An Appetite for Murder (18 page)

‘I am afraid he failed to follow my recommendations, which became more urgent with the passage of time, and his death was therefore not a surprise to me. There are some people who cannot or will not be helped. He was a pleasant and courteous man, and his business acumen was a great boon to his clients. I regret his loss.’

‘How long had he been your patient?’

‘About twelve years.’

Frances opened her folder. ‘There are two letters I would like you to look at. Both these persons adopted pen names when writing to the
Chronicle
, but is there anything in the handwriting or the content or the paper or the ink that looks at all familiar?’

Jilks studied the Bainiardus and the Sanitas letters carefully but shook his head. ‘I am sorry, but I see nothing which suggests to me who the authors might be.’

‘I have spoken to Mr Whibley’s chief clerk, Mr Richardson, and he was extremely annoyed about this correspondence and would not hear a word against his employer. He suggested that Mr Whibley’s weight had nothing to do with his mode of life but was the result of an accident he had suffered. Do you think that is the case?’

Jilks chuckled. ‘Mr Richardson is a loyal servant who will protect the business by exonerating Mr Whibley, especially now it is about to be sold. In my experience, corpulent people blame their condition upon everything and everyone except for the real cause – their own excesses at the table and idleness when away from it. It is true that, after Mr Whibley’s accident, the injury to his leg meant that he was unable to move about for some time and he did, as a consequence, gain weight – and he was far from being a slender man before – but it is possible to adjust one’s intake of nourishment to suit one’s activity and he should have done so, but he did not. Curiously, the accident was the sole occasion on which his weight benefitted him.’

‘Oh? How come?’

‘His fat was like a cushion against the worst of the impact, and he lived while others did not. Even so, he suffered a bad head injury and was unconscious for a day afterwards, although he did make a full recovery with all his faculties intact. He was lucky to have survived.’

‘I had no idea it was such a serious matter,’ said Frances. ‘Was it in London?’

‘No, it was in Sussex, somewhere on the Brighton line I believe, about eight or maybe nine years ago. I think it was an excursion to mark an anniversary of the founding of the company, and most, if not all, of the employees were included. Mr Anderson and Mr Walsh were both killed – a very great tragedy.’

‘Neither Mr Richardson nor Mr Elliott told me as much,’ said Frances, with some surprise, although now she thought about it, Mr Richardson had been careful to say nothing that might detract from Mr Whibley’s reputation as an astute man of business, and a blow to the head, even if it was one from which he had recovered, was not something he would have wanted to draw to anyone’s attention. She wondered if Mr Elliott’s arm injury had resulted from the accident.

‘Ah well, it is better not to dwell on the past,’ said Dr Jilks cheerfully. ‘I tell all my patients that. Accidents do happen, and most of the time they are nobody’s fault. I think this one was something to do with the weather. There is nothing to be done except look to the future.’

‘Do you remember the last time you saw Mr Whibley alive?’ asked Frances.

He nodded. ‘Yes I do. It was probably only a few hours before he died. His valet called asking if I might come at once as his master was very unwell, and I complied. I could see immediately that Whibley was extremely ill. I thought that his heart was labouring under the strain he had imposed upon it for so many years, and advised him to rest, and prescribed heart stimulants. He was very agitated – I have seen this before, as a man’s life draws to a close, the mind senses that the body is about to expire, even if he does not consciously know it, and things come crowding upon him, the guilt of the past, of things done or left undone. I suggested he arrange for a nurse to attend him, but he said that his valet could do all that was required.’

‘Mr Pennyforth?’

‘Yes, I believe that was his name.’

‘Do you know where he is now?’

‘I am afraid not.’

‘Did Mr Whibley mention his meeting with Mr Sweetman? Was that one of the things worrying him?’

Jilks paused, thoughtfully. ‘Yes, as it happens it was. Whibley said he had spoken to the man very recently and felt sorry for him.’

‘Did he say anything else? Did he mention Mr Sweetman’s son and daughter?’

‘No, that was all he said. He also felt guilty over the death of his uncle.’

‘Mr Anderson?’ Frances was surprised. ‘I thought you said he died in the railway accident. Why did Mr Whibley feel guilty?’

