A Case of Doubtful Death

by Linda Stratmann

  ‘So she might have drowned in the canal and been pulled out and left lying in some spot on the bankside, and then put back in the water later on?’

  ‘Yes, that is very possible. There are many inconspicuous places where a body might be hidden for a while. Or she might have been taken from the water and thought to be living and cared for in someone’s home until it became certain that she had died, and then replaced in the water. For the avoidance of funeral expenses perhaps.’

  ‘Or to conceal the fact of her death. And the probable date of her death?’

  He thought about this for a full minute. ‘When I saw the body it was the 23rd of September. She had not been in the water long, perhaps a day or two, no more, given the wrinkling of the skin from saturation. The cold of the water would have arrested decomposition, which was already somewhat advanced. It is my opinion that she had been dead for at least a week, perhaps a little more when she was placed in the water. So the date of death was anywhere from the 12th of September to the 15th.’

  ‘And not the estimate of more than two weeks before as suggested by Dr Bonner?’

  ‘I am afraid not. Of course, I could be quite wrong, I accept that.’

  ‘There are,’ said Frances, ‘two places which are very close to the canal where bodies may lie for days undisturbed. I speak of course of Kilburn Mortuary and the Life House. Presumably a missing body would be noticed at once?’

  ‘Oh yes, and very careful records are kept of bodies received and removed for burial. No young woman who had drowned was brought into the Life House. Also the body of an unknown person would never be brought there, the Life House is for paying customers only, they would go to Kilburn, or if found nearer to Bayswater, Paddington workhouse.’

  Frances nodded. Mrs Pearson’s maid had last been seen on the 12th of September, and could well have stolen fashionable undergarments from her mistress, or even been given them by an admirer. But she had not, as far as Frances knew, been in a starving condition as observed in the unknown corpse. Had the girl been mistreated by her employer and run away, and the other servants were too frightened to admit it? Had the girl been involved in some disreputable or even criminal activity that had resulted in her being stripped and starved to weaken her, and then thrown into the canal? But why had she been pulled out and left lying somewhere and then thrown back in?

  ‘I am not at all convinced that there was no crime involved in the girl’s death,’ said Frances. ‘There certainly was in respect of the disposal of the body. If she did throw herself in the water then she is beyond any human blame, but the person who placed a corpse in the canal has broken the law. Have you considered going to the police?’

  ‘Not until you mentioned it, no,’ said Fairbrother, slumping under the weight of fresh misery. ‘Must I?’

  ‘I understand your difficulty. You are effectively accusing your respected mentor of negligence which has resulted in the concealment of a crime.’

  ‘Oh, this is quite horrible!’ exclaimed Fairbrother. ‘I am wishing now that I had never spoken out. But it troubled me so! What can I do? If I were to accuse Dr Bonner I am sure he would be able to explain everything to the satisfaction of the authorities, as he did to me, and the only sufferer would then be myself. I would appear to be not only foolish, but worse than that – disloyal. I am sorry if I seem selfish, but I hope I have a promising future in medicine and who would employ me if they thought I might spy upon them and then report them to the police?’

  ‘But to do nothing would not relieve your mind,’ said Frances. ‘What I suggest you do is approach another medical man and, without saying anything about your very specific concerns, explain that you have some pressing questions to which you cannot receive the benefit of Dr Bonner’s experience as he is indisposed.’

  ‘I suppose I could do so. But who would I approach?’

  ‘What about Dr Warrinder? He is already known to you so it would seem perfectly natural for you to ask his advice. He is a man of very considerable experience, and I think a kindly person who would not judge you too harshly.’

  Fairbrother looked more hopeful. ‘Yes, I think I will. Thank you for that good advice.’

