“Wife died five years ago. Have to grasp at all the company I can. Know everyone here. Have done for years. Can't surprise each other anymore. Gets tedious in the winter. Don't mind in the summer, enough to do in the garden. What did you say your name was?”
“William Monk, Mr. Nicolson.”
“Ah, well, Mr. Monk, would you care for some luncheon, while you tell me your business here in Chilverley?”
Monk was delighted to accept. He was cold and hungry, and it would be far easier to stretch out a conversation over the table than sitting in even the most agreeable parlor.
“Good, good. Now please make yourself comfortable while I inform the cook!”
The Reverend Nicolson was so obviously happy to have company that Monk allowed at least half the meal to pass before he broached the subject of his journey. He swallowed the last of the cold mutton, pickles and vegetables and set his knife and fork down.
The maid appeared with hot, flaky apple pie and a jug of cream and set them on the table with evident satisfaction, taking away the empty plates. Then the vicar began his tale and Monk listened with amazement, anger, and growing compassion.
Chapter 13
The coroner’s inquest into the death of Caleb Stone opened two days later. The public benches were packed. It was an extraordinary incident, and people were curious to learn how such a thing had happened.
Lord Ravensbrook was obliged to attend and give evidence; indeed, he was the only immediate witness. Also to be called were the three gaolers, all sitting rigidly upright, embarrassed and profoundly frightened. Jimson was convinced they were all innocent, Bailey, that they were all to blame, and would be punished appropriately. The third gaoler, who had gone to report the matter, refused to have an opinion at all.
Hester was to be called, by Rathbone, if not by the coroner. There was also the doctor who had examined the body officially.
Enid Ravensbrook sat beside her husband, still pale-faced and gaunt, but steady-eyed, and less physically ill than the week before. Next to her was Genevieve Stonefield, and beside her, calm and resolute, Titus Niven.
Selina Herries sat alone, head high, face white and set, eyes hollow with shock. Rathbone looked at her, and felt an unaccountable grief for her.
They had nothing whatever in common, no culture, no cause, no beliefs, barely even a common language. And yet the sight of her filled him with a sense of the universality of bereavement. He knew what it was to lose that which had been dear, in whatever manner, however mixed or confused the emotion.
Ebenezer Goode was not yet there. It was he who was officially to represent the interests of Caleb Stone. Rathbone had persuaded Genevieve to allow him to represent her, as sister-in-law of the deceased, and therefore the closest relative. Ravensbrook had been only his childhood guardian, and had never apparently adopted either boy, and Selina was not Caleb's wife. The coroner was a large, genial man with a ready smile, but more of agreeability than humor, as was appropriate to his calling. He opened proceedings with formality, then called the first witness, the gaoler Jimson. The room was simple, not like the high court in the Old Bailey.
There were no steps to climb to a stand, no carved and ornamental bench or thronelike chair for the coroner as for the judge. Jimson stood behind a simple rail which did little more than mark the position for him, and the coroner sat behind a fine oak table.
Jimson swore to tell the truth, then gave his name and occupation. He was so nervous he gulped and stumbled over his words.
The coroner smiled at him benignly.
“Now, Mr. Jimson, simply tell us what happened. There is no need to be so frightened, man. This is a court of inquiry, not of accusation. Now! Begin when the prisoner was put back in your custody after the trial was adjourned.”
“Yes sir! M'lord!”
“ `Sir' will do very well. I am not a judge.”
“Yes sir. Thank you, sir!” Jimson took a deep breath and swallowed hard again. “ 'E were in a rare state, the prisoner, I mean. 'E were laughin' an' shoutin' an' swearin' fit ter bust. There was a rage in 'im like nothin' I ever seen afore, 'cepting it were all mixed up wi' laughter like there was some 'uge joke as only 'e knew. But 'e didn't offer us no violence, like,” he added hastily. “ 'E went easy inter 'is cell an' we locked 'im in.”
