A Case of Doubtful Death (33 page)

‘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
20
th of September and removed four days later. While I was assisting Dr Bonner at Kilburn on the
23
rd, 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 …’

D
r 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
21
st 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.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Blackballed. Not to be let in again.’

‘Inspector Sharrock told me he had suffered some bruising. Perhaps that was as a result of his being ejected from the club?’

Chas and Barstie looked at each other.

Frances folded her arms and gave them a firm stare. ‘Now then gentlemen, I think you know something.’

‘Oh, I would hesitate to say anything that might create difficulties for someone who I believe to be a person of admirable character,’ said Barstie.

‘Not to mention a useful source of business,’ added Chas.

‘Mr Horton’s bruises were not suffered as a result of any criminal action, we can assure you of that,’ said Barstie. ‘It was more a matter of gentlemanly recreation.’

Frances recalled something. ‘I believe that Mr Horton had accused Professor Pounder of assaulting him, but there was no evidence he had ever been to the academy.’

Chas and Barstie looked at each other again.

‘Is Professor Pounder a member of the Piccadilly Club?’ she asked.

‘Not precisely,’ said Barstie, ‘but he is known to the gentlemen there and is sometimes a guest.’

‘Are you saying that he has been involved in fighting there?’

‘The Professor would never indulge in fistic matters outside of the ring,’ said Chas.

Frances bethought herself of some of the things that had been happening at the Monmouth Club, the manager of which was about to take the
Chronicle
to court for libel.

‘Has Professor Pounder been running an illegal boxing and gambling club in the Piccadilly?’ she asked.

‘Oh no, no, nothing of the sort!’ exclaimed Chas, quickly.

‘Not at all!’ said Barstie.

‘Well then, what
is
he doing?’

‘He gives free demonstrations of self-defence,’ said Barstie. ‘All quite legal and above board. No prize fights. He wouldn’t think of it.’

‘When you say free demonstrations, that would suggest he engages in some form of combat with other persons?’

There was a pause and Barstie decided to stir the fire, while Chas looked around hopefully for tea. None appeared.

‘He might do,’ said Chas, at last.

‘I wouldn’t say he doesn’t,’ said Barstie.

‘Does he fight only other pugilists? Or members of the club?’ asked Frances.

‘It’s not
really
combat,’ said Barstie, ‘not as one might understand it, not as the police might want to interpret it. No, nothing of the sort.’

‘Did the late Mr Horton, by any chance, have such a non-combative encounter with Professor Pounder?’

‘It was more of a friendly challenge,’ said Chas, ‘the kind of thing that jovial fellows might do to entertain themselves.’

‘Nothing wrong in that,’ said Barstie. ‘All amateur, all legal.’

‘Well, I am very pleased to hear it,’ said Frances, ‘and since it is legal and friendly there should be no difficulty about your describing it to me.’ She waited.

‘It’s called the one minute challenge,’ said Chas, at last. ‘Pounder is the finest exponent of the noble art of self-defence up to and including the Marquess of Queensberry, and it is his pleasure to offer to engage in sparring with any man for one minute. And if that man can land a blow on him in that minute he wins a guinea. It’s a harmless enough amusement.’

‘I see,’ said Frances, ‘and I imagine that the members of the Piccadilly Club assemble to watch these one minute exhibitions?’

‘Oh yes, very edifying. Very entertaining.’

‘And make wagers on the outcome, perhaps?’

Barstie shrugged. ‘If a gentleman wishes to make a private wager for his own amusement, who can stop him?’

‘So,’ said Frances, ‘Mr Horton took Professor Pounder up on his challenge and learned to regret it.’

‘He did indeed!’ said Chas. ‘In no small way. And it could have been much worse for him, but the Professor was very kind to him, and chose not to hurt him too much. He took more damage tripping over his own feet than anything the Professor laid on him.’

‘As a result of which,’ said Frances, ‘he went about telling anyone who would listen that Professor Pounder assaulted him and then next thing we know he is found violently dead.’

Chas and Barstie had the good grace to look concerned. ‘I would be willing to bet my life that the Professor was not involved in that,’ said Chas. ‘He is the very devil in the roped ring, but out of it he is a better gentleman than many who were born to it.’

‘Well,’ said Frances, ‘I suppose that Mr Horton’s demise is none of my business, unless it had some connection to Mr Palmer’s disappearance, which I doubt. But if you should hear anything of interest, do let me know.’