The Children of Silence (2 page)

‘I have read the reports of the legal action taken by Mrs Antrobus to prove that her husband is deceased, but I find it hard to imagine how I might assist,’ began Frances, once they were facing each other across the little round table where she interviewed her clients. ‘Nevertheless, if you would start at the beginning I would like you to tell me something of Mr Antrobus and the circumstances of his disappearance.’ She opened her notebook and took up a fresh pencil.

‘Certainly,’ said Wylie, with the demeanour of a man who was embarking on an often-told tale. ‘Mr Antrobus and I had been business associates for several years. I was born and raised in Bristol where my family has imported tobacco, snuff and cigars for three generations. Mr Antrobus’ business was the manufacture of cigarettes. He and his partner, Mr Luckhurst, have a workshop in Paddington with some thirty employees. Mr Antrobus was very active, he travelled all over the country to see his customers and meet importers of the raw materials. Mr Luckhurst remains in London and attends to the office. It was October of 1877 when Antrobus made his last visit to Bristol, and I had several meetings with him. There was nothing out of the ordinary either in his manner or in the business he conducted. On his last evening there, the 12th, we dined together at his hotel, the George Railway Hotel in Victoria Street not far from the station, and he was his usual self.’

‘What was his usual self?’ asked Frances.

Wylie’s smile expressed a quiet regard for his friend. ‘There is little enough to say. He was very much a man of business, reserved in his personal life and with a small circle of acquaintances. I have never known him do a dishonest thing or drink to excess or descend to indelicacy. Some might have found him dull company, but our mutual interests in the tobacco trade kept our conversation alive.’

‘What did you discuss on that last occasion?’

‘A report in the trade press that a company in Virginia had offered a prize to the man who could invent a machine that would manufacture cigarettes.’

‘Such a machine would threaten Mr Antrobus’ business, would it not?’ Frances observed. ‘Was he despondent at the prospect?’

‘Far from it!’ said Wylie with a laugh. ‘We agreed that even if the machine could be built it would be too expensive for anyone to purchase and maintain. In any case, he believed as I do that customers will always prefer the hand-rolled product.’

‘There were no financial troubles that you know of before Mr Antrobus disappeared? Did he have any debts?’

‘No, none,’ Wylie asserted with great conviction, ‘and as evidence of that, the business continues to be profitable despite his absence. Mr Luckhurst has employed a man to travel in Antrobus’ place, and he has worked very hard to keep everything running as smoothly as possible.’ He smiled dolefully. ‘I know what inspires your questions as I have been asked them before. There was no reason either for Antrobus to run away or – heaven forbid – lay violent hands upon himself. I should mention,’ he added, ‘that for the last year I have resided in London, where I hope to expand our family concerns. I have been talking with Mr Luckhurst about a possible merger of interests, and in connection with this he kindly allowed me to examine the books of the company. I have found them entirely satisfactory.’

Frances decided to reserve her opinion on that point. If there should prove to be more than one set of books the business would not be the first to present its investors with accounts that owed more to deliberate concealment than fact. ‘Did Mr Antrobus have any business rivals – enemies even – who might have meant him harm?’

‘None that I am aware of.’

‘When did you discover that he was missing?’

‘It was a week after our last meeting. I received a letter from Mrs Antrobus. We had never met or corresponded before but she knew of me and had found my address in her husband’s papers. She had been expecting him to return home by the morning train on the 13th, and when he did not she assumed that he had been delayed by business and would write to explain. When she heard nothing further she wrote to Mr Luckhurst who confirmed that her husband had not appeared at the office, and then she wrote to me.’

‘Did you make enquiries?’ asked Frances.

‘I did, immediately. I went to the hotel and was told that Antrobus had vacated his room on the expected day. I spoke to our associates in the tobacco trade but none of them had seen him or received so much as a note. I enquired at the railway station, but a gentleman attired for business looks very much like another unless there is something distinctive about his person, or his manner of dress or his whiskers. Mr Antrobus was not a man who stood out in a crowd. I alerted the railway company in case he had fallen from the train, but they assured me that no remains had been found on the line.’ He shook his head. ‘Poor Mrs Antrobus was quite distraught at the situation and naturally I said I would do everything I could to help her.’

