‘I spoke recently to a medical gentleman who toured the Life House wards on the 23rd of September when Mrs Templeman should have been there, and he told me that there was only one female patient, who was very elderly,’ said Frances. ‘Can you account for that?’
Fairbrother looked mystified. ‘I cannot.’
‘Is there a record kept of the times when orderlies or doctors are on duty in the Life House?’
‘Yes, the orderlies sign a record book when they arrive and again when they depart. The doctors also make a note when they have done a round of examination, and of course the admission of patients and burials are also recorded. It is very meticulous.’
‘Good. I will need to see the entries for the days between the 19th and the 27th of September. I suggest we proceed to the Life House at once.’
‘I can only admit you to the chapel,’ said Fairbrother, ‘but I will bring the record book which is held in the office.’
‘Might I see the office?’
He shook his head. ‘Oh no, visitors may only enter the chapel, nowhere else. I am in enough difficulty already without transgressing again. Dr Warrinder is bound to speak to Dr Bonner about our interview when he returns, and I dread to think what he might say and do.’
‘You may place all the blame on me,’ said Frances. ‘I questioned you with great violence and fearsomeness, and dragged the information out of you and then took the whole matter forward myself.’
It was a moment or two before he saw the import of what she had just said. ‘When you say “took the matter forward”, to what are you alluding?’
‘Well, we must have the body exhumed, mustn’t we? Until we have proof that the body in the canal was actually that of Mrs Templeman we can make no further progress.’
‘But – the distress that this will cause – to Dr Bonner, and Dr Warrinder!’
‘Dr Bonner has been lying to me repeatedly since our first meeting and you will forgive me if I feel no guilt at any distress he may feel. As to Dr Warrinder, do you think he will want to leave a relative’s body in a common grave? If Mrs Templeman was your relative, what would you do?’
Fairbrother had no answer and unwillingly accepted that Frances would proceed to do what she felt necessary, whatever he might say about it.
They took a cab up to the Life House, where Fairbrother, after knocking on the chapel door, spoke to Hemsley, who fetched the record book and returned to the wards. Only then was Frances admitted. The little chapel was much as she had seen it before although there were no burials waiting. ‘I don’t suppose,’ said Frances, ‘that under the exceptional circumstances, I might be permitted just to look inside the office and the wards?’
Fairbrother turned pale. ‘Please, I beg you, do not attempt it!’
‘But you are the senior medical man here. You have the authority to admit me.’
‘Mr Hemsley would inform the partners.’
‘You could instruct him not to.’
‘If you were to be taken ill, I would be blamed.’
‘If I am willing to brave a visit to the wards then I believe you should be brave enough to admit me. The circumstances are very unusual.’
He wavered, but at last he shook his head. ‘No! I dare not!’
‘Then I will apply to Dr Bonner again on his return,’ said Frances. It seemed somewhat inappropriate but needs must, and she took the heavy volume to the little altar and rested it there.
Nothing of any moment appeared to have occurred on Sunday the 19th of September. The orderlies had been medical students who, said Fairbrother, regularly took the Sunday periods of duty. Dr Mackenzie had visited during the afternoon.
Henry Palmer had reported for duty at midday on the 20th of September and made detailed notes of his work. He had made hourly surveys of the patients, cleaned the wards, tidied the flowers, and tended the fire. The admission of Mrs Templeman was recorded at 4 p.m. and Palmer had seen to everything necessary. He had been alone in the Life House until 7 p.m. when Dr Mackenzie had called and examined the patients, including Mrs Templeman, staying there for an hour. Neither Bonner nor Warrinder had been there that day, and Palmer left at midnight, being replaced by Mr Hemsley.
There had been no visitors until the following morning, the 21st of September, when Dr Warrinder attended between the hours of 9 and 10 a.m. and examined the patients. Even with his poor eyesight, thought Frances, he can hardly have failed to recognise his wife’s niece. Palmer had then signed in at midday, for what would prove to be his last period of duty. Dr Bonner had arrived at 9.30 p.m. and Dr Mackenzie had called half an hour later. Palmer’s signature, which was a little shakier than his usual neat handwriting, showed that he had departed at 11 p.m.
