A Case of Doubtful Death (22 page)

‘The truth. The things you have previously omitted to mention.’

He bridled, but Frances had long ago lost any patience or respect for those who avoided telling her what she wanted to know by standing on their reputations, which often did not bear a close examination.

‘This is hard enough for me to bear without your insinuations,’ he protested.

‘I must confess,’ said Frances, ‘that had I been asked before this morning what I thought might be found in Dr Mackenzie’s coffin, I would have replied stones, or bricks, or lead – anything that might weigh the same as a corpse, anything, indeed, except a body, let alone that of Dr Mackenzie. It does now appear that there is indeed a corpse in the coffin, but I have yet to be convinced of its identity.’

‘Oh this is absurd!’ Bonner exclaimed in exasperation.

‘Dr Mackenzie told you a story that would not reflect on his honour, to persuade you to help fabricate evidence of his death. Mr Palmer may have been involved in the deception, or if not, he was sent away on some errand. You and Mackenzie together then placed a body in the coffin. I am sure there are many unclaimed corpses lying in workhouse mortuaries to which a doctor might have had access without arousing suspicion, and it was just a matter of waiting until one came along that resembled Dr Mackenzie. People who are told they are viewing a body of a named person will see what they expect to see. Any differences will be put down to the relaxation of features after death. So – tell me Dr Bonner – where is he?’

At the altar, Mr Fairbrother had stopped praying and turned to stare at her with an expression of frank astonishment.

‘Really, Miss Doughty,’ said Bonner, ‘it seems to me that you have mistaken your calling and ought to be writing works of popular fiction. Detective novels would suit you very well.’

‘Do not attempt to distract me with insults. You were, on your own admission, present when the body was placed in the coffin, so you must know from whence it came and whose it was.’

Bonner gestured frantically with his fists, dropping his stick, which Frances had to pick up for him. It was a weighty object with a gnarled top and she thought that his gout must be troubling him more than he might like to admit. ‘I do, of
course
I do; the body is that of Dr Mackenzie. I cannot account for the mechanism in the coffin having been operated, but I am sure that any examination will reveal that he died from a weak heart as certified by me, and at the time and date stated. I suspect that the mechanism in the coffin was at fault, or was operated by the gases of decomposition, which would account for what we saw.’

Despite her best efforts, Dr Bonner refused to move from that position, and Frances was obliged to comfort herself with the thought that a proper identification, post-mortem examination and inquest would soon follow. She could be patient. Nevertheless, with her suspicions very thoroughly aroused, she could not help being concerned that those most likely to be called upon to identify the exhumed body were Dr Bonner, and the dim-sighted and easily duped Dr Warrinder. There was, she reflected, no one who knew Mackenzie well enough to be asked to identify the body who was not also a trusted friend or employee and therefore potentially an accomplice. ‘It is my intention,’ said Frances, ‘to reveal my suspicions to the police and insist that the identification of the remains is carried out by several persons.’

‘Do as you please,’ said Bonner, flapping his hand at her dismissively, ‘you will only make yourself appear ridiculous.’

Fairbrother, shaking his head, turned from her as if afraid that she would question him next, but Frances thought that if she had any questions to ask him this would be better done when his mentor was not present.

Some worried-looking gentlemen came to take the body away and a few moments after they had descended into the catacombs, there was a gentle gurgling of liquid from the pump and the catafalque began to sink smoothly through the floor. The process took about fifteen minutes and then there was a wait for the coffin to be fetched before the watery whisper started again, and the black draped coffin began to be seen. While Frances was not afraid of a coffin as such, seeing one rise up out of the floor almost as if it was doing so under its own power was a trifle unnerving. When the catafalque was once more in place, Frances approached it before the cemetery officials could return and, to the astonishment of the three medical men, lifted the cloth to satisfy herself that the coffin was indeed that of Dr Mackenzie. She could do no more and it was soon borne away to a waiting hearse to be removed to Kilburn mortuary.

‘I will of course attend the inquest,’ said Frances. ‘I especially look forward to the establishment of the deceased’s identity.’

Dr Bonner, she thought, was giving an extraordinary display of innocence, but that should come easily to him. Was it not a part of his profession to soothe the sick with half-truths and offer the dying the comfort of lies? Perhaps he was relying on the passage of time obscuring the features of the deceased and his reputation as a medical man of eminence in the district securing the hoped-for result.

Frances had only a short distance to walk to Kilburn police station where, as she might have anticipated, the desk sergeant regarded her as a young lady who had perhaps taken too much in the way of drink, or was subject to attacks of hysteria, but he promised to make a note of her concerns about suitable persons being chosen to identify the remains. ‘If you are in any doubts about me,’ she told him, ‘I suggest you have a word with Inspector Sharrock at Paddington Green, who will vouch for the fact that when I make a great deal of noise about something it is not without good cause!’ Inspector Sharrock, while publicly holding Frances to be a meddler who ought to be out looking for a husband and not concerning herself with murders, had, she felt sure, been obliged to admit to himself if no one else that she had successfully concluded a number of knotty cases. She was advised that Dr Hardwicke, the coroner, would be hearing cases at Providence Hall, Paddington on Monday and that the proceedings would, in all probability, open then.

