropriate for you to be examining into such horrid deaths as many men would find themselves unable to contemplate.’

  ‘And yet women are employed to lay out bodies,’ she reminded him.

  ‘But they are a quite different class of women, not delicate ladies,’ he protested.

  ‘Are we not all the same creatures?’

  ‘Well, I – I think —’

  ‘Then think again, Mr Fairbrother.’ Frances rose. ‘And now I must go and speak to Inspector Gostelow. If you recall anything about the death of the unhappy woman found in the canal which you have not yet mentioned, please let me know at once.’

  Frances was a little disgruntled with Mr Fairbrother, but as she walked up to Kilburn she reflected that he was very young both in age and experience, and had the tendency to adopt without question the attitudes of those he saw as wiser than himself. He was eager to learn at the feet of men such as Dr Bonner, who she felt sure could have found a host of reasons why women should not become detectives, or be permitted to exercise the vote or undertake medical training. Mr Fairbrother was not yet his own man, and might never become so without proper encouragement, but he was not, she thought, a lost cause.

  Inspector Gostelow was a quiet man and a thoughtful one. He struck Frances as someone who had seen a lot of life and was undisturbed by any form of behaviour however unusual, including the aspirations of a young woman to be a detective. Frances explained that she had been engaged by a client to find a missing maidservant and was wondering if the body found in the canal might provide an answer. He listened carefully and respectfully, and gave her statement proper consideration.

  ‘The report of the medical men suggested that the body had been in the water for at least two weeks, so we are looking for someone who went missing between the 1st and 8th of September,’ he said. ‘Of course, we have to allow for the fact that the doctors’ opinion may not be accurate – I would always allow a day or even a week either side. I myself have seen bodies taken from cold water that I would have imagined to be two weeks dead and later discovered it was more like two months.’

  ‘The maidservant was last seen on September the 12th. She was called Ethel Green.’

  ‘Then I would say that it is possible it might be her, but the body was never identified and has already been buried.’

  ‘I understand it was displayed and several people came forward to suggest names.’

  ‘They did, but no one suggested she might be a maidservant or mentioned anyone called Ethel, and our enquiries came to nothing. One woman was convinced it was her sister, who was a washerwoman, but she turned up drunk three days later. Another one had hysterics and said it was a lady who’d died and been buried and had come up out of her grave. But even if the corpse had got up and walked into the canal without anyone noticing, it was too recent a death. And there was a very low fellow who gave a false name, and cried and said it was his wife, but I think that was for the benefit of his new ladylove. To be plain, Miss Doughty, and from what I have heard of you I believe you are a young lady who prefers plain speaking to a display of false delicacy: the state of the body was such that I would feel very little confidence in any identification. The only distinguishing feature was the teeth, which had grown crooked, and amongst certain sections of the population that is not an unusual thing to find.’

  ‘I was told that her clothes were of more than ordinary quality.’

  ‘That is true. But there were no marks to distinguish them from any others widely sold in Bayswater.’

  Frances was disappointed that she had not learned more, but was pleased that Gostelow had treated her with respect.

  After a brief and carelessly assembled luncheon, Frances paid a visit to Mrs Pearson to report on her endeavours to date. In particular she wanted to establish if the missing maid had had crooked teeth, a feature that had not previously been mentioned. Mrs Pearson was extremely surprised and somewhat offended to be asked if she or any other member of the household had thought to view the body taken from the canal. No one, she said firmly, had been to view the corpse. When Frances asked about the maid’s underclothing the lady reacted so violently that she thought she would be dismissed from the case, but once Mrs Pearson’s purple face had returned to its usual red, she informed Frances indignantly that no one could provide any information on that subject. Ethel, she thought, had not had crooked teeth and had never complained of toothache, but then she did not examine the mouths of her maids and thought that if the girl had had this defect she might have been able to conceal it.

  Mr Pearson returned from business at that moment and Frances asked if he had any observations on the question of Ethel’s teeth. Mrs Pearson directed an angry stare at her, from which she understood, if she had not already deduced this, that any mention of the maid’s underclothing in Mr Pearson’s presence would be an insupportable insult. Mr Pearson, a small, meek-looking man with rounded spectacles, said that he took no notice of his wife’s maids. Frances thought it was possible that the crooked teeth might be a feature that would be more obvious in a body that had undergone some decomposition, easier to conceal in life, especially if the woman had been sensitive about them.