‘She is unable to travel, I understand?’

‘Yes, in fact – in fact I was very surprised to hear from her at all. Antrobus had told me almost nothing about his wife’s affliction, and I had decided it was best not to pry, but I received the very strong impression that she suffered from a species of hysteria, which is something I have no knowledge of, and was therefore unable to attend to her own affairs. When I received her letter, however, I found her to be intelligent, articulate and not at all disordered in her mind. On better acquaintance I discovered that she is a lady who can only command great sympathy and respect. No, it is a disease of the ears that she suffers from, and which gives her great pain unless she keeps very quiet to herself. A busy street, a noisy carriage or a train would be the most perfect torture to her.’

‘I see,’ said Frances, who had never heard of such an extraordinary thing. ‘So you agreed to act as her agent?’

‘Yes, the family had already notified the police, and I engaged a private detective, a Mr Ryan, who was very thorough indeed and submitted a full report. I have it with me.’ Wylie patted the document case. ‘He spoke to the clerk at the hotel who told him that on the morning of Antrobus’ departure he saw him talking to a man in the hallway. He was unable to describe the man but had the distinct impression from their manner that they were not strangers. Then his attention was distracted by the need to attend to another guest, and when he looked again Antrobus and the other man had both gone. They might have departed in each other’s company, but it cannot be proved.’

‘Tell me about Mr Antrobus’ will. According to the newspapers it is very unfavourable to his wife. What is your opinion?’

A grimace creased the visitor’s features for a moment. ‘Oh, that is a terrible thing!’ he said bitterly. ‘The will was drawn up several years previously and in the mistaken belief that poor Mrs Antrobus was not competent to manage her affairs. Almost all of the estate is left in trust for the two sons, who are now aged fifteen and twelve and are at school, the trust to be administered by Antrobus’ brother Lionel until the boys come of age. Mrs Antrobus was left only a small annuity, presumably on the assumption that her husband had many more years to live – he would be forty-four now if alive – and it must have been envisaged that by the time he passed away the sons would have achieved their majority and be able to care for their mother. But it was not to be. And the cruellest thing is that shortly before his departure he had been planning to change his will to something altogether more generous. Mrs Antrobus had finally been able to convince her husband that she was as competent as the next lady – indeed I would say she is more so – and he had agreed that on his return from Bristol he would make a new will.’

Frances gazed at him through narrowed eyes. ‘Is that not a very great coincidence, that he went missing at such a critical time?’ she asked pointedly. Sarah made no attempt at concealing a smile that was almost a smirk. Frances, as she well knew, did not like coincidences.

‘I suppose it is,’ Wylie admitted, ‘I had just seen it as unfortunate – the operation of fate. But you think it may be something more?’

‘I try to examine every possibility. Is the estate very valuable?’

‘I assume so, though it has not as yet been valued. The two principal assets are his half share in the cigarette manufacturing business and the house. Antrobus inherited the property from a maternal uncle, and it is his quite unencumbered. He and his brother also jointly own the tobacconist’s shop previously run by their late father and of which Mr Lionel is manager. Antrobus was always a prudent man with money and there are safe investments that produce an interest.’ He paused. ‘I say “was” since I feel sure that he is deceased, although in law he is still alive.’

‘Of course I understand that the will cannot be proved or, I suppose, even contested until it is shown that its author is deceased, and that this places Mrs Antrobus in a very difficult position,’ Frances observed, ‘but does her brother-in-law, knowing about the change in intentions, not do what he can to assist her in her very unfortunate situation?’

Wylie heaved a long sigh. ‘Mr Lionel Antrobus is —’ he hesitated, unsure of how to express himself – ‘a difficult man. He believes that he is doing his duty by adhering to the letter of the will and is undoubtedly concerned for the welfare of the boys, but I believe that he has always been jealous of his brother’s fortune, and there is no doubt that he heartily dislikes Mrs Antrobus and will do all he can not to give in to her wishes.’

Large estates and family rivalry, thought Frances, a combination fraught with unpleasant and highly interesting possibilities. ‘Please explain further.’