In the crucial hour before Palmer had left, Frances knew, events had occurred that the record book would not show. Mackenzie had suffered his collapse, there had been attempts by Bonner and Palmer to revive him, and his body had been consigned to the chapel. Palmer had arrived at Mrs Georgeson’s at about 11.10 p.m., but had then turned north again about five minutes later. At about 11.30 p.m. or thereabouts, Mr Darscot had arrived at the Life House by cab and viewed Dr Mackenzie’s body, and then departed a few minutes later. There was no record of this, but Fairbrother said that visitors to the chapel were not recorded; there was merely an appointment book.
Following Darscot’s departure, Bonner had been alone until Hemsley arrived and signed in at midnight. No visitors had been admitted to the wards at any time during this period. Hourly examinations of the patients had been carried out as usual by Hemsley. There was no record in the book to suggest that Palmer had ever returned.
Although Bonner had been alone in the Life House before the arrival of Hemsley, he had been in a state of some distress at the sudden death of his friend. Frances thought that he would easily be able to persuade a court that he had not examined Mrs Templeman at all, and that his failure to recognise her in Kilburn mortuary was, in the circumstances, unsurprising. The record book showed that Bonner had departed at 1 a.m. and returned at 8 a.m. the next morning, the 22nd of September. The names of the attendees at the viewing of Dr Mackenzie’s body were not recorded. Hemsley had left at midday and Dr Warrinder had stayed on until a temporary orderly could be found.
‘You did not go into the ward that day?’ Frances asked Fairbrother.
‘No.’
‘Where did you go after the viewing?’
‘I assisted Dr Bonner at Paddington mortuary.’
Frances reflected that it was very possible for someone on duty alone in the Life House to allow in an unauthorised visitor and not record the fact. Bonner had only been unaccompanied briefly, but both Palmer and Hemsley had been alone there for substantial periods of time. So when had Mrs Templeman’s body been removed?
‘Since there was a family viewing of Mrs Templeman’s body at her home on the morning of the 20th, I assume that there was not one here?’ she asked.
‘I believe not,’ said Fairbrother.
‘But Dr Mackenzie, who had attended her in life, examined her body only a few hours after it was admitted here, and we must assume that he recognised her then. Dr Warrinder would have seen her the following morning when he made his ward round, and even with his poor eyesight he must have known his wife’s relative. So if the body in the pauper’s grave is indeed Mrs Templeman, what happened to her after Dr Warrinder’s round?’ Frances studied the book again. ‘You were next in the ward on the 25th of September assisting Dr Bonner while he tried to find a replacement for Mr Palmer.’
‘Yes.’
‘And did you and Dr Bonner examine Mrs Templeman’s body?’
Fairbrother frowned. ‘I don’t recall it. In fact, I rather think it was not there.’
‘But she was not buried until two days later.’ Frances peered at a note in what she felt sure was Hemsley’s muddled hand. ‘Ah,’ she said at last, ‘I think this says that Mrs Templeman’s body was taken to Kilburn mortuary on the morning of the 24th of September. Why was th
at done?’
‘I think I can guess. In cases where decomposition occurs very quickly and there is no doubt that the person is deceased, but the family has not yet completed arrangements for burial, bodies may be placed in a conventional mortuary where they are kept in cold conditions so as not to constitute a danger to health.’
‘I’d better speak to Mr Hemsley again, and since I cannot go to him, you had best bring him to me.’
Fairbrother recognised the unspoken word ‘now’ at the end of that sentence and hurried away, returning a minute later with Hemsley, who looked as though he might have been awoken from a doze.
‘Mr Hemsley, do you recall a patient here by the name of Mrs Templeman?’ asked Frances. She showed him the admission entry for the 20th of September.
‘Not specially, that’s Palmer’s writing. Has he been found?’