‘Ah, well, you see Mr Whibley had been seated facing Mr Anderson in the railway carriage. It was only later at the inquest that he learned that the impact had thrown him on top of his uncle, who was more slight of form, and by the time they were brought from the wreckage the poor man had suffocated.’

‘He could hardly be blamed for that,’ said Frances.

‘No, but it was because of Mr Anderson’s untimely death that Whibley inherited the business,’ said Jilks. ‘There were some malicious whispers at the time. All quite unfounded.’

Frances glanced at her notes again. ‘What is your opinion of the Vegetarian Society and the Pure Food Society?’ she asked.

Jilks shrugged. ‘I think they do little harm if not taken to extremes. Their members are all very earnest people who believe they are acting for the benefit of mankind, and who knows, one day their critics may be confounded. Did you know that Mrs Anderson – Mrs Elliott as she is now – is a great exponent of the Pure Food movement? Mr Elliott, in common with a number of my patients, became very anxious about his wife’s interest when he read the letter in the
Chronicle
from that Sanitas fellow. He came to ask my advice, but I was able to reassure him that as long as she includes a variety of wholesome foodstuffs in her diet, she will remain in good health.’

‘Is it possible,’ asked Frances, ‘for a person to be moderate in his or her diet, and yet still gain weight?’

‘Hmm,’ said Jilks, ‘that is an interesting question. You should read my publication on the subject of corpulence.’ He opened a drawer of his desk and extracted a slim pamphlet, which he handed to Frances. ‘
The Cause of Fatness and its Treatment
,’ he said, ‘I think that will answer most of your questions. My opinion is that in almost all cases, excessive weight is a result of too much food and too little activity. There are exceptions, however, as I have very occasionally met individuals labouring under some disease, which causes them to gain weight even when they curtail their intake of food. But these are rare.’

‘Can anything be done for these people?’ asked Frances, wondering if this nameless disease could be the cause of Mr Finn’s inability to lose fat.

‘I regret that is one of those mysteries that medical science has as yet been unable to solve,’ said Dr Jilks with all the equanimity of a man content in the knowledge that whatever the shortcomings of the situation they were not of his making.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTEEN

F
rances agreed with Dr Jilks’ observation that a man in his last moments will often be assailed with guilt, and try to make amends for the offences and neglects of the past, although she also reflected that the last days of Mr Whibley’s life had immediately followed his interview with Mr Sweetman. Supposing, she thought, he had not felt guilty because he was dying, but it was the other way about; the visit from Sweetman had led to his state of agitation and guilt about past wrongdoings and provoked his fatal collapse.

She was not sure if there was anything more to learn, but determined to place an advertisement in the
Chronicle
to see if she could discover the elusive Mr Pennyforth. Once this had been arranged, she decided to see Mr Elliott once more.

Elliott was in his office but he was happy to allow Frances a few minutes of his time. He was just conducting a lady client to the door. She was aged about seventy, and resplendent in the deepest mourning glittering with Whitby jet. Though recently widowed, she looked positively cheerful; in fact, Frances thought the cheerfulness was rather overdone. The lady was not so much putting a brave face on her bereavement as enjoying it. She might have been assisted in this by Mr Elliott’s gallant attentiveness, which was a balm and a comfort to the elderly, especially those who had valuable property to sell. Once the lady had departed, Elliott gave instructions to a clerk for some papers to be drawn up, and from a little of the conversation that Frances was able to overhear, she realised that the lady client was the relict of the virtuous vegetarian Mr Outram, whose demise at the commendable age of ninety-two had been mentioned by Mr Lathwal.

Unlike the offices of J. Finn Insurance and Anderson, Walsh and Whibley, Mr Elliott’s domain was bright and cheerful with no hint that his clerks were hard pressed. One of them, Frances saw with approval, was a lady clerk, and he had a brief word with her before he ushered Frances into a private office.

His room was well set up and very neat, with a small desk, and comfortable chairs. There were no books and very few papers. Frances had once visited the offices of a land agent which had been a whirlwind of paperwork, and was surprised to see everything so quiet, calm and uncluttered, but reflected that the nature of Mr Elliott’s business must be very different. If all his clients were as wealthy as Mrs Outram then he needed very few of them.

