sober when questioned and can be considered reliable. Apparently no one has seen or heard of any stranger in the neighbourhood. You know, of course, that when Hardcastle visited Pemberley two silly young girls employed as housemaids came forward with the story of seeing the ghost of Mrs Reilly wandering in the woodland. Appropriately, she chooses to manifest herself on the night of the full moon.”
Darcy said, “That is an old superstition. Apparently, as we later heard, the girls were there as a result of a dare and Hardcastle did not take it seriously. I thought at the time that they were telling the truth and that there could have been a woman in the woodland that night.”
Clitheroe said, “Headborough Brownrigg has spoken to them in Mrs Reynolds’s presence. They were remarkably persistent in affirming that they had seen a dark woman in the woods two days before the murder, and that she made a threatening gesture before disappearing among the trees. They are adamant that this apparition was neither of the two women at Woodland Cottage, although it is difficult to see how they can assert this so confidently since the woman was in black and faded away as soon as one of the girls screamed. If there was a woman in the woodland it is hardly of much importance. This was not a woman’s crime.”
Darcy asked, “Is Wickham co-operating with Hardcastle and the police?”
“I gather that he is erratic; sometimes he will answer the questions reasonably and at other times begins protesting that he, an innocent man, is being badgered by the police. You know, of course, that thirty pounds in notes was found in his jacket pocket; he remains resolutely uncommunicative about how this sum came into his possession, except to say that it was a loan to enable him to discharge a debt of honour and that he has solemnly sworn he will reveal nothing more. Hardcastle, as might be expected, thought that he could have stolen the money from Captain Denny’s body, but in that case it would hardly have been clean of any bloodstains, considering the blood on Wickham’s hands; nor, I imagine, would it be folded so neatly in Wickham’s notecase. I have been shown the notes and they are freshly minted. Apparently, Captain Denny told the landlord at the inn that he had no money.”
There was a moment in which neither spoke, then Clitheroe said, “I can understand that Hardcastle feels some reluctance to share information with you, as much for your protection as his, but since he is satisfied that all the family, visitors and servants at Pemberley have satisfactory alibis, it seems unnecessarily discreet to keep you in ignorance of important developments. I have to tell you, therefore, that he thinks the police have found the weapon, a large smooth-edged stone slab which was discovered under some leaves about fifty yards from the glade where Denny’s body was discovered.”
Darcy managed to conceal his surprise and, looking straight ahead, spoke in a low voice. “What evidence is there that this was in fact the weapon?”
“Nothing definite since there were no incriminating marks either of blood or hair on the stone but that is hardly surprising. Later that night, as you will remember, the wind gave way to heavy rain and the ground and leaves must have been sodden, but I have seen the slab and it is certainly of the size and type to have produced the wound.”
Darcy kept his voice low. “The woodland has been placed out of bounds to everyone on the Pemberley estate but I know that the police have been searching assiduously for the weapons. Do you know which officer made the discovery?”
“Not Brownrigg or Mason. They needed additional manpower so engaged petty constables from the next parish, including Joseph Joseph. Apparently his parents were so enamoured of their surname that they gave it to him also in baptism. He seems a conscientious and reliable man, but not, I surmise, particularly intelligent. He should have left the stone in place and called the other police as witnesses. Instead he carried it in triumph over to Headborough Brownrigg.”
“So there can be no proof that it was where he said it was found?”
“None, I imagine. There were, I am informed, a number of stones of different size at the site, all half-buried in the soil and under leaves, but no proof that this particular stone slab was among them. Someone years ago could have tipped out the contents of a barrow or accidently overturned it, probably as long ago as the building by your great-grandfather of Woodland Cottage when the building materials would have been carried through the woodland.”
“Will Hardcastle or the police be producing the stone slab this morning?”