  ‘But I will want to attend the meeting with you,’ added Frances. ‘The matters you have raised suggest that a crime has been committed. I am even now investigating the disappearance of a maidservant who was last seen alive at about the time that you believe the young woman in the canal died. Perhaps the unknown body is hers. So you must make an early appointment to see Dr Warrinder explaining that I will also be there as I wish to extend my knowledge of drowned persons because of a case I am pursuing. Send me a note in due course of the time of the meeting and I will be there.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Dr Warrinder was agreeable to receiving both Frances and Mr Fairbrother at his home at 10 o’clock on Tuesday morning. Frances had in the meantime been bending her thoughts to the author of the booklet about Miss Dauntless, the lady detective of Bayswater. This extraordinary lady, a creature who clearly knew no fear, thought nothing of scaling the walls of houses and clambering about on rooftops to listen down the chimneys of suspects, leaping onto the top of a hansom cab and whipping up the horses in pursuit of some luckless criminal, and even facing down a gang of thieves with a gun. Frances sincerely hoped that she would never be called upon to do any of these dreadful things. There was nothing in the story that suggested the culprit knew any more about her than could be gleaned from the newspapers, apart from the fact that the author clearly knew her address. She had already started to suspect Mr Gillan of the Chronicle, who might well have started the enterprise to add to his meagre income. She had wondered, too, about Miss Gilbert and Miss John, leaders of the Bayswater Women’s Suffrage Society, who had altogether inflated ideas of her capabilities and were constantly telling people about her achievements, but the booklet had not been produced by their usual publisher and was not on sale at their meetings. She decided to write a polite letter addressed to the author, W. Grove, care of the director of the Bayswater Library of Romance, asking him or her to desist from identifying her with Miss Dauntless, as it was creating some personal embarrassment. She asked Tom to take it to the print works and tell them to pass it on the next time a representative of that company called.

  Tom had a surprise for her. Using his own initiative on the question of Mrs Pearson’s missing maid, he had surmised that Mr Pearson might know a great deal more about the business than he had claimed to know, which was nothing at all. Tom had, therefore, followed Mr Pearson and found that he was a frequent visitor at a small but tastefully appointed apartment in Maida Vale, where the missing maid, who was beginning to show a more rounded appearance than had previously been apparent, was comfortably situated. Mrs Pearson’s especial interest in the whereabouts of the maid immediately became clear. This left Frances with two difficulties. The first was what she ought to tell Mrs Pearson. That lady had become a client on telling her that she was anxious for the maid’s safety, but she had clearly wanted another kind of information altogether and had not seen fit to ask for it. It was appropriate, therefore, for Frances to advise Mrs Pearson only of the information she had asked for and a letter was carefully composed saying that the maid was safe and well, and the lady need have no further anxiety on that score. She also advised that the maid would not be returning to her service but had found another situation. There she ended the matter, resolving that if Mrs Pearson wanted to know any more, then she could return and say so.

  The second question was somewhat more vexing. Frances had felt hopeful that she had identified the unknown woman in the canal as Mrs Pearson’s missing maid, but was now at a loss to think who she might have been. She had a list of missing women provided by the Kilburn police station, which covered not only the immediate area but all of Paddington, but none of them seemed to fit the description. Her theory that the body was in any way connected with Henry Palmer’s disappearance was looking like a very remote possibility, nevertheless,
it was the only line of enquiry that remained.

  It was with this in mind that Frances appeared at the door of Dr Warrinder’s house at the appointed time, only moments before Mr Fairbrother arrived. They were shown to the warm parlour where the maid brought refreshments, although none of those present appeared to want them.

  ‘I am very flattered, Mr Fairbrother, that you have asked to consult me on a medical matter,’ said Dr Warrinder. ‘I might say that Dr Bonner has spoken most highly of you; your diligence and eagerness to acquire knowledge. That bodes very well for your future career. I am sorry that I have not made your better acquaintance sooner.’

  ‘I am delighted to have your good opinion,’ said Fairbrother, not without a tremor of foreboding in his voice.

  ‘I am less certain of Miss Doughty’s reasons for attendance at our consultation. Young lady, I fear that we may speak of matters that may disconcert you, or at the very least you may find them hard to understand.’

  ‘Do not trouble yourself on my account,’ said Frances, with a gentle smile. ‘You may conduct the consultation exactly as if I was not present.’