“We?” the coroner inquired. “Can you recall which of you it was?”
“Yes sir, it were me.”
“I see. Proceed.”
There was almost silence around the room, only the slight sound of fabric rustling as someone shifted in a seat, and a whisper as a woman spoke to the person next to her. The journalists present wrote nothing so far. “Then Lord Ravensbrook came an' asked if 'e could see the prisoner, 'im bein' 'is only relative, like,” Jimson continued. “An' seein' as 'ow things was goin' bad with 'im in the trial. Guess like 'e thought as there'd be a verdict soon, an' then 'e wouldn't be allowed ter see 'im alone anymore, 'im bein' a guilty man then, an' still an innocent one now, leastways afore the law.”
“I understand.” The coroner nodded. “You do not need to explain, it is quite clear, and natural.”
“Thank you, sir.” Jimson did not look in the slightest relieved. “Well, it all seemed right ter us, Bailey an' Alcott an' me, so we let 'im in-' “Just a moment, Mr. Jimson,” the coroner interrupted. “When you let Lord Ravensbrook in, how was the prisoner? What was his demeanor, his attitude?
Was he still in this rage you described earlier? How did he greet Lord Ravensbrook?”
Jimson looked confused.
“Did you see him, Mr. Jimson?” the coroner pressed. “It is necessary that you answer truthfully. This matter concerns the death of a man in your custody.”
“Yes sir.” Jimson swallowed convulsively, only too desperately aware of his responsibility. “No sir, I didn't go in with 'is lordship. I… I didn't like ter, 'im bein' family like, an' knowin' from the guard as 'ad 'im in court 'ow 'ard it were goin', an' as 'e were like ter be 'anged. I let 'is lordship in, w'en 'e said as 'e preferred ter be alone-”
“Lord Ravensbrook said he wished to see the prisoner alone?”
“Yes sir, 'e did.”
“I see. Then what happened?”
“Arter a few moments, 'is lordship came out an' asked fer a pen an' ink an' paper, 'cos the prisoner wanted ter write a statement o' some sort, I forget exactly what.” He fidgeted with his collar. It appeared to be too tight for him. “I sent Bailey fer 'em, an' w'en 'e brought 'em back, I gave 'em ter 'is lordship, an' 'e went back inter the cell wi' 'em. Then just a few minutes arter that there were a cry, an' a bangin' on the door, an' w'en I opened it, 'is lordship staggered out, covered wi' blood, an' said as there'd bin an accident, or summink like that, an' the prisoner were dead… sir.” He took a breath and plunged on. “'E looked terrible white and shocked, sir, poor gennelman. So I sent Bailey for 'elp. I think 'e got a glass o' water, but 'is lordship were too upset ter take it.”
“Did you go to the cell to look at the prisoner?” the coroner demanded.
“Yes sir, 'course I did. 'E were lyin' in a pool o' blood like a lake, sir, an' 'is eyes were wide open an' starin'.” He tugged at his collar again.
“'E were dead. Weren't nuffink more ter be done for 'im. I pulled the door to, didn't lock it, weren't no point. Alcott went ter report wot 'ad ' appened, an' I tried ter do what I could fer ' is lordship till 'elp come.”
“Thank you, Mr. Jimson.” The coroner looked for Goode.
“Where is Mr. Goode?” he asked with a frown. “I understood he was to represent the family of the dead man. Is that not so?”
Rathbone rose to his feet. “Yes sir, he is. I don't know what may have kept him. I ask the court's indulgence. I am sure he will not be long.” He had better not be, he thought grimly, or we shall lose this by default! “This is not a court of advocacy, Mr. Rathbone,” the coroner said irritably. “If Mr. Goode does not favor us with his presence, we shall proceed without him. Have you any questions you wish to ask this witness?”
Rathbone drew in his breath to make as long-winded a reply as he could, and was saved the necessity by the
