‘Please – no,’ begged Harriett.
‘Inspector – Uncle – might I suggest something?’ Frances interrupted. ‘I think in this very particular and unusual case it would be better if Mrs Antrobus was not taken to the police station but placed in some other secure custody, somewhere that would not be torture to her. A sanatorium, somewhere quiet. You could employ suitable women to guard her.’
‘I don’t have armies of women at my beck and call to guard special prisoners,’ argued Sharrock, ‘neither do the police have limitless monies for fancy sanatoriums.’
‘I am sure some arrangement could be made. Would you consider it? Uncle, can you help?’
Cornelius hesitated and then gave in. ‘Very well, for Charlotte’s sake, I will see what I can do.’
‘I don’t know, it’s very irregular,’ Sharrock grumbled.
‘Please,’ Harriett begged again, ‘please don’t take me to that awful place.’
Sharrock looked dubious.
‘Perhaps,’ Frances went on, ‘the police would be willing to make a special case if, in return, Mrs Antrobus was to make a full confession of her crimes – all of them?’
‘All of them?’ bellowed Sharrock. ‘How many are there?’
Harriett, with her hands over her ears, moaned ‘Yes, yes, I will confess, only please everyone be quiet.’
‘Let us all calm down and sit quietly,’ agreed Frances.
The company was seated but no one in the room rested easy. Cornelius dragged his hands distractedly through his hair. ‘What other crimes?’
‘The murder of Charles Henderson and the murder of her husband.’
Harriett wiped her eyes. ‘Please fetch me some water. I will do as you say.’
‘I don’t understand this at all,’ sighed Sharrock, ‘but I am sure Miss Doughty will explain, as she usually does.’
When Mrs Antrobus was given a refreshing drink, and the Inspector and Cornelius were quiet and attentive, Frances began.
‘This is what I think happened. The two misses Pearce, Harriett and Charlotte, were the daughters of the Antrobus brothers’ senior assistant, and when Mr Edwin became fascinated by the younger sister it was very good fortune for her. But his brother, Mr Lionel, was unhappy about the match. It would be some years before Edwin Antrobus could make a sufficient fortune to marry, and Miss Harriett must have feared that his brother would find some way of preventing it. Mr Edwin was, however, the principal heir of his uncle, Charles Henderson, who had willed him this house and its furnishings and some investments. With such a handsome legacy the couple would be able to marry at once. But Mr Henderson was only thirty-seven and, apart from his headaches, in good health.
‘On the night of Mr Henderson’s death he had gone to get a key to his study to show the company his collection of snuffboxes. Mrs Pearce was feeling unwell, and Harriett took her mother into the parlour to look after her, but having settled her mother there, I think she hurried up to the study where she flattered Mr Henderson into showing her the pistol and how it was loaded. She must have been shown the study on an earlier visit and knew the gun was kept there. I expect she asked to hold the gun, promising to be careful. Then she shot him. She had only time to run into the nearest room, the bathroom probably, to hide, which was why the study door was found open. Edwin Antrobus rushed up the stairs and found his uncle’s corpse. Harriet stayed in the bathroom until he had gone down to tell the others what had happened, and while he was so engaged she managed to creep downstairs to rejoin her mother in the parlour, who was sufficiently unwell that she was easily persuaded that her daughter had never left her side. I do wonder if Mr Henderson’s Aunt Lily, who had gone to look for the key and was in the hallway at the time her nephew was killed, knew more than she was able to say. Perhaps she saw the murderer creeping downstairs. But the shock was so great that she was a broken woman and died soon afterwards.’ Frances glanced at Harriet, who was icily calm. ‘How did Aunt Lily die?’
‘Peacefully, in her sleep,’ said Mrs Antrobus, without a flicker of expression. ‘She was very old.’
‘I see. But there was one unforeseen result of the murder, was there not? A gun fired in a small space like a room is very loud indeed. Your ears were never the same afterwards. Mrs Fisher told me that your husband used to sing when his uncle played the piano and had a voice like a songbird, but he never sang again after his uncle’s death. She must have thought it was because he did not have the heart to do so, but maybe there was another reason, maybe it was because his voice hurt your ears. The condition became worse over the years until it was impossible for you to live a normal life, but to avoid suspicion you were able to blame it on the firework display.’
Harriett sipped her water but said nothing.
‘Your husband never suspected you of murdering his uncle until shortly before his last journey. He had a conversation with Dr Goodwin, who is an otologist, an expert on afflictions of the ears, unlike the other men who saw you. Your husband expressed the opinion that your condition could not have been caused by the firework display, and Dr Goodwin advised him that even if that was so, there are many other causes.’ Frances took from her pocket Dr Goodwin’s booklet on ear pain. ‘He lists them here: a blow to the head; loud music, such as the sound of an orchestra which can affect the players; the noise of heavy machinery; loud explosions; even a single gunshot if close by can all produce the condition known as hyperacusis.’ She closed the book. ‘Did he realise then? Did you know before he went away that he planned to have you put in an asylum? Not because he thought you were mad but because he knew you to be a heartless murderer and wanted to avoid a trial that would distress his sons. There was nothing you could do until a suitable instrument arrived in the shape of your cousin Robert Barfield. He was in a sorry condition, ragged, limping from a poorly healed leg injury and in pain from a toothache. You were able to provide him with what he needed to appear respectable and engaged him to murder your husband. Even though you knew the will would be unkind to you, you felt sure that as a widow you would be able to challenge it. The plan, I think, was for Barfield to go to Bristol and kill your husband there, to place the crime far from home, but somehow he failed. Your husband, despite your cousin’s protests that he was a reformed man, never gave him the opportunity. And so they returned to London. How and where the murder took place I don’t know, but Barfield now only had one hold over you, he knew the location of the body. He tried to blackmail you by making you sign over the inheritance he thought you would receive before he would reveal it, but you refused. He stole your husband’s ring and other trinkets from his dressing room and then tried, unsuccessfully, to blackmail Dr Goodwin by alleging that he had murdered your husband. When he failed to reappear, both you and Dr Goodwin were afraid that he would come back, but he was in fact dead, having fallen down the cellar stairs at the school.’
Inspector Sharrock and Cornelius listened to the long tale in silence.
‘And now we come to the murder of Mr Eckley, whose enquiries threatened the happiness of your sister, her marriage representing your best escape from the tyranny of your brother-in-law. On the day of the murder you pretended to have a headache and wrote and posted the letter making an appointment, then when your sister thought you were asleep, you were able to closely muffle your ears and creep out of the house, going by the quietest route to meet him. Your guilt of the murder of Mr Eckley can be proved. The murdered man’s watch and the knife that killed him are tied to this house. There is also your knowledge of the theft of the watch that you revealed before three witnesses and your lies to try and save yourself by incriminating your sister. How heartlessly you turned on her when you were finally cornered, and then, almost in a breath, you fastened your sights upon my uncle.’