  ‘Ah – very well,’ said Warrinder, bemused but not unwilling. ‘Then perhaps we may begin. I understand, Mr Fairbrother, that you have some queries about appearances of a body after drowning, as you recently assisted Dr Bonner in such a case. I do happen to have in my library a very useful monograph on the subject, also one or two other items which I would like you to accept with my compliments.’

  ‘Oh that is far too kind!’

  ‘Not at all, not at all, my eyes do not permit me to read for long nowadays and the print can be so very small, it is most unfortunate. You, I am sure, will have no such difficulty. Now then, I know I put them on one side for you especially …’ He rose from his chair and began to look about the room. ‘Oh dear, I hope Mary has not tidied them away, or I shall have to go and fetch them again.’ They waited as he looked about the room, which was cluttered with small tables and the kind of knick-knacks that people accumulate over half a lifetime, and spend the rest of that lifetime having them polished.

  ‘Are they the items on the table beside the bust of Hippocrates?’ asked Frances.

  Dr Warrinder was so startled by her question that he turned abruptly and knocked over another small table, which was draped in a purple-fringed velvet cloth and bore a small collection of framed photographs. ‘Oh dear!’ he exclaimed, staring about him.

  ‘Allow me to assist you,’ said Fairbrother, jumping to his feet. ‘Please be seated and I will attend to everything.’ He took Warrinder by the elbow and guided him back to his chair, then knelt on the carpet by the fallen pictures. ‘Have no fear sir, the carpet has prevented any damage, and all is well.’ He began to replace the pictures on the table. ‘Of course, I do not know how they were arranged before but I am sure your maid will advise me. There.’ The smile suddenly vanished from his face.

  ‘What is the matter?’ asked Frances.

  ‘Oh dear, I do so hope nothing is broken!’ exclaimed Warrinder.

  Fairbrother had picked up one of the pictures and was staring at it as if confronted with some ghastly apparition. Frances went over to look. The subject of the picture was a pale, slender young woman with a sweet smile curving her lips. There was a black velvet bow tied to the scrollwork of the ornate frame.

  ‘Who is this a portrait of?’ asked Frances.

  Warrinder come over to peer at it. ‘That is the late Mrs Templeman. She is my wife’s great niece. Recently passed away, I am sorry to say.’

  ‘How recently?’ asked Fairbrother, like a man who had lost his voice and had had to re-learn the power of speech.

  ‘Oh, I am not sure I know the exact date, but not long ago.’

  ‘Was it before or after the night when Dr Mackenzie collapsed?’ asked Frances.

  Dr Warrinder frowned. ‘I – er – before. Very shortly before. Two or three days. It was a Sunday, I do remember that.’

  ‘That would make it the 19th of September,’ said Frances.

  ‘The 19th?’ exclaimed Fairbrother and gave a great sigh of relief. ‘I had thought, just for a moment – but it had been pressing on my mind … I must have been imagining it … and yet …’

  ‘Did you think,’ asked Frances, ‘that Mrs Templeman resembles the woman who was taken from the canal?’

  ‘Yes, I did, only it could not possibly be her, because the date of death is far too recent to account for the decomposition. Also, if Mrs Templeman had drowned, I am sure I would have heard of it.’ He turned to Dr Warrinder. ‘Mrs Templeman did not drown, did she?’

  ‘Drown? What a curious idea!’ exclaimed Warrinder. ‘She was a very delicate young woman and expired in her bed after a lengthy illness. There was, I assure you, no opportunity for her to drown.’

  ‘I was obviously mistaken,’ said Fairbrother. He put the picture down, but it continued to fascinate him. He found the books and returned to his seat.

  ‘May I?’ said Frances, holding out her hands for the books, and with an expression of surprise he handed them over.

  There was a paper on the subject of examination of bodies of the drowned and two more general volumes, one on the conduct of post-mortem examinations and another on diseases of the chest. The two gentlemen smiled indulgently as Frances opened the books, as they might have done if a child had tried to read a treatise far beyond its understanding, and she realised that neither of them was aware that she had from an early age been used to perusing the medical volumes in her father’s small collection.

  As the gentlemen’s discussion turned to the subject of post-mortem lividity, Frances discovered what it was she had been looking for.

