‘Do you have other patients with the same condition?’ asked Frances.

‘Oh yes, I have five currently: two used to play in orchestras, two operated heavy machinery and one had suffered an accident resulting in concussion of the brain.’

‘Tell me about Mr Antrobus, what kind of a man do you think him?’

‘A plain man, a man of business, dull, without imagination, yet a good man, with a sense of duty. He is also, however, the kind of individual who having made up his mind about something it is very hard to sway him. He and his brother were both convinced by the family doctor that Mrs Antrobus’ troubles were all in her mind, and it was almost impossible for me to move them from that position. Matters were not helped by the fact that Mrs Antrobus and her brother-in-law entertain a hearty dislike for each other, which colours all their dealings.’ He paused, his brow furrowed with anxiety. ‘You say that you have spoken to Mr Lionel Antrobus, and I am concerned that he may have made some allegations against me – criticisms of my character.’

‘He did not make any direct allegations but referred only to unfounded rumours.’

‘Rumours with only one origin, if the truth be known,’ Goodwin declared, a sharpness to his voice betraying an indignation that had not diminished with time. ‘Mr Dromgoole, the man who wrote such nonsense to the newspapers. Do you know about that?’

‘I have read the correspondence.’

‘When I wrote to the Chronicle I had never met him and was unaware of how unstable he was. Had I known it I might have been more circumspect in my comments. He had the effrontery to write to me privately vowing to effect my ruin. He claimed to know secrets about me.’

‘I think everyone, even the most respectable person, has a secret that they would not want to be known, however trivial,’ observed Frances, reflecting that her profession largely amounted to the exposure of secrets.

‘Undoubtedly,’ said Goodwin, robustly. ‘I am sure I have many. I do not claim to be a perfect man, though we must all strive for perfection. Mr Dromgoole did his best to uncover some scandal that would put an end to my career and lighted upon the fact that I have a son and yet have never been married. He drew the wholly unwarranted conclusion that Isaac is my natural son born of a shameful connection that I wish to keep hidden and decided to tell the world. Isaac is not in fact my relative by blood. I found him as a waif living wild upon the street. The poor child could not have been more than seven years old. I quickly recognised that he was most profoundly deaf. I took him in; I gave him a name, language, education, religion and formally adopted him. He is eighteen now, and no man could wish for a better son. His devotion has repaid me a thousandfold.’

‘You did not try and refute these rumours?’ asked Frances. ‘If you knew their origin you could have gone to law.’

‘No. That would only have drawn attention to them and spread them further.’

‘Do you still have Mr Dromgoole’s letters?’

‘They were the ravings of a lunatic, and I burnt them.’

‘That is a pity. Sometimes when a man seeks to condemn another he only succeeds by his manner in condemning himself. I can see that such stories might well have given Mr Antrobus and his brother an excuse to reject your advice. Yet Mrs Antrobus has told me that you did effect a change, in her husband at any rate. At the time of his disappearance he had been about to make a new will that would have been far kinder to her. Did she ever express concerns about her husband’s will?’

‘No, we talked of her hearing and general health, and she sometimes said how much she missed her sons, but it would have been inappropriate to discuss anything else. I should mention that in all my visits to the house either Mr Antrobus or a maid or her sister were in the room when I saw Mrs Antrobus.’

‘Did you ever talk to Mr Antrobus when his wife was not present?’

‘Yes,’ said Goodwin, heavily. ‘There were occasions when he drew me aside for a frank discussion, and it was during those interviews that I formed my opinion of him. He was a hard man to deal with, inflexible in his thinking. I once begged him to allow his sons to visit their mother, something that I thought would cheer her dull existence, but he would not. He never said it in so many words but he thought that they were in danger of being tainted by her disease.’

‘It cannot be passed from one person to another, surely?’

‘Not at all, and I told him so very frankly, but he would not be convinced.’

‘When did you last see him?’

‘Ah, I can tell you that exactly.’ Goodwin opened a leather bound appointment book on his desk. ‘Yes, here it is, 20 September 1877. I had called on Mrs Antrobus as usual. I had been seeing her once every fortnight, sometimes applying gentle galvanism but mainly talking to her about her health. As I was leaving Mr Antrobus asked to speak to me privately. He was concerned that there was no improvement in his wife’s condition, and I pointed out that with this disease it was a happy circumstance that it had not become any worse. He was not pleased by my reply. In particular, he refused to believe that the condition had been produced by the noise of fireworks (which was his wife’s belief), presumably on the grounds that the display, which they had both attended, had been enjoyed by numerous others who had not been similarly afflicted. I advised him that it was very possible for one person to be affected but not others, but even if it was not the fireworks there are other possible causes. He seemed very disturbed by this idea, and when I asked him to elaborate he did not. I strongly suspected that something had occurred for which he was personally responsible and that he had just realised that he had inadvertently caused his wife’s condition.

On the following day he sent me a letter saying that he had decided I should discontinue my visits. He did not think that they were helping his wife and he had determined to seek another opinion.’

‘Did he say whose opinion?’

‘No.’

‘That was more than two weeks before he left for Bristol. Mrs Antrobus is convinced that it was your advice which changed her husband’s mind.’

‘Understandable, I suppose. But I think not.’

Frances was surprised. Had Edwin Antrobus consulted another doctor before he left for Bristol, and was this what lay behind his change of heart? Frances knew that she must speak to this individual, but when she thought of the number of doctors in London and the columns of advertisements in the newspapers offering certain cures for every known ailment, she despaired.

‘Can you think of anything at all you learned about Mr Antrobus which might give me some clue as to how and why he disappeared?’

Dr Goodwin pondered for a while, and a look of sadness passed like a shadow across his face. ‘I wish I could help you. I would like nothing better than to shine some light on that mystery.’

‘I believe you called upon Mrs Antrobus after that last visit?’

‘Yes, when I read in the newspapers that her husband was missing I called upon her as a matter of courtesy to express my sympathy and to ask if there was anything I could do. She told me then that the will had put her wholly into the hands of Lionel Antrobus and she feared for her future. She asked me to speak to him on her behalf and I did so, but he was most unhelpful. Of course she was unable to pay any doctor’s fees, and she did not want to trespass on my time, so it was agreed not to resume the treatments. To be honest with you, Miss Doughty, the actual treatment did not improve her condition, but what the lady truly appreciated was conversation with someone who understood that she had a genuine affliction of the ears and was not, as many have suggested, insane. Since then, I understand from the newspapers that she has been fortunate in the company of her sister and the friendship of Mr Wylie.’