‘I say that people should watch their tongues,’ replied Frances.

‘The word on the street and in the shops and parlours is that Mr Isaac Goodwin is the natural son of the doctor by one of his own patients. Do you know anything about that?’

‘My understanding is that his son is adopted and not a blood relation. It is no business of mine to enquire further. Besides, all the allegations in the world cannot prove the point. You had best take care or your editor will find himself in court again.’

‘Ah, well, I have been told that the lady concerned is deceased and cannot be hurt by it now. But it seems that she was hard of hearing and attended a hospital where she saw Dr Goodwin.’

‘May a doctor not see a patient without being slandered?’

He smiled knowingly. ‘All I can say is that someone knows something, and it is getting about.’

Frances firmly refused to be drawn into saying anything about the matter, but her earlier suspicions that the Chronicle had not been the only recipient of Mr Dromgoole’s furious outpourings were confirmed. She decided that she ought to speak to Mrs Antrobus if only to warn her about the rumours. Harriett’s main sources of information were the newspapers, correspondence, her sister and Mr Wylie, but she might well have been protected from unpleasant stories about her mother being passed around over rattling teacups.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

When Frances called at Craven Hill, Harriett Antrobus and her sister looked composed and untroubled. Charlotte went to fetch some refreshments, and Frances opened the discussion with the usual polite enquiries after Mrs Antrobus’ wellbeing.

Harriett smiled. ‘I live my life as I must, of course. I have not been disturbed by the police again, which is both a good and a bad thing. I had hoped to be brought more news but it seems there is none to be had. Have you learned anything?’

‘I regret that I have nothing new as regards the identity of the remains found in Queens Road. I will attend the adjourned inquest and can only hope that Dr Bond can throw new light on the unfortunate business. You do know, I suppose, that Mr Wylie overstepped what was wise in his evidence?’

Mrs Antrobus gave a soft little laugh. ‘Oh, the silly man! He confessed all to me and was quite ashamed of himself, as he should have been. But he is kind and well meaning, and thought he was acting for the best. I have been very firm with him and said he must do nothing of the sort again. To be found out in such inadvisable behaviour could only harm our prospects. I do, however, have one happy piece of news. You know of course that your uncle, Mr Martin, was good enough to conduct my sister home when she was so distressed after my brother-in-law’s recent threats. We persuaded him to stay for tea and found him a very gentlemanly and sympathetic visitor. He has expressed an interest in renting part of the house – at least,’ she smiled, ‘he says it is the house he is interested in – and has called again several times since. Charlotte has shown him the accommodation and she told me he is very pleased indeed with what he has seen.’

The implication in her tone was very clear, and Frances hardly knew what to say.

‘But I may be running ahead of myself,’ admitted Harriett. ‘My sister has known very little happiness, and her selfless devotion to our dear late mother and to me have been the enemy of her chances in life, although no word of complaint has ever passed her lips.’

Frances, though surprised, found herself content with the thought of Cornelius and Charlotte making a match. Late marriages, when the tastes and character of both parties were settled, and neither had any illusions about the realities of domesticity, could be very happy.

‘I wish them both well,’ she said warmly. ‘But to turn to other matters: have you heard anything more from Mr Marsden?’

‘I am thankful that I have not. Mr Rawsthorne has called and says he is keeping him at bay while the inquest is undecided. After that – I do not know.’

Charlotte brought tea and served it out with some thin slices of sponge cake, which, Harriett made a great point of mentioning, her sister had made with her very own hands. Charlotte joined them and smiled a little bashfully at Frances.

‘I do not enjoy being the bearer of some distressing news,’ continued Frances, uncomfortably, putting down her little wooden tea bowl, ‘but I am afraid it is necessary, and as a consequence I do need to ask you some questions.’

‘Oh, poor Harriett,’ murmured Charlotte, and she leaned across and patted her sister’s hand, comfortingly.

Mrs Antrobus tried to remain calm and resolute, but even so, she trembled slightly. ‘Do not spare me, Miss Doughty. I must know all, however unfortunate.’

‘Have you been told that Dr Goodwin is being questioned by the police about a murder?’

There was a sharp intake of breath. ‘A murder? I can hardly believe it! Surely not! Oh, but you must mean as a witness; he cannot be a suspect!’

‘I am afraid he is currently suspected. I am not engaged to act for him and can only hope that he is released soon.’

‘There must be a mistake,’ protested Charlotte.

Mrs Antrobus nodded emphatically. ‘I agree. A man such as Dr Goodwin would not, could not do such a thing! But who is dead?’

Frances was unsure whether either sister knew the victim and watched them both carefully as she spoke. ‘The murdered man is Mr Eckley, the headmaster of the Bayswater School for the Deaf.’ Mrs Antrobus expressed only great surprise, but Charlotte was momentarily appalled and recovered her composure with an effort. ‘I agree that Dr Goodwin cannot be responsible,’ continued Frances. ‘You will have read in the newspapers that he has a legal dispute with Mr Eckley. Unfortunately the law alone was not enough for Mr Eckley who attempted an assault on the character of Dr Goodwin, one that threatened his reputation and professional standing. I believe this is the main reason for the police’s suspicion. I know nothing against Dr Goodwin, and I am sure that the attack was ill founded. But the result was that a great many rumours which arose as a result of the quarrel with Mr Dromgoole have been re-awakened, and I fear that they may touch upon your family.’

‘On our family?’ Mrs Antrobus looked mystified. ‘I don’t understand. How can that be?’

‘Mr Eckley, in a misguided attempt to strengthen his case, employed a detective – not myself – to uncover anything that might harm Dr Goodwin. He found an old story, a slander: the suggestion that Mr Isaac Goodwin, who is the doctor’s adopted son, is actually his natural son. The lady who has been named as the mother was a patient of Dr Goodwin’s, a Mrs Pearce.’

The sisters looked at each other, appalled, and Harriett gave a little moan.

‘Was your mother a patient of Dr Goodwin? If not then the rumours must concern another lady entirely.’

There was a miserable silence, during which the two women clasped each other’s hands for support. ‘Our mother,’ began Charlotte, at long last, ‘was hard of hearing, and towards the end of her life she was almost completely deaf. Over the years she was attended by a number of doctors, although many were so long ago we could not tell you all their names. I do think – yes, I believe she did consult Dr Goodwin at the hospital. But I hardly need to tell you that these terrible rumours are quite false, indeed unthinkable and impossible.’

‘Mr Dromgoole wrote a letter to the Chronicle in the summer of 1877, which the newspaper very wisely did not publish, alleging that Dr Goodwin was still conducting secret meetings with the lady in question.’

‘Where are these meetings supposed to have taken place?’ asked Charlotte.

‘He said it was a holy place, I imagine he was referring to a church.’

‘Our mother passed away in December 1877 and was an invalid for the last year of her life. She had a weak heart and could not walk more than a few steps without assistance. Dr Goodwin did not come to our home and mother was unable to leave it without my help. She conducted her prayers privately. Even if Mr Dromgoole was not inventing or imagining his story, which I think is most probably the case, he was undoubtedly mistaken.’