Sarah looked through the book and made another sign. ‘That means “yes”,’ she said.

Once Frances had completed her plans, which included a visit to Dr Collin, who had consented to an appointment, there followed a pleasant evening’s diversion, after which they had both managed to learn the finger alphabet and some useful signs.

‘I can see how a child might learn this very quickly,’ said Frances. ‘If a teacher makes the sign for a house and shows the child a picture of a house, and then the word “house” written down, then the child has learned to speak and read at the same time. Imagine,’ she went on, ‘the fate of children born before such a thing was devised. They would live their lives in silence, unable to speak or play a part in the world. How wonderful that there is a school to teach the signs and men like Dr Goodwin.’

Frances spent most of the next day on her round of visits to Edwin Antrobus’ London associates. After a succession of stuffy shops and offices she found that his connections in the tobacco trade knew nothing of him as an individual and had not seen or heard from him since his departure for Bristol in October 1877. She also felt that she had inhaled so much tobacco scent that she had almost become a partaker of it herself.

Frances had received a note from Charlotte Pearce with the names that she and her sister had been able to recall of the doctors who had attended Mrs Antrobus. There was some awkwardness about approaching medical men, however, since they all started with the assumption that Frances wanted confidential information about a patient, and she had to take great pains to explain to them that it was the patient’s husband about whom she was enquiring. With the exception of Dr Goodwin, all were in general practice, and while even those who had only visited the Antrobus home once easily remembered the unusual case, none was able to supply any useful information about the missing man. All tended to assume that since they had not been asked for a second visit their proposed ‘cures’ had been successful and that Mrs Antrobus’ current condition was due to her failure to follow their advice or an unexpected relapse.

Dr Collin was of greater interest since he was the Antrobus’ family practitioner, better acquainted with the missing man, and had also examined the remains found in the canal. The ease with which Frances had secured an interview with him was explained as soon as she entered his consulting room.

Dr Collin was a tall lean man in his fifties with an assured air and a manner of practised kindliness towards his patients. Ladies especially took great comfort from his silver grey hair, which implied wisdom, and the sympathy expressed in his mild eyes. His clarity and confidence made him much sought after as a medical witness at trials and inquests, but Frances was well aware that a tone of certainty in the voice and being correct did not always go hand in hand. She had seen the prideful fallible man under the mask, and he knew it.

‘You appreciate that although this is not a medical consultation my time is valuable, and you will receive a bill for my usual fee,’ he said brusquely when she had explained her mission.

None of the other doctors had been unkind enough to charge Frances for a brief conversation, but she did not say so. If he was hoping to deter her, he would be disappointed. ‘That will be quite in order,’ she replied. ‘When was the last time you spoke to Mr Edwin Antrobus?’

Dr Collin consulted his appointment diary. ‘That would be the last time I saw Mrs Antrobus. It was 5 June 1877.’

‘I appreciate that this was over four months before his last journey to Bristol, but did Mr Antrobus say something or was there anything in his manner which you think might have a bearing on his subsequent disappearance?’

Collin snapped the book shut. ‘It is easy to look back on the past with the greater wisdom of time and see what one ought to have seen then or perhaps even see what was not there.’

Frances gave him a quizzical look. Was this an olive branch?

‘I try not to do so,’ he added, firmly. ‘It was a professional visit like any other.’

‘What was your very first impression when you heard that Mr Antrobus had not returned from his visit to Bristol?’

He nodded. ‘A good question. I suppose I thought at first that he must have suffered an accident or been taken ill and would soon be found, but as time passed, I admit that I did start to wonder if he had gone away of his own volition. I surely do not need to say what might have driven him to do so.’

‘Did he ever speak to you about the arrangements he had made in the event of his death?’

‘Not in so many words, but he was naturally anxious for his family because he felt that his wife was unable to look after either herself or his sons. If there were any legal documents he had prepared he did not discuss them with me.’

‘I have been told that shortly before he departed for Bristol he changed his mind and became convinced that Mrs Antrobus should be entrusted with the management of her affairs. He was intending to make a new will to that effect. Do you know anything about that?’

‘No. In fact you surprise me considerably by that assertion. Who told you this?’

‘Mrs Antrobus.’

Collin gave a short, scornful laugh. ‘I would hardly trust her word on the matter.’

‘Nevertheless, she believes that her husband had satisfied himself that she was not suffering from an affliction of the mind but the ears. He may have consulted someone shortly before his journey.’

‘Not Goodwin?’ said Collin, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

‘After his consultation with Dr Goodwin.’

‘If he fell into the hands of charlatans who advertise cures for the incurable then I can only feel sorry for him.’

‘You can’t suggest who he might have gone to?’

‘I have nothing to do with such people and would advise anyone else the same.’ He folded his arms. ‘Is that all?’

‘I would like to discuss the remains found in the canal, the ones Mrs Antrobus thought might be those of her husband, since you examined them and gave evidence at the inquest.’

Collin brightened at the recollection. ‘Yes, that was extremely interesting. It is not very often that I have the opportunity to examine a specimen of adipocere. I actually arranged for a photograph to be taken. I don’t suppose,’ he suggested, with something approaching a smirk, ‘that you will wish to see it.’

It was a challenge and Frances decided to accept. ‘I would like to see it very much. It will be most educational.’

He gave a dubious twitch of the eyebrows, hesitated, then reached down an album of pictures from his bookshelf, placed it on the desk and leafed through it. Even seeing it upside down Frances could see that it was entirely composed of medical curiosities: unusual deformities, the results of horrible accidents, massive goitres, bulging hernias and strange births. One page he hastily covered with a sheet of plain paper; presumably it related to the male anatomy and was therefore unsuitable for her eyes. At last he turned the book around so that Frances could view it.

Not so long ago Frances had discovered a body buried in a ditch and it had been badly decomposed, the features not admitting of any identification. She had recently consulted her father’s medical books on the subject of adipocere and learned that when a body was immersed in water and not exposed to air, the fatty part of the flesh did not putrefy in the usual way but was transformed into a waxy substance that preserved its shape. Even though she had prepared herself for it, the canal remains were an unpleasant sight. It might have been better if all the head had been there and completely covered with pale flesh, looking more like a man, but the action of passing barges had destroyed so much, broken and torn the body until little remained. The knife slash across the throat was easily visible, however. It was a single deep cut that went down to the bone.