‘How may I help you?’ asked Elliott. ‘Is there further news of Sweetman? If so, I hope it is favourable.’

‘He still awaits the outcome of the inquest and magistrates’ hearing,’ said Frances. ‘I hope to visit him soon. But I would like, if I may, to ask you some further questions about the last time you saw Mr Whibley. I have just spoken to his doctor who told me that shortly before he died, Mr Whibley, who was feeling unwell and might have had a premonition of his death, expressed his contrition for certain actions, or possibly omissions, in his past. I was wondering if some of his unhappiness arose from his interview with Mr Sweetman and could furnish me with a clue as to the whereabouts of the children, and even throw some light on the fate of Mrs Sweetman. Is there anything you can remember which might help me?’

‘As you can imagine,’ said Elliott, ‘I have been giving the matter a great deal of thought since we last spoke, and I would really help if I could, but unfortunately, I can recall nothing further.’

‘Amongst other things it seems that he was dwelling on the railway accident.’ Frances paused significantly, since he had failed to mention this incident at all in their earlier interview. ‘The one in which Mr Walsh and Mr Anderson were both killed,’ she added, as if to jog his memory. ‘It appears that he felt some responsibility for the death of his uncle, although it can hardly have been his fault.’

‘No, indeed,’ said Elliott, his expression speaking of a painful recollection. ‘Miss Doughty – this is not a pleasant subject for me to discuss, and brings back some very upsetting memories, but if it is of interest and can assist your enquiries, I will tell you more.’

‘I am sorry to distress you,’ said Frances, ‘but the more I know of what was pressing on Mr Whibley’s mind the clearer the situation will be.’

The door opened and the lady clerk entered bearing a tray of tea things, which she set down on the desk. There was the inevitable delay occasioned by the management of tea, sugar, milk and biscuits, then the lady clerk departed.

‘I was in the same carriage as Whibley,’ said Elliott. ‘In fact I was sitting next to him. When the carriage was struck, the side on which I sat took the worst of the damage. I suffered a dislocation of the shoulder which was crushed under the weight of the falling roof, while my arm and wrist were broken by the impact.’ His right hand moved up to touch his left shoulder and travelled down the arm to rest on the scars on the back of his hand. ‘There was some talk of amputation, though thankfully I was spared that. Afterwards I had several operations and it was many weeks before I was able to resume my duties. Even now, the adhesions in the shoulder joint still trouble me. But I do remember, since I retained consciousness the whole of the time, seeing that Whibley had been thrown out of his seat on top of Anderson, who had been facing him, and of course since I was pinned to the spot and had only one arm free, I was quite unable to do anything about it. Emily, who was then Mrs Anderson, as you know, was very distressed and desperately tried to save her husband, but it was beyond her strength to do so.’

There were a few moments of tea sipping and unhappy thoughts.

‘What was the cause of the accident?’ asked Frances.

‘A heavy mist near Keymer that meant the train was obliged to slow down to enable the driver to see the signal. For some reason the fast train behind us wasn’t warned and went into our carriage, which was the last one. It came off the rails and slid down an embankment. It was a nasty business.’

‘Mr Walsh was killed as well?’

‘Yes, but he was very much older than Anderson. Emily was shaken by the impact but apart from some superficial bruising she was mercifully unharmed.’

‘Who else was on this excursion?’

‘Mr Walsh’s elderly sister, who suffered very severe injuries. I sat facing her, and saw that the roof had crushed her chest. She never really recovered and died about a year later. The carriage in front of ours was far less damaged.’

‘Were any of the company employees in it?’ asked Frances, her biscuit losing its savour as she pictured the collapsed carriage and broken bodies.

‘Mr Richardson, the chief clerk, and his wife and son, and there were some ladies who were not of our party. I am glad to say their injuries were of a trifling nature.’

‘Do
you
think Mr Whibley blamed himself for his uncle’s death? Did he ever talk to you about it?’

‘It was not a subject he alluded to,’ said Elliott. ‘Of course at the time I was merely a junior clerk, it was only much later, after Emily and I were married, that we became better acquainted, but I think it did weigh on his mind, although he was of course quite blameless. It was through Mr Anderson’s death that Whibley inherited the business. I suppose it was only natural that he should feel guilty.’