Instruments of Darkness (16 page)
Read Instruments of Darkness Online
Authors: Imogen Robertson
Tags: #Historical fiction, #Crime Fiction
Crowther gave his companion a look of enquiry. She caught his eye and nodded swiftly. So this was Claver Wicksteed. There was a gloss to him, as if he had been polished. Crowther wondered if his pupils were white in a fawn iris, as if constructed out of thin mother-of-pearl veneer and maplewood. The man was prettily made, like a flashy piece of furniture for my lady’s chamber, but Crowther doubted the craftsmanship. Hugh’s face was set in a deep frown and he stared at the dusty floor to the side of his crossed ankles.
Crowther looked behind him and caught the cautious smile and nod of the Squire, who was conversing with a couple of middle-aged men Crowther assumed to be farmers. Turning his eyes to the front again, he saw Joshua Cartwright standing unhappily by the window. He spoke to no one, and continuously picked at the lint on his sleeve till Crowther was afraid his cuffs would be bald by the end of the session.
The Coroner looked about him, then stood and shushed the crowd. The appeal for quiet was picked up and carried to the rear doors, where it was reinforced with a growl from Michaels. The air was still: the Coroner looked pleased with the effect.
Evidence was called, and questions asked. Harriet spoke of finding the body on her morning walk, her inspiration to fetch Crowther as well as the Squire, and sending to Hugh - and of Hugh’s resolution that the body was not that of her brother. That gentleman had shifted in his chair a full quarter-turn to look at her as she spoke. His expression was still sullen.
Harriet’s short narrative was received respectfully. The foreman of the jury thanked her on behalf of them all for her actions and courtesy in coming to speak with them. Crowther watched her as she spoke and noted an uncharacteristic shrinking in her demeanour, a tendency to look up at the Coroner and foreman from under her long eyelashes, hiding the green flash of her eyes, a mute appeal to the gentlemen to treat her kindly. They responded happily and there was an air of manly solicitude almost palpable in the air when she took her seat again. Only Hugh and Wicksteed did not, it seemed, take a proprietorial delight in looking at her.
As she sat down, Harriet shot Crowther a look of apology. He found he was impressed by the performance and could see the advantages and cover a little feminine reticence in such a company might give her, but he fancied she hated being anything other than what she naturally was, and pitied her that it was necessary. He wondered if women would ever be able to be themselves if they fell into such tricks, but having never known the dangers to which a frank woman might expose herself, he was disinclined to judge. His ruminations were broken by the sound of the Coroner calling his name.
Crowther was also listened to with respect, though he failed to win any affection from the room. He spoke of the wound, the likely time of the death and his investigations to try the soundness of the body’s lower limbs. He had to be stopped from time to time to convert his naturally Latinate, scholarly language into something more easily digestible to the jury, and when he reported Hugh’s remark that Alexander had had a bad leg due to a youthful injury, he was a little surprised to hear corroborating shouts from some of the men in the room of, ‘True, true!’ and, ‘He did indeed, since he was seven!’ and, ‘His horse tripped in the warren on Blackamore Hill!’ and, in a deep bass from somewhere near the door, ‘Landed on him!’ It was as if the village had agreed to be a chorus to the court, and Crowther had an uncomfortable sense of fellow feeling with the players at Drury Lane.
It seemed from the tone of questions and responses that the general opinion in the room was that of Lady Thornleigh: that this stranger had come among them looking for a reward for finding the ring, and had been destroyed by some business that had followed him from town. Therefore it was not surprising that when the Coroner called Joshua Cartwright forward, he did so with the air of a magician summoning a particularly large and impressive rabbit from under his shirt.
Joshua did have something of a rabbity air when he spoke, and had to be encouraged by the crowd to speak up from time to time. He agreed that the body was that of a man he knew, Carter Brook, whom he had asked on Hugh’s behalf to try and discover any trace of his elder brother, Viscount Hardew.
