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Authors: Robin Blake

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‘However, we must bear in mind that facts do not necessarily come first,' continued my friend, warming to his narrative. ‘We must also consider the prime cause. Death always has a cause and a reason, and the cause leads to the reason, not the other way. If you discover the cause – which as coroner is your task – you shall uncover the reason.'
‘What kind of cause do you have in mind?'
‘If I were you, for a case of murder, I would consider only three: lucre, love or reputation.'
‘In my experience, which is quite long, hatred often comes into it.'
‘Yes, of course, but hatred is secondary. It has its causation as well as murder has, and this is always, once again, one or more of the three primary matters I have mentioned. At the bottom, I assure you, Dolores Brockletower's death will have to do with the state of her marriage. The problem is that she was so close-hearted and tight-lipped. If she'd been more confiding you could proceed by questioning the confidante.'
‘Well from what I have heard this evening, there may really be such a person, Luke.'
I told him of my visit to the dressmaker's shop.
‘So it's possible,' I went on, ‘that she found in Abigail Talboys someone she could unburden herself to, which would be why she preferred the two of them to be alone whenever she went there for fittings.'
‘Good, good. This is promising. The sooner you see Miss Talboys the better.'
‘She may assist with more details of the squire's joke, played on his wife at the hollow oak a few weeks ago.'
‘What if it was no joke?' asked Luke darkly. ‘What if it was a
rehearsal
?'
‘It may have been simply high spirits. The Brockletowers were a young married couple. Such couples skylark.'
‘I'll have to take your word for it.'
‘They do! They flirt and joke. That's what makes it all such a pleasure.'
‘Is it?'
Luke's brown, bachelor eyes were upon me, a penetrating
look. I suspected he was thinking about me and Elizabeth, and what we might do when we skylark.
‘Of course it is. You must marry and you will discover.'
He picked up his rummer and drank, turning away from my remark as from something disturbing.
‘Well,' he said, putting down his glass at last. ‘I do not think this was skylarking on Brockletower's part. A joke is not a joke unless it is equally shared by both parties, the joker and the other. Mrs Brockletower was not amused by it. And anyway Ramilles Brockletower does not strike me as a skylarker.'
I conceded the point with a sigh.
‘We have not come to any conclusion tonight,' I said. ‘I had hoped your darting intellect would provide me with some new ideas.'
‘Come, come, Titus, we have only just started and there are many things we need to know. Whose is the horseshoe? What is the significance of the squire's first rendezvous with his wife at the hollow oak? Why had she been in so disagreeable a humour? Why was she constantly short with the servants? Why did she cut this man Woodley dead?'
He was speaking hurriedly, like a boy turning over stones to find a worm to bait a hook. I was about to speak but he raised his finger to show he had not finished.
‘In cases of unexpected disease I often find it useful to see what is new in the life of the patient; what alteration has occurred to upset the balance of their constitution. We may do the same thing here. And if we do, what is found?'
I considered for a moment.
‘Building works,' I said. ‘Alterations to the house. Mr Woodley and his pediment.'
‘Exactly.'
‘Mrs Brockletower did find the disturbance irksome,' I went
on. ‘And I am not altogether surprised that she felt the same about Woodley. I do myself, and I am not required to look on his leveret's face and hear his piping voice every day. But it is not just his person that she could not abide, Luke. She resented the time her husband devoted to it – the endless discussions with Woodley over the plans, and so on.'
‘And that suggests?'
‘Her continued regard for her husband. She was jealous of his time.'
‘All true. But does that suggest she should be murdered?'
There was nothing but dottle in my pipe. I reached for the punch jug and peered inside. It too was empty except for a sodden, purple mush of lees, lemon peel and cinnamon fibres.
‘Time to go home,' I said.
Fidelis looked crestfallen.
‘Oh, another jug, Titus,' he pleaded.
‘No. We must ride early to meet William Pearson at the hollow oak.'
‘For what purpose?'