  ‘Dr Warrinder?’ she asked. ‘Forgive my interrupting you, but can you advise me if Mrs Templeman suffered from a disease of the lungs?’

  ‘Er – yes, in her final weeks she was very afflicted with pneumonia.’

  ‘And this causes an accumulation of fluid in the lungs?’

  ‘It does, but I can’t see what —’

  Fairbrother gasped. ‘Of course, I should have realised!’

  ‘What is all this about?’ asked Warrinder.

  ‘Perhaps nothing at all,’ said Frances, ‘but if you could answer some questions about Mrs Templeman it would be of very great assistance.’

  ‘It would set my mind at rest on a matter of concern,’ pleaded Fairbrother.

  Dr Warrinder looked surprised. ‘Oh, well, if you wish it.’

  ‘Did Mrs Templeman have a family?’ asked Frances.

  ‘There was a child born, but it did not live.’

  ‘And did she ever suffer with her teeth?’

  Warrinder stared at Frances. ‘How could you possibly have known that?’

  ‘Did Dr Bonner know that she suffered with her teeth?’

  ‘Bonner? No – I don’t think he was ever acquainted with her.’

  ‘Who was her medical attendant?’

  ‘Dr Collin, in the main, although when he was not available Dr Mackenzie did sometimes call to see her.’

  ‘Can you describe Mrs Templeman’s teeth?’ asked Fairbrother anxiously.

  Warrinder’s surprise had transmuted into astonishment. ‘I really do not see why —’

  ‘Oh, please, I beg of you!’ exclaimed Fairbrother. ‘And I very much regret it but I cannot say; I cannot explain why I need to know.’

  ‘How extraordinary!’ said Warrinder. ‘Very well, I can tell you that the poor woman’s incisors grew very crooked and she was most ashamed of them. Maria begged her to see a dentist, especially as it seemed that the teeth were pressing on the gum and giving her a great deal of pain, and she did go and he wanted to take them out, but she wouldn’t agree to it, she didn’t want a horrid gap in her mouth.’

  ‘And you are quite quite sure that she died on the 19th of September?’ asked Fairbrother.

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘And when was she buried?’

  ‘Oh – it would have been the next week �
� yes, it was the Monday of the following week.’

  ‘Monday the 27th?’ said Frances.

  ‘Yes, I do recall that because it was the day of Mackenzie’s funeral, also.’

  ‘And was the body at her home during the interval?’

  ‘Only until the following day. We had a private viewing for the family on the morning after her death and she was taken to the Life House that same afternoon.’

  Frances and Fairbrother looked at each other. ‘Then that accounts for the faster decomposition,’ said Frances.

  ‘Whatever do you mean?’ exclaimed Warrinder. ‘What is all this about?’

  Fairbrother rose from his seat. ‘Dr Warrinder – I hardly know what to say.’

  ‘I think,’ said Frances, ‘that for the moment you had better say nothing.’

  Later, in a nearby café over a cup of coffee and a pot of tea that neither of them felt much like drinking, they discussed what was to be done. ‘I am ruined,’ said Fairbrother.

  ‘That is nothing to the odium that will pour upon Dr Bonner’s head,’ Frances observed. ‘At least if the body in the canal does turn out to be that of Mrs Templeman we know that she was not the victim of a crime. But Dr Bonner must have been at the Life House during the period when Mrs Templeman’s body was held there, which was from the 20th to the 26th of September, and I can’t believe he never examined her once during that time, so how come he didn’t recognise the body taken from the canal?’

  ‘Perhaps this is all a mistake?’ said Fairbrother hopefully.

  ‘Did you examine Mrs Templeman?’

  ‘No, I don’t recall her at all. But then I spent most of that week assisting at post-mortem examinations at Paddington workhouse. I was at the Life House for the viewing of Dr Mackenzie, but not for several days thereafter.’

  Frances suddenly recalled something. It may have meant nothing especially since the witness was so thoroughly unreliable, but all the same it could furnish a clue. She looked through her notebook for what Dr Carmichael had told her of his visit to the Life House.