The one mystery that Frances felt sure she would never solve was how Mrs Chiffley’s parrot had ever come to be in the catacombs, although she could essay a guess. The Chiffleys did not live very far from All Souls. In all probability the bird, after circling the grey houses of Kensal Green, had been attracted by the delightful shrubs and flowers of the cemetery and had flown down to disport itself amongst the gravestones. Perhaps it had subsisted on fragments of bread from the picnic baskets of visitors, and been captured by one of the cemetery officials who had then concealed it and scoured the newspapers for an advertisement offering a reward for its return. That reward was now hers, but it would, she was sure, be followed by anxious requests from the public to search for every missing songbird in Paddington.

That Sunday after church Sarah wanted to entertain Tom to tea, partly, thought Frances, to introduce him to a more genteel manner of refreshing himself and fit him for the more prosperous future he had been promised, but also, she felt sure, to divert her from matters of business and quiet her mind. Tom duly arrived as smart and spruced as it was possible for him to be by his own efforts, which meant that Sarah had only to wash and polish and arrange him for about twenty minutes until she thought him fit to sit at the table. Tom revealed that he was now in business on his own account. He had organised a band of ‘men’ as he called them, although Frances felt sure that none of them was much more than twelve, and they would assemble in the doorway of Mr Beccles’ shop on the Grove, which was commodious and rarely busy otherwise, to be assigned their tasks. Busy gentlemen in the Grove were starting to learn where Tom’s little army could be found and he now had a thriving trade. They slept in a small attic room above the shop, which Mr Beccles said they could have for nothing if they made deliveries for him. Sarah gazed at the diminutive businessman with almost maternal pride, and flicked her napkin at him whenever he felt tempted to wipe crumbs from his mouth with a sleeve. She gave him a bag of buns before he left.

Unusually for the first day of an inquest, where little more than evidence of identification was to be expected, the little hall on Church Street was crowded, and there could be no doubt as to which case was arousing the public interest, since the only others to be heard were rather more commonplace deaths due to a drunken fall, hydrophobia, and want of nourishment.

Mr Gillan was there with the light of anticipation in his eyes and Frances did not have to enquire as to the reason why large crowds had shown such an early curiosity about the proceedings. Doctors Bonner and Warrinder and Mr Fairbrother were also in attendance, as were Mrs Georgeson, Dr Carmichael and Mr Darscot. Frances was surprised to see her own doctor, Dr Collin, there as well, and wondered what his involvement might be. She was unable to contain her impatience and with an alacrity that might well have seemed like forwardness, took a seat beside Mr Fairbrother. Dr Bonner, nearby, sat lost in thought.

‘Have you seen the body?’ she asked. ‘What was your conclusion?’

‘I have,’ said Fairbrother, ‘and I fear that you are due for a disappointment. It is without a shadow of a doubt that of Dr Mackenzie.’

‘Oh!’ said Frances, with some surprise. ‘But can you be quite sure? You have not known him long.’

‘Yes, I am quite sure. I have been in his company a number of times, sometimes for several hours together when on duty in the Life House. I should add that Dr Collin was an acquaintance of Dr Mackenzie and has confirmed the identification.’

Frances pondered this. ‘Surely the features of the corpse were very much altered?’

‘Not at all, he was perfectly recognisable.’

‘Then the body cannot be that of Dr Mackenzie,’ Frances stated firmly. ‘If it was, after the lapse of time, some of which was spent in the warmth of the Life House, he would be greatly decomposed. Some other body, that of a man of similar appearance, was placed in the coffin before it was deposited in the catacombs.’

Fairbrother shook his head. ‘My experience in these matters is necessarily limited, but I am given to understand that the rate of decomposition of bodies or different portions of the same body can vary to a considerable degree, often for no reason that medical science can explain. I think you are mistaken and I have no doubt that on the basis of the evidence given today the coroner will determine that the body
is
that of Dr Mackenzie. However, it is intended that a full post-mortem will be carried out by a Home Office man, with Dr Collin assisting and myself taking notes, and that should remove all suspicions, even yours.’ He looked very pleased with himself. ‘It will be a most valuable experience for me.’

The inquest proceedings were necessarily brief and Dr Hardwicke, the coroner, as Fairbrother had anticipated, accepted that the remains were those of Dr Mackenzie and ordered a detailed post-mortem. Frances had assumed that this was a normal requirement given the circumstances under which the corpse had been removed from the catacombs, but Hardwicke commented that his order followed from some unusual circumstances presenting themselves at the initial examination. Frances demanded to know what these were, but both Fairbrother and Bonner were frustratingly tight-lipped. The inquest was adjourned.

Walter Crowe, who was by some curious means of communication absorbing the same hollow-eyed appearance as his betrothed, came up and tipped his hat to Frances. ‘This is an interesting development,’ he said. ‘What can it mean? Do you think it has any bearing on poor Henry’s fate?’

‘I wish I knew,’ said Frances. ‘I am still not at all convinced that the body is that of Dr Mackenzie, and I have a theory for which there is as yet no proof, but I will continue my enquiries.’

In a brief conversation with Dr Carmichael she reassured him that she had agents looking for the missing journal without informing him that they were also checking on the
bona
fides
of Dr Carmichael. She was aware that he was a source of further useful information, if she could only discover a means of extracting it, and with a new strategy in mind, made an appointment to see him later that afternoon.