‘To try something I have in mind.'
I rose and snapped my pipe in half before laying the pieces down on the pewter tray.
‘I ride at six-thirty. You will join me, of course.'
Walking home I felt pleased with my parting shot. I did not tell Fidelis of my plan in detail. But I knew he would be quite unable to refuse the lure of a visit to the hollow oak, despite his proven disinclination for early rising.
 
 
A
MAN SLEEPS WELL after drinking with Colonel Negus, and I arose refreshed shortly after half past five. I made a hasty breakfast of bread and cheese while the dun cob was saddled and brought to the door. By six-thirty, I was clapping my hat on my head, ready to leave for the appointment I had made on the previous evening with William Pearson.
I stood for a moment on my topmost front step, looking around. The market-traders to my left had already set out their stalls and the place was noisy with bustle. The house itself stood right beside my office on Cheapside, facing the west flank of the Moot Hall, where the Mayor and Corporation met and the front door of which opened on the conjunction of Church Gate and Fisher Gate. Part of the market spilled over into Cheapside, and my street had become established as the poulterers' pitch, always flapping with birds brought out of their coops and hung by the legs from stall-poles. Amidst all this squawking and commotion I could not see Fidelis anywhere. But since he was a notorious slug-a-bed and my cob had been ready and waiting for a good five minutes I decided I would ride on, in the expectation that the doctor could catch me up on the road. Leaving word with Furzey to that effect, I set out.
At the parish church we threaded our way into and around
a jam of carts and coops, but I soon reached the end of Church Gate and was trotting through the suburbs under a high, dry canopy of steely grey cloud. It was not until I reached the high point of Ribbleton Moor, on which a few twists of fog or low cloud still lingered, that I heard the sound of galloping hooves coming up behind, and soon Dr Fidelis overshot us on the road, careering past on his big black gelding. He slowed to a trot up ahead, so that now it was for me to catch up with him. When I did I found my friend out of breath and less good-humoured than he had been on the previous night.
‘I wish you would tell me what we are doing,' he said rather testily. ‘I've missed my breakfast, which I hope wasn't for nothing.'
‘No doubt you can get a plate of something when we reach the Hall,' I told him placidly. ‘They press a very good cheese there. But first I want to make a particular trial at the hollow oak. You will see what it is. I have some hopes it'll benefit our inquiry.'
I was a little pleased to be able to keep him for the time being in the dark (and hungry). Fidelis was a fond friend to me, yet there will always be a certain competition between us. In this case I was sowing curiosity, in the hope of reaping praise. That may seem ridiculous in relations with a man ten years younger than myself. But Fidelis's brain was so keen that, whenever I formed what I thought a clever notion of my own, I liked to make the most of it.
Pearson was not the kind that kept his betters waiting and I was sure he would be at the hollow oak before us. And so he was, sitting astride the mare Molly. My first thought on seeing him was of Ramilles Brockletower.
‘Has the squire returned yet?' I asked, without ceremony.
‘I am told he has, sir. Last night.'
‘You didn't see him?'
‘No, I returned to my cottage at eight for my supper, and
he'd not come home by then. I left Barrowford a-waiting so there'd be someone to take his horse, and
he
told me this morning that Squire had ridden in about nine, with his horse well spurred and lathered-up. Squire'd already learned the news of the mistress. He heard it on the road, and then he rode like the Devil to get here as fast as he could.'
‘Well, I hope he will be there when we reach the Hall later,' I said. ‘I must see him this morning at all costs. But meanwhile we will get on with this business.'
I first showed Fidelis the place where she had lain, a patch of relatively bare earth. There had been a pool of blood under the body when I had first seen it.
‘There is little blood here now,' said Luke. ‘You said it was a great quantity.'
‘So it was. I'm puzzled. There was a congealed pool of it on the earth, and it's gone.'
Pearson leaned forward and scanned the ground. The exposed earth was scuffed and depressed by a number of footprints. Among them he pointed to the indistinct marks of something that might have been an animal.