“I understand not. Makepeace is adamant that, since it cannot be proved to be the weapon, it should not be part of the evidence. The jury will merely be informed that a stone has been found, and even this may not be mentioned; Makepeace is anxious that the inquest should not degenerate into a trial. He will make the duty of the jury plain, and it does not include usurping the powers of the assize court.”
“So you think they will commit him?”
“Undoubtedly, given what they will see as a confession. It would be remarkable if they did not. Ah, I see that Mr Wickham has arrived, looking surprisingly at ease for one in his invidious situation.”
Darcy had noticed that close to the platform there were three empty chairs guarded by petty constables, and Wickham, walking between two prison officers and with gyves on his wrists, was escorted to the middle chair and the two warders took their seats. His composure almost amounted to nonchalance as he surveyed his potential audience with little apparent interest, not fixing his eyes on any single face. The baggage containing his clothes had been delivered to the prison after Hardcastle had released it and he was wearing what was obviously his best jacket, while what could be seen of his linen bore witness to the care and skill of the Highmarten laundry maid. Smiling, he turned to one of the prison officers who responded with a nod. Glancing at him, Darcy could believe that he was seeing something of the handsome and charming young officer who had so enchanted the young ladies of Meryton.
Someone barked a command, the babble of conversation was hushed and the coroner, Jonah Makepeace, entered with Sir Selwyn Hardcastle and, after bowing to the jury, took his seat, inviting Sir Selwyn to take the one on his right. Makepeace was a slight man with a waxen face which in others might have been thought to denote illness. He had served now for twenty years as coroner and it was his pride that, at sixty, there had been no inquest, either in Lambton or at the King’s Arms, at which he had not presided. He had a long thin nose and a curiously formed mouth with a very full upper lip, and his eyes, under eyebrows which were as thin as lines drawn by a pencil, were as keen as they had been at twenty. He was highly regarded as a lawyer with a successful practice in Lambton and beyond, and with increasing prosperity and with anxious private clients awaiting his counsel he was never indulgent to witnesses who could not give their evidence clearly and concisely. There was a wall-mounted clock at the far end of the room at which he now directed a long, intimidating stare.
At his entrance all present had risen to their feet, then seated themselves when he had taken the chair. Hardcastle was on his right and the two policemen in the front row beneath the dais. The jury, who had been chattering together in a group, took their chairs then immediately rose. As a magistrate Darcy had been present at a number of inquests and he saw that the usual group of local worthies had been collected for the jury: George Wainwright the apothecary, Frank Stirling who kept the general store in Lambton, Bill Mullins the blacksmith at Pemberley village and John Simpson the undertaker, dressed as usual in a suit of funeral black said to be inherited from his father. The rest were all farmers and most had arrived at the last minute looking flustered and over- heated. It was never a good time to leave their farms.
The coroner turned to the prison officer. “You may remove the fetters from Mr Wickham. No prisoner has ever absconded from my jurisdiction.”
This was done in silence and Wickham, after massaging his wrists, stood quietly, his eyes occasionally scouring the room as if seeking a familiar face. The oath was administered, during which Makepeace regarded the jury with the sceptical intensity of a man contemplating the purchase of an obviously dubious horse before making his usual preliminary announcement. “We have met before, gentlemen, and I think you know your duty. It is to listen to the evidence carefully and pronounce on the cause of death of Captain Martin Denny, whose body was found in the woodland of Pemberley on or about ten of the clock on the night of Friday 14th October. You are not here to take part in a criminal trial nor to teach the police how to conduct their inquiry. Of the options before you, you may well consider that neither death by accident nor misadventure is appropriate, and a man does not commit suicide by striking a vicious blow to the back of his neck. That may logically lead you to the conclusion that this death was homicide and you will then consider two possible verdicts. If there is no evidence to indicate who was responsible, you will return a verdict of wilful murder by a person or persons unknown. I have put the options before you but I must emphasise that the verdict on the cause of death is entirely for you. If the evidence leads you to the conclusion that you know the identity of the killer, you should then name him or her, and as with all felonies, the
