A short obituary notice in a few of the London papers and half a column of kindly eulogy in the West Suffolk Post was all the publicity that was granted to the passing of John Cornell for the time being. It was as much as any man of his status could expect from a world mechanically industrial, not given overmuch to sentiment, and too preoccupied with the strenuousness of living to be arrested by any perplexing meditation on the mystery of death. But the passing of John Cornell was not going to be such an ordinary occurrence as it had first appeared. Six months after his burial something mysterious occurred in Marston-le-Willows, something that might be called in an increasingly trite phrase “a major phenomenon.” It was the first of the chain of startling events that made the name of Marston-le-Willows as well-known as that of Brighton. Perhaps an excerpt from the West Suffolk Post of the 15th of August will give an adequate description of the occurrence. It ran:
EXHUMATION BY LAMPLIGHT
Marston-le-Willows. Sunday.
The body of John Cornell, the well-known London merchant and banker, who died suddenly at his home, Marston Manor, last February, was exhumed here early this morning with great secrecy, following representations made to the Home Office.
Policemen were posted at the gates of the cemetery to prevent the presence of unauthorized persons while the work of exhumation was carried out by lamplight.
A post-mortem was held this afternoon at which Doctors Redgrave and Lake represented the financier’s wife. Dr. McAndrew, the famous pathologist, conducted the post-mortem and certain organs were removed from the body for examination by the Home Office Analyst. The inquest was adjourned pending his report.
In spite of the great secrecy referred to by the West Suffolk Post, before nightfall on that memorable Sunday in August all Marston-le-Willows knew that the body of John Cornell had been exhumed, that the representations had been made to the Home Office by David Cornell, his blind brother who lived in a bungalow in the Manor grounds, and that it was suspected that the deceased had been poisoned. The days that intervened between the exhumation and the resumed inquest were days of intense, suppressed excitement. The outward calm of the village and its inhabitants seemed unreal, almost ominous, in conjunction with their inward and hidden tension. There was only one topic of conversation, but that topic was discussed in guarded whispers by one intimate friend with another. Even in the tap-room of “The Dog and Partridge” the subject was generally avoided by the handful of regular customers and if it happened to be touched on by some rash spirit, the landlord, Abner Borham, would display a childlike ignorance of the whole business. The only villager who blurted out what he thought was old Harry Weddup, the thatcher, but he was the licensed enfant terrible of Marston. He openly declared it was his opinion that the young wife had got rid of her aged husband by poison so that she could marry someone young and lusty like herself and enjoy the old man’s money. Putting the matter in terms of horseflesh, he thought it was perfectly natural for a fresh young mare to get tired of a worn-out old hack who hadn’t as much as a whinny left in him. He would say that on her behalf but it was all he could say. It was a damnable thing to poison the old man and she would certainly be found out, like Mrs. Maybrick, and pay “the dire penalty.” Serve her right, too. At this point, Harry Weddup (he had drawn his old age pension and drunk an extra pint or two) delivered a long lecture on the evil of old men hankering after and marrying young women. “Noo wine bust old bottles,” he declared, and if those gents got poisoned in the end it served them right, too. After this impartial dispensation of justice he fell into silence so that his words of wisdom might sink into the understanding of his somewhat facetious listeners.
The day of the resumed inquest, though opening with tremendous excitement, may be said to have ended in a weak anti-climax. The squib had hissed itself out instead of detonating. The West Suffolk Post’s report was as follows:
DRAMATIC PROTEST AT INQUEST
WIFE’S PAINFUL ORDEAL
NO POISON
Marston-le-Willows. Friday.
The resumed inquest of Mr. John Cornell, who died in February last and whose body was exhumed at midnight on August 15th, was held here to-day. The inquest had been opened and adjourned for an examination of the organs by the Home Office Analyst. Dr. McAndrew, the famous pathologist, had conducted the post-mortem examination.
The first sensation occurred when the coroner asked those not connected with the case to leave the court.
Dr. McAndrew, the first witness, then handed the coroner several pages of typewritten matter which the coroner read to the jury. He said he was present when the coffin was opened.
The coroner was then handed the Home Office Analyst’s report which read, “I have examined all the samples submitted to me and can find no trace of poison.”
After a brief consultation with the coroner, the foreman of the jury announced that they were satisfied that Mr. Cornell’s death was due to natural causes.
Mr. Godbold, on behalf of Mrs. Cornell, then made a dramatic protest against the exhumation, pointing out the suffering which the whole proceeding had inflicted on his client and that it was a disgrace that proceedings of such a grave nature should be started on the mere idle suspicion of a relative of the deceased. On the conclusion of his remarks, Mrs. Cornell the dead man’s widow, broke down and was assisted from the court by her medical adviser.
No poison! So this was the mild sequel to a week of the tensest expectancy. Though the inhabitants of Marston-le-Willows said they were glad for the young lady’s sake that such had been the verdict, they were really secretly disappointed. Their disappointment was an impersonal affair and had nothing to do with the protagonists in the drama. In their annoyance they thoroughly agreed that Mr. Godbold was perfectly justified in making his protest against the exhumation and some very unpleasant things were said about Mr. David Cornell, John Cornell’s blind brother, who had been the prime mover in the whole unsavoury business. Prior to the verdict of the coroner’s jury they had said that David Cornell was perfectly justified in seeing that the mystery of his brother’s sudden death should be thoroughly investigated. Harry Weddup firmly declared his belief that the old man was poisoned by a “secret pisin” and that the doctor from London hadn’t been able to detect the method. All Londoners were fools more or less but it was hardly fair to blame him. How could anyone be expected to detect a “secret pisin”? There the matter ended and Marston-le-Willows was lapsing into its normal quietude once more when another and more startling event occurred.
Exactly a week after the final inquest on John Cornell his son Frank was found lying dead on the half-landing of a staircase leading to the first storey of Marston Manor. He had been shot through the right eye and the bullet had come to rest at the back of his skull. The discovery was made by one of the maids who was taking up morning tea to the young man’s bedroom. She fainted and let the tray crash to the floor. Making a swift recovery, she at once roused her mistress who after a lapse of a few minutes sufficiently recovered from her shock to telephone the police. The local sergeant and a constable soon appeared on the scene and after a brief examination the sergeant at once summoned Dr. Redgrave and informed the police at Bury St. Edmunds. Later in the day, the Deputy Chief Constable and a superintendent arrived at Marston Manor. After a very careful investigation and a thorough search for the weapon which could not be found, they concluded that the dead man had been murdered. The assistance of Scotland Yard was promptly asked for and Chief Inspector Heather with Detective-Sergeant Goss arrived from London by car and took charge of the case.
Published by Dean Street Press 2016
All Rights Reserved
First published in 1933 by The Bodley Head
Cover by DSP
ISBN 978 1 911095 15 6
www.deanstreetpress.co.uk
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