‘Pigs most likely,' he said without emotion. ‘We should've buried that blood. Too late now.'
‘Quite,' I said, a little stiffly. The thought of a woodland boar gorging on the dried blood of the late wife of Squire Brockletower made my stomach turn.
‘See here,' said Fidelis, pointing to the ground. ‘Among these footprints, a depression that might have been made by a knee, made by someone that went down to look at the body.'
I tried to remember if I had seen this when first looking at the body. I couldn't.
‘It wasn't made by me at all events,' I said, remembering how I myself had crouched to avoid soiling my breeches with
mud. I asked Pearson if anyone yesterday had knelt. He thought not, at least when he went to collect the body. I asked him to show me the place where the horseshoe had been found. It was about ten yards from the tree, beside a tuft of grass. There was nothing more to show Fidelis, so I turned to Pearson to commence the experiment.
‘Will you please station the mare beside the tree, over the place where your mistress lay?' I asked him.
‘Shall I remount, sir?'
His voice and manner were impassive, that of a servant scrupulously carrying out the instructions of his betters, however daft.
‘Yes, of course. We must all remount.'
We did so and as Fidelis and I moved to the edge of the clearing, Pearson walked the temperamental mare forward to her mark. She shied and danced a little but his horsemanship was equal to her and they were soon standing in the exact place I had indicated.
‘Now, Luke,' I said, ‘I want you to ride up to Mr Pearson and attempt to bring the gelding alongside the mare's flank. I want you to get in such a position as you would if you were meaning to cut her rider's throat.'
Pearson jerked up his head in a sudden show of apprehension, his hand going to the stock at his neck.
‘Now, Pearson, don't be alarmed,' I reassured him. ‘This is a trial, and your windpipe is quite safe.'
‘Now I see what you are about, Titus,' said Fidelis. ‘All right, let's try it. Head to tail, I think.'
Bumping his heels into his horse's flanks, Fidelis urged him forward. But, as soon as they approached within five yards, Molly tossed her head and snorted her displeasure, then danced backwards out of the way.
‘No, no,' I instructed. ‘You have to get closer, Luke, and stay longer. Try it again from the beginning. Back into position, Pearson.'
They tried again. This time Molly was even more spooked. Her eye rolled, she spun around and kicked backwards with her hind legs. Her flashing hooves found only air, but the protest was enough. I called Luke back and said I would try it myself, on my less intimidating, shorter-legged mount. But Molly could no more have us alongside her than she could tolerate Luke and his gelding. She whinnied as soon as we approached, then suddenly reared steeply, her forelegs boxing the air. Taken by surprise, Pearson lost his balance and his feet in the stirrups went up. As soon as they passed the vertical, he was lost. He seesawed for a moment but gravity had the last word and he slid backwards, and rather to one side, before toppling off the horse's rump and crashing to the ground. The delinquent mare took off as if she'd heard a thunderclap and headed down the narrow ride, veering this way and that before jinking into the trees and disappearing from sight.
Pearson sat with his legs outstretched, dazed. Fidelis immediately dismounted and went down on one knee beside him.
‘Are you hurt, man?'
The huntsman shook his head. I could not tell if this was to clear it or give a negative answer.
‘I've not been thrown by a horse for twenty year,' he said. ‘
That
hurts.'
The doctor helped him to his feet and dusted the remnants of leaves and twigs from his coat, like a mother picking up a fallen child. Pearson, not much appreciating the solicitude, shrugged him off and went to pick up his hat.
‘We'd better follow Molly back to Garlick Hall,' I said, walking the cob towards Pearson and reaching down with my hand. ‘Pearson, will you come up behind me?'
He shook his head.
‘No, I'll walk it.'
He made off through the trees, his gait a trifle stiff. No doubt his backside had been as bruised as his dignity.