‘Not yet, no. I see that Mrs Templeman’s body was removed to Kilburn mortuary on the 24th of September. Can you advise me of the reason for that?’
‘I can’t say. I just get orders to move them or sometimes the undertaker’s men call with an authority to take the bodies.’
‘I was informed by someone who toured the Life House that Mrs Templeman was not on the ward on the 23rd of September. Where was she?’
He scratched his head and looked at the book again. ‘In the chapel, I expect. She couldn’t have been anywhere else.’
‘But there was no family viewing here for Mrs Templeman. Why would she be in the chapel?’
‘Well, sometimes, if the patients get a bit – well, you know – we don’t want them in the ward and we take them off somewhere a bit colder. Now I come to think about it, when they took her away she wasn’t on the ward, she was coffined in the chapel. Yes, that was it, I remember now! She was so bad she had to be coffined almost at once, and then she had to be taken away early.’
‘Was she already coffined in the chapel when you came on duty on the night of Dr Mackenzie’s collapse?’
He frowned. ‘I expect so. I don’t rightly remember.’
‘Did you transfer Mrs Templeman to the chapel?’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t think I did. It must have been Palmer.’
‘Would he have recorded that?’
‘We have to record when a patient comes in and when they go out, but not moving from the ward to the chapel. So – no, if he did it wouldn’t be in the book unless he chose to.’
‘Isn’t that the kind of thing that a man like Mr Palmer, with his attention to detail, would have recorded?’
Hemsley looked surprised. ‘Er – yes, I suppose it would be.’
‘Do you recall a young woman’s body being in the chapel?’
‘There was a coffin in there ready for burial, but I couldn’t say whose it was.’
Frances felt she had learned all she could from Hemsley, who returned to his duties.
‘It is clear that I was mistaken,’ said Fairbrother. ‘The body in the canal cannot have been that of Mrs Templeman, who was admitted here on the 20th of September and removed four days later. While I was assisting Dr Bonner at Kilburn on the 23rd, the lady’s body was coffined here.’
‘When you attended the viewing for Dr Mackenzie,’ said Frances, ‘was Mrs Templeman here then? In the chapel?’
‘There was another coffin here, yes.’
‘Open or sealed?’
He paused.
‘Sealed, then.’ Frances concluded. ‘Did you look inside it?’
‘No.’
‘Exactly. For all we know her body was already in the canal and is even now in a pauper’s grave. The only question is, who put it there and why?’
‘But this is all conjecture! Can we not agree to proceed no further?’
‘You know I cannot,’ said Frances. ‘I will have the body taken up.’
‘That could take many weeks,’ said Fairbrother. ‘You would need to obtain an order from a magistrate and then he will approach the Home Office. And there is no guarantee of success.’
‘I think,’ said Frances, ‘I may know a way to help things progress a little faster.’
Fairbrother, who had hoped to dissuade her, was disappointed.
Back home Frances sat at her writing desk, selected her very best quality notepaper and her finest pen, and began a letter: ‘Dear Mr Gladstone …’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Dr Bonner returned from his sojourn in Brighton a duller and a lighter man, having consumed almost nothing except mineral water and a little fish for some days. Frances went to see him and found him hardly able to walk for the pain of his gouty foot, relying heavily on his stick and the assistance of Mr Fairbrother.
Frances extracted from him the fact that he had not previously been acquainted with Mrs Templeman. He said that when he had arrived at the Life House on the evening of the 21st of September, Palmer had informed him that the lady’s body was very decomposed and he thought it should be removed to the chapel.
‘Of course I trusted the man’s judgement, and said he might do so. I did try to assist him, but my foot was very sore and painful, and he said I should rest and he would attend to everything.’
‘So it was Palmer alone who took her body into the chapel?’
‘Yes.’
‘And sealed the coffin?’
‘Yes.’
‘And where were you when he did this?’
‘I was in the office.’
‘No note was made of the movement of the body to the chapel. Would Palmer not usually do that?’