The room was amazed, and the whispering rose and fell like a passing shower of rain. Some questions were asked as to Brook’s family and situation, and Joshua shared with the jury, with the room at large at least, that to the best of his knowledge Brook had no family. He then engaged, as if by way of apology for bringing such a character into the neighbourhood, to write to Brook’s landlady and let her know of what had passed, and inform her that she was free to dispose of the dead man’s belongings and rent the room again. The Coroner agreed this was sensible, and offered Cartwright the opportunity to copy down his conclusions at the end of the day’s business, and include any passages he thought fitting in the correspondence.
The chorus expressed satisfaction in a series of grunts and nods which spread from the observers to the jury and back again, reinforced like the ripples present on a small pond. More and more people were looking, and looking for longer, at the back of Hugh’s head, however, and there was a general sigh of relief when he kicked back his chair and stood up. He addressed himself purely to the Coroner, but Crowther could tell by the flushed profile he presented that he was deeply aware of all the other eyes in the room.
‘I wanted to know where my brother was, and assure him, whatever his situation, that I would be glad to know him again.’ The room grumbled in an accepting sort of way. ‘Good, good,’ said the bass from the doorway. ‘There’s our good Captain,’ said another. The Coroner looked seriously at the watchers and they quietened down. Crowther kept his eyes on Hugh, seeing a flick of pain cross his face at hearing his military title spoken aloud.
‘Carter Brook wrote to me, saying he had information to give and that it was convenient for him to deliver it in person. I asked him to bring some proof of my brother, as I have been disappointed by false trails in the past.’
Whatever Hugh’s misdemeanours, it seemed the village were still disposed to approve of him, as again the anonymous voices in the crowd chorused, ‘True, true,’ and, ‘Cruel thing, cruel thing to lose a brother.’ One thin voice lost among the jackets to the rear piped up. ‘But a bloody careless thing to lose a son.’ Hugh flushed a deeper red, though still did not turn, and Michaels swung his massive head towards the last speaker.
‘I’ve told you before to keep your mouth shut when you aren’t drinking, Baker.’ There was a general laugh. ‘And mind your damn language, there’s a lady present.’
General agreement.
The Coroner waited, dignity personified, till the room was attentive again and motioned for Hugh to continue.
‘I could not meet Brook at the time arranged, as Young Thorpe wanted to see me, and we talked for a while about the changes he is planning to introduce on the land he rents from me.’ The crowd groaned and laughed, and Crowther noticed a young man shrinking into the side wall as if he wished to become a thing immaterial and pass through it, blushing and looking at his feet.
Harriet leaned over to Crowther and whispered, ‘He’s a bright boy, and his head is full of how to make improvements to the soil. But he has no idea when his conversation becomes tiresome. I think some of his ideas have increased my income by ten pounds a year, but I avoid him unless I am feeling particularly patient.’
Hugh waited for the noise to subside.
‘So I was the best part of an hour late to meet with Brook.’
‘You got off lightly!’ came a voice from the back, and Young Thorpe looked very hard done by.
The Coroner turned to the crowd. ‘May I remind you, gentlemen, we are discussing a murder?’
There was some shuffling of feet and a little solemnity returned to the room. The Coroner addressed Hugh again. ‘I would like to know, sir, why you did not invite this man to wait on you at your house.’
Hugh looked a little embarrassed, and Crowther noticed Wicksteed’s unblinking stare fixed on his back.
‘I was afraid the information he might have would be delicate. That it might require some careful handling.’ Hugh cleared his throat. ‘Much as I trust my household, I did not wish to draw attention to my search, nor to what I might learn before I had had time to consider the implications.’ It was interesting that there were no murmurs of approval or doubt in the room at this point, just a steady quiet that suggested judgement could go either way.
‘And when you reached the place where you were due to meet . . . ?’
‘There was no one there. I waited as long as I could, smoked a cigar, then went home. Next thing I knew, I was brought word a body had been found.’
The Coroner and jury all looked very grave. Hugh glanced about him as if planning to sit down. The Coroner held up his hand.
‘Just one more thing, sir. Was the ring Brook brought with him very valuable?’
Hugh looked a little surprised. ‘I can’t say, sir. It is gold and heavy enough, I suppose. I have it here.’ He felt in his pocket and tossed it across to the foreman of the jury. That man plucked it out of the air and he and his fellows bent over and peered at it with great intensity.
