She left him to his thoughts.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

On the following morning Sarah at last discovered the Antrobus’ former charlady, by a method she was almost ashamed to relate. Realising that the servant might have recommended a relative or friend to the position when she decided to give up the work, Sarah had spoken to the woman currently employed at Craven Hill and found that she was none other than a neighbour of Mrs Fisher, the previous incumbent. Sarah called on Mrs Fisher and, after an interesting discussion involving beer, decided to bring her to Frances to tell her story.

Mrs Fisher had worked for Edwin Antrobus’ uncle Mr Henderson up to the time of his death and thereafter for his heir. She had been in the house at the time of the unfortunate accident with the pistol, and it was a tale she was determined to tell to anyone who would listen and probably a great many others who preferred not.

‘I shall never forget that day!’ she declared, breathing beery fumes across the parlour table. ‘The family was there for dinner, Mr Henderson and his old aunts, three of them, all long gone now, and Mr Edwin Antrobus and his intended and her family. Mr Henderson always had such lovely evenings. He used to play the piano after dinner while Mr Antrobus sang. He had a beautiful voice, very sweet and light, like a songbird. Good enough for the stage. If I got the chance I used to creep up into the hall to listen. That night I was just coming up from the kitchen, hoping to hear some music, when there was this terrible loud bang from upstairs and a big commotion.

‘Mr Edwin, he come rushing out of the drawing room and goes running up the stairs, and two of the old ladies came out, but they stayed down in the hallway; they didn’t dare go up.

‘Then after a few minutes Mr Edwin came down and he was very upset and said there had been a terrible accident and Mr Henderson was dead and there was nothing anyone could do.’ She heaved a sorrowful sigh and hiccupped loudly, wiping her face with her shawl.

‘There were rumours that Mr Henderson had taken his own life,’ prompted Frances, ‘and the inquest only held that it was an accident in order to spare the feelings of the family.’

‘I don’t know about no inquest. But he used to have a bad head sometimes, migraine he called it, and there weren’t nothing that could take it away. So perhaps he couldn’t stand no more of it and decided to blow his head off.’ She shrugged. ‘Or he might have been cleaning the gun and didn’t see it was loaded.’

‘Would a man go and clean his gun after dinner with guests in the house? Had he done such a thing before?’

‘No, he used to clean it before he went out shooting and after he came back.’

‘And of course, it was through his death that Mr Antrobus inherited his fortune.’

Mrs Fisher winced and rubbed her stomach. ‘Poor man. He said he would have given it all away just to get that terrible sight out his head. But he never could.’

‘Were he and Mrs Antrobus a contented couple?’

‘Contented enough. You know about her ears, of course?’

‘Yes.’

‘She used to play the piano like Mr Henderson, only very quiet, but Mr Edwin never sang for her. I don’t think he ever sang again after his uncle died. You know, my brother has the same thing as Mrs Antrobus. He was in the ironworks ten years, and all that banging and clanging of the hammers did for him. He can’t even bear to hear birds singing now, and he used to like to listen to the birds,’ she added wistfully.

‘Did you ever see any reason to suppose that Mr Antrobus would desert his wife, or did he have any enemies who might have harmed him?’

‘No.’

‘There was a man who tried to get into the house, a ragged looking man, who he turned away. I was told you’d chased him off.’

She laughed. ‘Oh yes, he had a cheek all right! I sent him packing more than once. Caught him trying to get in at a window and so I hit him with my broom, and off he went sliding down the drainpipe and jumped over the back wall like a rabbit. Lizzie told me he was Mrs Antrobus’ cousin, but I didn’t believe it. He was just saying that so she’d let him in.’

‘But she thought he was? Why was that?’

‘Can’t remember now, something about Mrs Antrobus being unhappy at having such a bad man in the family.’

‘Did he ever get in to steal anything?’

‘Not that I know of.’

‘When did you last see Mr Antrobus?’

‘Oh, I didn’t see him much at all because he was out at his business when I was there.’

‘You don’t know if he was wearing his signet ring when he left for Bristol?’

She shrugged and hiccupped again. ‘You haven’t got a bit of peppermint about you?’

‘So,’ said Frances to Sarah after Mrs Fisher had gone and the room had been sprinkled with lavender water. ‘The man who said he was Mrs Antrobus’ cousin Robert Barfield and tried but failed to get into the house, didn’t limp. Indeed everything I have heard about Mr Barfield suggests that he was very agile. But who was the limping man? And do we have several limping men or just the one?’ Frances opened her notebook and made a list.

‘We first encounter a limping man in late September 1877 when he lodged in Redan Place. He is shabbily dressed, suffers from toothache and has no bag or ring. We next find a limping man on 3 October lodging with Mrs Eves, rather better dressed, no bag, probably no ring and no toothache.’

‘The same man only with a bit of money?’ suggested Sarah.

‘Very possibly. On the 13th of October 1877 a limping man is seen with Mr Edwin Antrobus at Bristol station. Soon afterwards Mrs Eves’ lodger is carrying a bag very like the one Mr Antrobus had and wears a signet ring.’

‘Then he’s the man on the train.’

‘I think so. He then goes missing in November.’

‘When did the man fall down into the cellar?’

‘I don’t know the exact date, but there is nothing to suggest that Mrs Eves’ lodger cannot be the same man who tried to blackmail Dr Goodwin and the man whose bones were later deposited in Mr Whiteley’s property in Queens Road. But he was not Mr Antrobus. Dr Goodwin is very certain that the man who tried to blackmail him was not Mr Antrobus, and it is clear from Dr Bond’s recent examination of the remains that the limp was not feigned.’

‘We still don’t know for sure if Mr Antrobus was wearing his ring when he went away,’ said Sarah. ‘If it was too tight he might have taken it somewhere to get it made bigger, and then it got stolen. If that man had it how did he get it?’

Frances looked at her notes. ‘You spoke to the parlourmaid Lizzie before the ring was found, so she was never asked about it. Perhaps we should see her again. She might remember something.’

Lizzie was about to enjoy a rare half-day holiday but was persuaded by Sarah to spare a short hour that afternoon as long as it involved a visit to a teashop. Frances met her there and found the maid dressed in some style, in a gown most probably given to her by her new mistress, cast off as unfashionable and made over with care. Her bonnet, which had started out quite plain, had been be-ribboned almost to the point of coquettishness. Many people were shocked at such displays, and newspapers often published letters of complaint, deploring the fact that it was becoming impossible nowadays to tell the difference between a lady and a servant.

Lizzie cheerfully ordered a pot of tea, with sponge cake, scones and strawberry tarts, and there was no question but Frances would be paying for the treat.

‘I spoke to Mrs Fisher today,’ said Frances as a cream tea sufficient for four people was brought to the table. ‘She told me a very amusing story of how she chased off a ragged man from Mr Antrobus’ house with a broom.’