  As Frances neared her home she saw someone leaning against the gatepost, a man – long, thin and clad in black like an overgrown greasy spider. To her dismay she recognised an individual she had hoped she had seen the last of some months ago. She didn’t know his real name, but because of the nasty sharp filleting knife he carried and presumably a propensity to use this implement on people he disapproved of, he was generally called ‘the Filleter’. Frances had first encountered him when he was pursuing Chas and Barstie, on a matter they had refused ever to discuss. They were mortally afraid of him and would leave Bayswater at a moment’s notice if they thought he was around. Frances was not afraid of the Filleter, but she found his company uncongenial, mainly because he was filthy about his person and smelt as if he had bathed in a rubbish pile.

  She made only a slight hesitation in her step, which she hoped he would not notice, then squared her shoulders and walked resolutely on. He looked up at her as she approached and smiled, revealing a row of discoloured teeth. He was polishing his knife on an unpleasant looking piece of rag, but slid both away in a pocket as she drew near. He tipped his hat. ‘Well now, if it isn’t the famous detective,’ he said in a soft voice that was so much worse than a harsh one for hinting at danger. ‘You’d better watch yourself, Miss Doughty, you’d better be careful. It doesn’t do for ladies to be poking and prying where they might get hurt. There’s villains out there, villains much worse than me.’

  Frances thought that there could not be many who were worse than the man before her, but decided not to mention it. Her sentiment, however, must have been apparent in her look. ‘Have you come to ask my assistance or are you simply here to utter threats?’ she asked coldly.

  ‘Oh, neither, I was just here to pass on a message to your two friends.’

  ‘If you want me to tell you where they are, I cannot help you.’

  He grinned again. ‘No need. They leave a trail wherever they go and I’ve already tracked them to their new place in Westbourne Grove. Quite a nice little business they have there. But they decline an interview. So just tell them from me, that I’ve got no quarrel with them now. They don’t have to run, not on my account.’

  ‘I am sure they will be very pleased to hear it,’ said Frances. ‘They are doing their best to make a respectable living and want nothing to do with you.’

  He laughed. ‘Respectable? I don’t think so. And they’ll fall into my hands again soon enough. But they’re little fish and I’ve got more important things to attend to, so they can swim away for now.’

  ‘What is your name?’ Frances suddenly demanded.

  He seemed taken aback. ‘What is that to you?’

  ‘I think someone ought to know. Today I have been try
ing to find the identity of a poor woman taken dead from the canal. I find it sad that she has lived and died and been put into a pauper’s grave with no one to mourn or remember her. Perhaps one day you may suffer a similar fate.’

  He nodded. ‘That may be.’ There was no trace of regret in his voice.

  Frances climbed the steps to her door, but when she looked around he had gone.

  Frances wrote a note to Dr Carmichael saying that she had been looking into the possibility of the body in the canal being that of the missing thief of his sister’s journal, and asking if the maidservant had had crooked teeth.

  She was able to pass on the Filleter’s message later that day when Chas and Barstie called to dine. They were disturbed to hear that their old enemy was back in Bayswater and relieved, albeit with some reservations, that he had promised not to trouble them in future. ‘I sincerely hope and trust that he did not offer you any insult?’ said Chas, frowning.

  ‘I do not think he means me harm,’ said Frances. ‘And whatever his business may be, I intend to stay well away from it. But now – to other matters. I trust you are becoming the leading lights of the Piccadilly Club?’

  They glanced at each other. ‘It is a very curious place,’ said Chas, ‘and there is no doubt that large sums of money change hands there privately. Cards and billiards and such, and considerable speculation on the horses. We also detected that there are men of business who seem to have no permanent office, but conduct all their affairs at the club. And there are things which I will not speak of to a young lady.’

  ‘Are there no respectable persons there?’

  ‘The club is a useful place where gentlemen who are staying in Bayswater may reside for a short time, and they often come and go with no idea that they are picking their way through a nest of snakes,’ said Barstie.

  ‘I am sorry to have sent you there,’ said Frances.

  ‘Oh, do not be concerned on our account!’ exclaimed Chas. ‘We are men of the world and we understand a great deal that the foolish and inexperienced do not.’