‘What do you say, Wilton?’ shouted Michaels from the middle of the room. ‘Your uncle owns the silversmith in Pulborough, doesn’t he?’
It seemed accepted by the crowd that this relation was enough to make Wilton, a tiny man with very greasy hair, an expert, so the ring was passed back to him and everyone waited in silence for him to pronounce.
‘Two pound at least,’ Wilton said with absolute authority. ‘Even with the coat of arms scraped off.’
Everyone nodded very wisely, and the ring was passed back to the Coroner, who handed it back to Hugh with elaborate courtesy.
There was no room for the jury to retire as such, but they huddled in the furthest corner of the room for a while, and everyone agreed to appear not to look at them until they had done. Backs were turned and the crowd tried to talk as loudly as possible amongst themselves. A small boy, one of Michaels’s offspring, Crowther reckoned, squeezed through the crowd with a glass of lemonade for Mrs Westerman. She gave him a huge smile which made him blush. As the crowd shifted round them, Harriet found the chance to put her hand out and touch Young Thorpe on the sleeve. He turned to her still looking guilty and rather shamed.
‘Thorpe, I have been telling Mr Crowther here how your ideas must have made the estate ten pounds last year.’
The young man flushed with pleasure, and his back straightened.
‘Thank you for that, Mrs Westerman. I’m sorry I delayed Mr Thornleigh, but
Wicksteed
’ (he spat the name out) ‘told me it would be a good moment to catch him. I know I can run on, but the thing I wanted to make clear to Mr Hugh was . . .’ he was about to embark on what Crowther feared might be a very long explanation, when Harriet put her fingers to her lips.
Wicksteed
’ (he spat the name out) ‘told me it would be a good moment to catch him. I know I can run on, but the thing I wanted to make clear to Mr Hugh was . . .’ he was about to embark on what Crowther feared might be a very long explanation, when Harriet put her fingers to her lips.
‘I think the jury has decided now, Thorpe. Look - the Coroner and foreman are in conversation.’
The young man nodded and smiled again before moving away, and Harriet turned in her chair to face the front again. Crowther leaned towards her.
‘I thought you said no one takes estate business to Mr Thornleigh?’
‘I did,’ she agreed, ‘but Young Thorpe can be persistent.’
Crowther looked at her, wondering how to describe the expression on her face. He settled on ‘smug’, then paid attention as the Coroner began to speak.
‘My thanks to everyone who has spoken, and our thanks to the jury as well. We believe that this man was killed by someone planning to steal the ring, probably following Brook from London and taking advantage of his heading off somewhere secluded. We think Mr Hugh Thornleigh disturbed him, so he ran away before he could get it. The jury wish to say to Mr Thornleigh that they are very sorry he did not get to hear any news from Brook about his brother.’
There was a low rumble of agreement in the room; the jury looked a little conscious.
‘I have our conclusions here, and if we are all agreed I shall write them up and you can sign them, gentlemen. I won’t trouble to read the oath again: you all heard that well enough the first time, did you not?’
The jury variously nodded and waved the oath away. The Coroner looked about to see he had the attention of the room, then held out a document before him, bringing his arms in and pushing them away till he had the focus quite right, then read:
‘“We, the jury, find as follows, that a person unknown, not having God before their eyes, but being seduced and moved by the instigation of the devil, in the woodland of Caveley Park and on the night of the first of June in the year of Our Lord 1780, delivered to Carter Brook, a stranger to this parish, a violent and fatal blow to the neck with a sharp instrument who then and there instantly died, and the said jurors upon their oath aforesaid further say, that the said person unknown, after he had committed the said felony and murder in the manner aforesaid, did fly away into the night against the peace of our said Lord the King, his crown and his dignity”.’
The jury all nodded very solemnly and there was a satisfied sigh of agreement round the room. ‘Good words,’ said the bass by the door. ‘Almost as good as church,’ said another. The Coroner looked a little pink and putting down the paper, smiled up from his chair towards the tower of Michaels at the back of the crowd.
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