A Case of Doubtful Death (17 page)

‘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 from 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.’

‘If the business was simply broken up into assets,’ said Barstie, ‘any buyer would either have to convert the mortuary into something else, like a warehouse or a workshop, which most probably wouldn’t be worth their while, or knock it down and build houses. All that trouble and expense would bring the price down.’

‘What about the business as a going concern?’ asked Frances. ‘Would it find a buyer?’

‘Now that’s an interesting one,’ said Barstie, ‘because the new building around the cemetery has brought many potential customers into the area. I think if we were to see the accounts we might find that business is on the steady up and up. That being the case it might be quite valuable as it is, to the right person, if that person can be found.’

‘It’s finding the person that often doesn’t come cheap,’ said Chas. ‘
Is
it for sale?’ he asked, with a sideways glance.

‘Not at present,’ said Frances. ‘I just thought that with Dr Mackenzie’s death, the current owners might think of it.’

‘Now you have the inside view,’ said Barstie, smiling, ‘any little hints you feel free to pass on …’

‘Of course,’ said Frances, ‘and if you should hear of anything …?’

‘Our pleasure!’

Frances was troubled. For reasons that she was honour bound not to divulge, she knew that Bonner and Warrinder were aware that the business was in danger of imminent collapse, and if they put it up for sale as a going concern, it might be sold to a person quite unaware of the bombshell that was about to explode. She could not decide what she would do if that situation arose.

Early the following day, Frances returned to Dr Bonner’s house but was told that he was at the Life House, as was Mr Fairbrother. She decided that she might essay another visit and accordingly was soon knocking boldly on the door of the chapel. The door was answered by Mr Fairbrother who greeted her with some surprise but a very welcoming smile. Frances wondered if there was anything of significance in his eyes, but whatever the skill required to read such things it was one she clearly did not have.

‘Miss Doughty – is this to be a professional call in connection with Mr Palmer, or are you here for a viewing?’

‘I had not appreciated that there was a deceased person here to be viewed,’ said Frances. ‘It is a professional call.’ He stepped aside and she entered.

There was one coffin laid out on a trestle and in it the body of a lady who had once been rather plump, but whose face was shrunken and fallen, grey and blotched. She was packed about with great swathes of fresh cut flowers, and there were candles burning on the little altar exuding a sickly scent, and a great deal of carbolic. Her jaw was bound in a white cloth, but not so tightly that she would be unable to speak supposing that there was any life remaining, which, as far as Frances could see, there was most decidedly not. As a result the jaw sagged open, revealing a dark cavern of a mouth from which a foetid odour was escaping.

‘It is not very pleasant, I am afraid,’ said Mr Fairbrother, ‘and unlike the undertaker we are not permitted to occlude any place where the natural functions of life may be apparent, neither are we to paint the face to make it appear as in life, as that might confuse matters.’

‘I think I knew this lady,’ said Frances. ‘She was the daughter of a milliner and had a very bad husband. How did she die?’

‘She fell down in a fit. I was told she was in love with her footman and lost her wits. Or some say that she lost her wits and only then did she fall in love with her footman.’

Frances thought it had been a close run thing. ‘I was wondering how well you knew Dr Mackenzie,’ she said.

‘I worked under his supervision a number of times. I have only been in London a month and during that time I have mainly been studying with Dr Bonner.’

‘When did you last see Dr Mackenzie?’

‘Alive, you mean? The day before he died. I was here with Dr Bonner and he called in. I must say, he looked very unwell but it was not my place to say anything. Even in the short time I knew him I saw a decline in his energy. About a week before he died he arrived here having left his keys on his desk at home and was too exhausted to go back for them. I offered to order him a cab but he wouldn’t hear of it, so I sat him down and gave him some brandy.’ He shook his head. ‘Poor man. At least he took my advice and rested for two or three days before he returned.’

‘I regret that I never met him. Can you describe him to me?’

‘He was quite tall but walked with a slight stoop, of a moderate build, tending to thinness, and with grey hair and whiskers.’

‘Do you know where I might see a portrait of him?’

‘Yes, as it so happens there is one which Dr Bonner has had placed in a frame to be hung here in the chapel as a tribute. It is in the office now – I will fetch it.’

Frances rather hoped that he might pass through the ward on his way to the office, affording her a glimpse of the interior, but he merely smiled as if he knew what she was thinking. He rapped three times on the connecting door, but did not open it, and left through the side door. The wheeled stretcher was in its usual place, but Frances leaned across it and gently tried the handle of the connecting door. It was locked. Fairbrother returned a minute later with the portrait.

‘They do not yet entrust you with keys?’ asked Frances.

‘No, I am not employed here permanently. I had to alert Dr Bonner to admit me by the main door just now. In any case, we never open the connecting door while there is a visitor in the chapel. Prying eyes, you know.’

Frances studied the picture. It was of a man facing the camera, his head set well on his shoulders, his gaze even, and his eyes clear and untroubled. There were a few wrinkles at the corners of his eyes but they were not unattractive, and she could imagine how he had smiled them into being. Mackenzie had a full luxuriant beard, moustache and side-whiskers. He looked very much like a man in his late forties, but she thought that he might appear younger if he was clean-shaven.

‘I believe it was taken a year ago,’ said Fairbrother. ‘Dr Mackenzie had become thinner of late, but this is a good likeness.’

Frances felt sure that the shaving materials found in Mackenzie’s bag were items of such cheap manufacture that they could hardly have been intended as a gift. They must, therefore, have been for the doctor’s own use. It now seemed probable that on the evening of his death Mackenzie had been on his way to Aberdeen, intending to shave off his beard and moustache before he arrived as Mr Breck. There might have been money or a ticket in his bag, both of which could have been stolen, either by Palmer or, more probably, a thief who had attacked Palmer and taken the bag. Perhaps the thief had become alarmed at hearing the bag described in sermons all over Paddington and decided to dispose of it.