‘What have you been able to remember?’

‘There were two things. Edwin once told me that in his youth he had suffered a bad fall and broken some bones in one leg, but it was so many years ago that I doubt the injury would be apparent now. He would not have mentioned it at all if it had not sometimes troubled him in wet weather. And he also once told me that he had had a tooth out while he was away from home on business, but when or where that occurred I really couldn’t say. It seems little enough, and how many hundreds of other men have also fallen and had teeth out?’

‘I was told that the remains were originally in a former lodging house on Queens Road and did not come to light until it was being demolished. Did your husband or anyone connected with him ever have reason to visit there?’

‘I can think of no reason why Edwin, or indeed anyone I know, would have gone there.’

Frances nodded. ‘There is one other matter that has recently been drawn to my attention, and I must apologise if mentioning it causes you pain, but I have been told that you have a cousin who has been in prison.’

Both sisters looked very unhappy and uncomfortable at the introduction of this new subject.

‘Is that true?’ asked Frances. ‘If so, I really should have been told about it before.’

‘It is true,’ admitted Mrs Antrobus, her face registering a deep sorrow, ‘and my unfortunate relative has been a stick that Lionel has used many a time to beat me with. Cannot a family have one such shame without it polluting the whole? But I don’t see what this has to do with Edwin.’

‘Perhaps nothing, but I must enquire after any individual who was known to your husband and who might conceivably have meant him harm.’

‘Of course, yes, I understand.’ She drooped so dejectedly that Charlotte rose and fetched her sister a cup of water from a much-swaddled carafe. The visitors were offered refreshment but declined.

Frances opened her notebook. ‘What is your cousin’s name?’

‘Robert Barfield.’

‘And his age?’

‘He is the same age as me, thirty-eight.’

‘I understand that he was in the habit of trying to get into this house to see you so he could borrow or steal money and that your husband forbade him to enter.’

‘Yes, Edwin always tried to protect me from Robert. I cannot hide what my cousin has done. He has been in prison several times, always for theft. He is the son of my mother’s sister, who died when he was about nine. His father found solace for his misery in intoxicating liquor and died of it a few months later. My parents gave Robert a home, but he was strange and wild, and I was afraid of him. Even then he was a petty thief, and I cannot count the times the police came to our door looking for him, but he was swift of foot and always managed to evade them. I recall one time when he hid by climbing out of a window and hanging there by his fingertips while the police searched the house. When he was twelve he ran away, and I have not seen him since, but I do sometimes read of him in the newspapers. It does not make happy reading. Over the years he became a highly accomplished burglar. Nothing was safe from him – he would climb up drainpipes and enter though bedroom or even attic windows to steal money and jewellery. He earned a vulgar nickname. ‘Spring-heeled Bob’, the newspapers called him. It was a relief to me the first time he was caught, I thought that punishment would deter him from a life of crime, but prison did not teach him the error of his ways, and no sooner was he free than he was stealing again.’

‘Is he in prison now?’

‘It is very probable.’ Her voice broke a little, and Charlotte gave a soft whimper of distress and came to sit by her.

‘I am sorry to upset you, but —’

Mrs Antrobus made a weak gesture of acceptance. ‘No, please, do go on. It is necessary to ask these questions, I know.’

‘Where was your cousin at the time your husband disappeared?’

‘In prison. That is why I knew he could have had nothing to do with it. He was tried at the Old Bailey for a robbery a year or so earlier and received a sentence of three years.’

‘Has he been seen in this vicinity since his release?’

‘If he has I have not been told of it.’

Frances could only feel sympathy for the dejected woman, suffering for the misdeeds of another, no part of which could be laid at her door. ‘If he should try to call on you again, please let me know. If he is up to no good the police should be informed.’

‘Of course. I am sorry for him, since he was not able to make something better of his life, but even though he is related to me by blood, I know it is best that I avoid his company.’

It was not a promising line of enquiry but Frances recorded the details in her notebook. Barfield, like Dromgoole, while not the actual culprit, might yet have some information that could prove useful. ‘I think it would be wise to await the outcome of the inquest before I take any further action.’

‘Yes, I agree, I would not have you undertake unnecessary work. Of course, even if the bones are shown to be Edwin’s, the cause of his death could well remain a mystery.’

This was very true, and Frances could only hope that she would not be asked to look into it.

‘How long does it take for a body to rot down to dry bones?’ asked Sarah, carving slices off a piece of ham for their supper, while Frances endangered her appetite by studying the subject of decomposition in a medical book.

‘That is a hard question and one with no simple answer. Bodies may be buried or left in the open or lie in water, the weather may be hot or cold and the person may be fat or thin, young or old. Then there is the action of insects and vermin. There are so many things to consider. If the remains were simply gathered up with other debris during demolition then carried to the brickyard and tipped onto the ground, that disturbance has destroyed so much that is valuable. We cannot know how much of the other material belongs to it, neither do we know whether the man died in Queens Road or somewhere else.’

Sarah brought bread and pickles to the table. ‘When did those big hoardings go up? There’s been enough about it in the newspapers.’

Frances laid the book aside. ‘It was the autumn of last year. The houses had been standing empty for a while beforehand. Then the work started and has been stopping and starting again for months during all the disputes with the vestry.’

‘I bet they weren’t empty all that time,’ said Sarah, darkly. ‘Thieves’ dens most like. Somewhere quiet and private to meet and divide up the swag. They might have quarrelled and then one of them got stabbed and left to rot.’ She lifted the muslin draping a plate to inspect the remains of yesterday’s tea party, of which there was very little since Cornelius had insisted that Charlotte be provided with a parcel of cake to take home.

‘That would explain why we have another body and no one else reported as missing,’ suggested Frances. ‘I think Mrs Antrobus may be disappointed once more. But that does lead me to another thought. Even though her disreputable cousin was in prison at the time of Mr Antrobus’ disappearance, he could have had associates who were freed before him. If he wanted to revenge himself against the man who had forbidden him the house, he might have told his friends that Mr Antrobus carried large sums of money or other valuables on his person and so encouraged them to rob and murder him.’

‘How can you find out who these friends are?’ asked Sarah reasonably.

‘If information exists then it can be found. It’s just a matter of knowing where to look and who to ask. And in this instance, I know just who to ask.’ Despite her earlier resolve to take no action pending the result of the inquest, Frances’ curiosity got the better of her, and once supper was done she wrote a letter.