‘Yes, unless – I may have offered to do so myself, but clearly I did not. I – may have had a little brandy for the pain,’ he admitted.
Frances was faced with the possibility that it was Palmer who, unseen by Bonner, had placed Mrs Templeman’s body in the canal, replacing it in the coffin with – what? Another body? Something else, such as stolen goods, which he wanted to conceal? Had the purpose of consigning the body to the canal not been so much the disposal of the corpse but the use of the coffin for another purpose? If so, had Palmer acted on his own initiative, or, as seemed more probable, at the direction of another?
‘Is Mrs Templeman buried or deposited in the catacombs?’ asked Frances.
‘Neither. There is a family mausoleum.’
‘Then it is above ground, with a key held by the family?’
‘Yes.’
Frances looked at Mr Fairbrother, who was looking almost as ill as Bonner. ‘One body at a time,’ she said.
As Frances had expected, a very dignified Mrs Pearson called to see her, asking for the address of her erstwhile maid so that she could call upon her personally and see for herself that the girl was well. Frances said that the maid’s address was a private matter, but she would undertake to send the maid a letter asking her to write to Mrs Pearson and give her the reassurance she required. If there was any other matter apart from the girl’s safety and state of health that concerned her, she would be pleased to commence a new investigation. Mrs Pearson clamped her mouth shut and with a suspicious gleam in her eye, departed. Frances had no doubt that Mr Pearson would shortly experience a painful interview with his wife.
A delivery brought Frances a pleasant surprise, tasteful bouquets of fresh flowers not only for herself, but for her landlady and the other tenants of the house, accompanied by sincerely apologetic letters. The writer was the proprietor of the Bayswater Library of Romance, who expressed regret that the ladies had been distressed in any way by the publication of the adventures of Miss Dauntless. The object of the stories had been to reassure the public that crime did not pay and that the sins of evildoers would be found out due to the actions of courageous ladies such as the heroine. To avoid any inconvenience, future stories would make it very clear to readers that Miss Dauntless lived in quite another part of Bayswater.
To Frances’ relief, Mrs Embleton, who appreciated pretty flowers and a polite apology, pronounced herself satisfied.
The next visitor was less welcome. Inspector Sharrock, who
was not quite sure whether to appear fierce, concerned, or aloof, and succeeded in being uncomfortably none of the three.
‘So, how is business for Miss Dauntless?’ he asked.
‘Miss Dauntless no longer resides in this part of Bayswater,’ said Frances. ‘I didn’t know you were a reader.’
‘My wife likes ‘em. She says it takes her mind off things. What things she needs taking her mind off of I couldn’t say. Now then, I want you to tell me if you have chanced to set eyes on Mr Horton since we last discussed him and if so, what he said, and whether or not it made any sense.’
‘I have not seen him since then,’ said Frances. ‘Has he run away?’
‘No, worse than that, the man’s dead.’
‘Oh, I am sorry to hear it.’ Frances pictured the unhappy gentlemen making away with himself by a variety of different methods, and then rebuked herself for having such unpleasant things in her imagination. ‘I assume since you are here that the circumstances of his death are in some way unresolved?’
‘Dr Collin is cutting him up even as we speak. There was a strong smell of alcohol about him and he was found tumbled into an area on Gloucester Terrace. So it may have been an accident, but I’m not so sure. He has bruises on him that are several days old, the result perhaps of a previous assault.’
‘Can you think of any reason why someone should have murdered him?’
‘Perhaps he annoyed someone. He certainly annoyed me!’ Sharrock stomped away with a scowl.
Chas and Barstie arrived to report on the activities of Dr Carmichael, which had provided no further clues, but they had also heard the circulating rumours about Mr Horton’s demise.
‘Not right in the noddle, I am sorry to say,’ said Chas, tapping the side of his head.
‘Did you know him?’
‘Not as such, only he came to the Piccadilly Club sometimes, and a few days ago he made a great commotion and had to be shown the door. Pilled I don’t doubt.’
A Case of Doubtful Death Page 24