‘What do you make of my trial?' I said to Fidelis as we left Pearson behind in the woods and headed down towards the brook-crossing.
‘I'd say it was highly indicative,' he said.
‘You mean that her throat could not have been cut by someone on horseback?'
‘No, no. I don't mean that. Molly would clearly allow neither my horse, nor yours, anywhere near her. But what is the difference between our mounts and, shall we say, the squire's?'
‘I don't know. I don't anything about the squire's horse.'
‘You do. You know where it is stabled.'
He let me ponder this for a few moments, until I grasped the point he was making.
‘Why yes, I see!' I exclaimed. ‘The squire's animal is Molly's stablemate.
Ergo
they would be familiar to each other.
Ergo
Molly, with Dolores Brockletower up, would perhaps tolerate the presence by her side of an animal she knows, ridden by a man she also knows. But she would shy away if approached by strangers.'
‘And the hypothesis of Squire Brockletower's guilt in this becomes circumstantially stronger as a result – wouldn't you say?'
‘No … Or rather, yes. But, mind, not more so than that of someone else from the household.'
‘That's true on the face of it, Titus. But the circumstances are less persuasive. We would have to suppose a horse was taken out of the Garlick Hall stables at night, ridden up to the woods at six where the deed was done, and returned again,
with only the murderer knowing about it. The grooms would certainly have missed such a horse. William Pearson, as head groom, would undoubtedly have been concerned and made enquiries. And you would probably now have a clear suspicion as to the name of the felon. As it is, only the squire, his wife and Tom Cowp were out on mounts from the Garlick Hall stable.'
I had no answer to this, and so attempted none.
We reached the arched yard-gate of Garlick Hall five minutes later, after cantering the furlong between ford and house. A conspicuous fellow in a scarlet coat and cockaded tricorn hat, with a gilded staff on which he leaned, was waiting on foot in the lane outside. I could see from a hundred yards that it was Oswald Mallender, the Sergeant of Preston and a gigantic figure rather too burly for his clothes, whose buttons and braid strained to contain him. He stepped into our path as we approached and held up a pudgy, officious hand.
‘Mr Grimshaw's compliments, Coroner. I have been sent over to assist.'
In my experience of him, Mallender's face and bearing only had two characteristic expressions, self-satisfaction and affronted dignity, which he wore according to prevailing circumstances. The first of these was now to the fore and, as usual, I found it nettled me greatly.
‘Why are you lurking out here, Sergeant Mallender?' I asked sharply. ‘Does not Mrs Marsden tolerate you in her kitchen?'
At once his face flipped over from smirk to pout.
‘I
have
been in,' he said sullenly. ‘I have asked to speak to Squire Brockletower, which was put to him, and for no reason that I can tell it vexed him. You may find this hard to believe, but he gave orders at once that I be put out of the house –
put out
, mind you.'
I glanced at Fidelis, who looked as if he were suppressing a fit of laughter.
‘So it is the squire who won't tolerate you,' I said, turning back to the sergeant. ‘Well, that is quite right, if you've been impertinent enough to attempt to place yourself face to face with him. It is not for you, Mallender, to confront witnesses in any inquiry, unless directed by the coroner – me!'
The bailiff took a firmer grasp on his staff and made himself as tall as he could.
‘I hold the commission of the bailiff,' he stated sonorously.
I looked Mallender up and down. His official coat, though impressive from a distance, was less awe-inspiring when viewed close to, having a grubby, threadbare appearance. The nap of the velvet collar was dirty and worn and there were visible moon-shaped stains under the armpits. Grimshaw it seemed was happy to spend lavishly on his own wardrobe, but not on that of his subordinates.
‘Did you not just tell me,' I asked, ‘that Mr Grimshaw sent you to assist the coroner? He did not mean you to play coroner yourself. I myself shall see the squire presently and for that I shan't require a sergeant's support. However I do, as it happens, have a use for you. You can go around and begin summoning the jury for my inquest. Here is a list.'

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