‘They are actually half-brothers. Mr Edwin is the younger, the son of their father’s second wife. He was a great favourite of his mother’s brother, a Mr Henderson, and so received a handsome legacy from him. Mr Lionel has received no such additional legacy, only a share of what their father left, and that was divided equally between the brothers. Mr Lionel has always felt that he should have had a larger share from his father as his younger brother enjoyed his uncle’s fortune. And he continues, despite all entreaties, to believe that Mrs Antrobus is suffering from hysteria. He thinks that an ailment he cannot see cannot exist.’

Frances frowned. ‘That is a very blinkered view. What of deafness, for example? That is not a malady one can see in the sufferer. Does he believe that that does not exist?’

‘Oh deafness has been with us since antiquity and I think he will allow it, but poor Mrs Antrobus’ disease he will not. He refuses to trust her with a penny more than her husband mentioned in the will and that is little enough. He pays the frugal allowance she would have received, but that is not sufficient to maintain the house. In fact, as soon as he assumed control of the estate he insisted that she should go to live with her sister, Miss Pearce, but that would not have been at all suitable. Miss Pearce was then residing in a small rented apartment, living off a modest annuity, caring for their widowed mother and earning a few extra shillings by giving classes in reading and writing to young children. The mother passed away the following Christmas, and Mr Lionel thought that was the ideal time for Mrs Antrobus to vacate the family home. He wanted to rent the house and place the income in trust for the boys, but Mrs Antrobus needs the peace and quiet the house affords her. It would have been very hard, in fact impossible for her to live in such a small apartment, what with children often present and the constant noise of carriages outside. So they devised a plan to circumvent Mr Lionel’s demands. Miss Pearce came to live with Mrs Antrobus. The classes had to be given up, but Miss Pearce found a little outside work as an hourly governess, and that enables them to remain there, if in reduced circumstances, with only one servant. Needless to say Mr Lionel was most annoyed at being thwarted and demanded that Mrs Antrobus and her sister should both leave and place the property under his control. I believe he took legal advice on the matter but he was told that in view of Mrs Antrobus’ affliction there might be some difficulty if he attempted to evict her. He has been silent on the issue for a while, but I am sure that he has not given up on the idea. It is a continuing anxiety that adds to the lady’s distress. If she was able to prove that her husband is dead, then she might be able to take steps to overturn the will. There are no documents to support what was only a verbal promise to increase her legacy, but any court would at once recognise that as the will stands it is grossly unfair to a blameless lady.’

‘The matter must already have been costly,’ said Frances, ‘and you say that Mrs Antrobus has few resources. How does she meet the legal fees?’

Wylie had the good taste to blush. ‘Yes, well, I confess that I have been providing some financial assistance,’ he admitted, revealing nothing that Frances had not already suspected, ‘and this has not, of course, recommended me to Mr Lionel Antrobus, who had imagined that his sister-in-law was friendless and without the means to oppose him. There is another matter that causes Mrs Antrobus great distress. During her sons’ holidays from school they are sent to stay with an aunt in Kent. They are happy enough as there is much in the way of fresh air and recreation but they do not see their mother. She receives letters from them and writes to them but that is all.’ He shook his head. ‘It is unnecessary for me to say at whose orders that arrangement has been made.’

Frances took some moments to read through her notes. ‘When a search was originally conducted for Mr Antrobus, was it carried out in the belief that he had not left Bristol and was therefore centred entirely in that city?’

‘That is the case. None of his associates in London have seen him since he last departed for Bristol.’

‘But you now wish me to make enquiries on the assumption that he did in fact return to London?’

‘I do, yes.’

‘But you have no evidence that he did.’

‘Oh, but we do!’ he exclaimed. ‘There are the remains found in the canal.’

‘But they prove nothing,’ Frances pointed out. ‘They may not be his remains.’

‘It is our contention, indeed our firm belief that they are the remains of Mr Antrobus. All we require is the removal of others’ doubts in the matter.’ There was a pleading expression in his eyes, a wet gleam that aroused Frances’ suspicion that she was far from being the first detective he had approached for this purpose.