Chapter 6 #2
“Interesting,” Henry admitted. If it was true, it surely made her more empathetic to those in her care, and unlikely to subject them to anything too unpleasant. At least, one would hope.
“I can’t say I cared for the isolation required of the guests, but I understood why. Worry about anything other than one’s health can be distracting.”
“How long was he there?” Fletcher asked quietly.
“Six weeks.”
“Did you have any contact with him during that time?” Henry still thought visits from loved ones could be of benefit. How could that not lift the spirits?
His host shook his head. “Not directly. I went to the sanatorium and met with the doctor who provided an update, but I wasn’t allowed to see him.”
“What sort of details were you told?” Henry had to hope Mr. Dunn could tell them exactly what the doctor had said.
“Looking back now, I realize she offered nothing more than some empty phrases.” What looked like regret shadowed the nephew’s face. “She said things like, ‘his treatment is progressing’ and ‘he’s showing signs of improvement’.” He shrugged. “Enough to keep one hopeful, but nothing specific.”
“Though I suppose it would be difficult for her to say the cancer was cured in that short period.” Six weeks surely wasn’t long when it came to those suffering from such a serious disease.
“You may be right.” The man’s lips tightened. “But I truly became alarmed when his body was returned to us.”
“Oh?” Henry watched carefully as Mr. Dunn shook his head, closing his eyes briefly.
“I…I saw him at the undertaker’s, and he was—forgive me, it was most distressing. He was incredibly thin. So frail. I’m aware one of his treatments was fasting to supposedly reduce the toxins in the body, but still...” His eyes met Henry’s, the horror in them obvious. “It was terribly shocking.”
“I can imagine.” Exactly how much fasting did this doctor think was necessary?
Mr. Dunn shifted uneasily in his chair. “Then there are the…ahem. Financial issues.”
Henry’s interest piqued further. “What do you mean?”
The man’s cheeks turned ruddy, as if embarrassed to raise the topic. “I asked for an accounting of the fees my uncle paid, and the amount was significant. But even worse, I was told my uncle chose to amend his will a week before his death to leave his entire estate to the sanatorium.”
“That must’ve come as a surprise.” Henry resisted the urge to look at Fletcher to see what he thought. Hadn’t they just been talking about money?
“An unpleasant one, to say the least, and nearly impossible to believe.” Mr. Dunn glanced between Henry and Fletcher.
“Please understand me, my uncle worked hard all his life to earn that money. His wife died young and they never had children—I was, I suppose, like a son to them. With few expenses and wise investments, he’d built his savings into a significant sum. ”
“And all of it stayed with the sanatorium,” Henry concluded.
“Every penny.” His eyes were wide with hurt and disbelief. “They said Uncle Walter requested assistance changing his will as he wanted to leave his funds to the sanatorium for further research and study.”
What exactly was one meant to say to that? “That’s quite generous.”
Mr. Dunn scoffed. “If you’d met him, you would never use that word to describe him. He always believed anyone who put in effort could make a fortune, just as he had—and he had no idea how expensive children can be.”
“You have children, sir?” Henry asked, knowing the answer before it was uttered.
“Six.” He gave the number almost reluctantly. “It isn’t easy, not that I would give them up for the world. But I will admit that an inheritance of any amount from Uncle Walter would’ve been helpful.”
He had Henry’s sympathy; he’d seen many families who lived on the brink of poverty. One single misfortune could upend their lives. But that didn’t necessarily mean Hollowgate Heights had done anything illegal.
Still, the situation sounded at the very least questionable. “Did the sanatorium present you with a copy of this new will?”
“They showed it to me, and it had what appeared to be my uncle’s signature on it. But was it signed under duress? Was he in his right mind—could a man be, after wasting away like that? After all, he’d been undergoing rather drastic treatments for nearly six weeks.”
Henry considered their options. He could understand Mr. Dunn’s concern, even if it came partly out of self-preservation. A close look at the document the late Mr. Dunn had signed could prove helpful, as would an examination of his body. “Has a postmortem been performed?”
“Yes, but all it stated was that he died of cancer.” The man shook his head again. “But I don’t know. I just can’t let it go.”
Fletcher cleared his throat. “Did he have any other family? Any close friends who might have more information?”
“A few friends, but no other relatives. My uncle was a bit of a Scrooge, if you understand my meaning. Always complaining that I only acted like I cared because of his money.”
Henry hoped that wasn’t true, but with a little digging, he would soon know. That Mr. Dunn had admitted freely what his uncle thought showed him in a favorable light.
“If you can provide a list of friends, where the postmortem was performed, any other details you think would be helpful, we will look into the matter.” That was the most Henry could promise. “There is a chance we might need to perform a second examination of the body.”
His host’s jaw tightened. “I’d rather that wasn’t necessary, but I suppose I understand the reason.”
If not for his previous questions about Hollowgate Heights, Henry wasn’t sure whether the information Mr. Dunn had provided would warrant an investigation. But the first thing he intended to do was get a copy of the will the deceased man supposedly signed, along with the postmortem report.
Mr. Dunn took a few minutes to write down the information Henry had requested and gathered a few other items. “Here’s the name of my uncle’s solicitor who received a copy of the amended will, the names of a few of Uncle Walter’s friends, and a letter from him with his signature.”
By the time they left a quarter of an hour later, they had enough to move forward.
“Sounds suspicious to me,” Fletcher muttered as they headed back to the Yard.
“I had my doubts until he mentioned that his uncle had signed over his estate,” Henry admitted. “It’s difficult to believe he’d act so out of character unless he’d been miraculously cured.”
“And we know that isn’t the case,” Fletcher added. “Assuming he truly died from cancer.”
“I have the feeling we might need a second postmortem performed.”
“Mr. Taylor should be able to help, eh?” his sergeant suggested.
Henry nodded. “Especially as he happened to examine another body from Hollowgate Heights.”
“I wonder what illness Dr. Thorne suffered from that she managed to cure.”
“Good question.” And one Henry hadn’t considered. “I think we will soon be visiting with her as well.”
They walked for a time, each sifting through their thoughts.
“I forgot to mention, I left a message for Marcus at the Royal Arms last evening,” Henry said at length. “Thought he might be able to provide assistance in the jewelry theft case.”
“Good idea. The lad’s as sharp as a tack. Better than some of our other informants.”
Henry shared an amused glance with Fletcher. “Perhaps we’ll make a police officer out of him if he keeps this up.”
“You’ll have to mention the idea to him. See if it takes hold.”
Henry nodded, deciding he’d continue to try to convince Marcus to attend the school Amelia was involved with.
In truth, he didn’t care what Marcus chose to do with his life, as long as he left Whitechapel behind.
Those dangerous streets were no place for a child, and Henry wanted to do what he could to protect the boy.
Before he found friends of a less savory nature.