There was a deathly silence as this word hung in the air.
It was Anthony who broke it. ‘What if the coroner is uncertain? What if he can’t decide whether it was suicide, an accident, or murder?’
‘Ah yes, well, in that instance the coroner would have to leave an open verdict…he might pronounce that a person or persons unknown could be responsible for the death of the deceased and that they could be brought to justice at a later date.’
Edwina, watching her son intently, gasped and turned ashen. Michael Lamont reached out and took her hand, whispered something to her.
Crawford glanced at them, then brought his attention back to Anthony. ‘The pathologist’s report, the findings of his post-mortem, usually clarify cause of death and without any question of doubt.’
‘I understand,’ Anthony said in a low voice.
Crawford announced, ‘I’ve covered the most important points, I believe. I would like to add that I am most confident that the inquest will progress in a normal manner.’ His eyes rested on Michael Lamont. ‘You will probably be the first witness, since you were the one who found Lady Dunvale’s body. The Clonloughlin police sergeant will give evidence after you. Then we will hear medical testimony – from the local doctor who did the initial examination and from the pathologist who conducted the second examination and performed the post-mortem. Does anyone need further clarification on any specific point?’
‘Yes,’ Anthony said. ‘Just a couple – I presume I will be questioned. But what about my mother? And Bridget?’
‘I see no reason for Lady Dunvale to be called to the witness stand, since she really cannot contribute anything. You will have to give evidence, and, most probably, so will Miss O’Donnell. It’s very likely that the coroner will chat to all of you in an informal way, before the main witnesses are called, as I explained earlier. Nothing to worry about.’ Crawford glanced at his watch. ‘I suggest we leave here in the next ten minutes or so.’ Turning to Daisy who had risen, he asked, ‘Where’s Jim? Perhaps you ought to let him know we’re going to leave shortly to drive into Cork.’
‘Yes,’ Daisy said. ‘I’ll tell him right away. I’ve got to go upstairs for my things.’
Fifteen minutes later the small group left Clonloughlin House.
Edwina, Anthony, Bridget O’Donnell and Michael Lamont travelled in the first car, with Michael at the wheel.
Jim Fairley drove the second car, and followed closely behind. He was accompanied by Daisy and John Crawford. No one spoke for the first ten minutes or so. Finally, Jim said, ‘Explaining the formalities was a good idea, John.’ He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Crawford, who sat next to him on the front seat, swung his eyes back to the road, went on to remark, ‘I’m sure it helped my aunt. She’s a bundle of nerves. Anthony seems calm enough, though. Rather self-contained, totally in control. But he looks dreadful. This ghastly mess has aged him quite a lot.’
‘Yes,’ Crawford said laconically. He rolled down the window, peered over his shoulder at Daisy, said, ‘Do you mind if I smoke?’
‘No, not at all.’ Daisy leaned forward, resting her hand on the back of the front seat, and addressed Jim. ‘How was Paula?’
‘She’s fine and sends her love.’ Jim’s grip on the steering wheel tightened as he wondered whether to repeat Paula’s final comments, which she had voiced with such anxiety he himself had become alarmed. Uncertain of what to do he remarked, ‘She kept insisting we phone her immediately the inquest is over, as if we wouldn’t have done that anyway.’
‘She’ll be anxious to get in touch with Mother at once,’ Daisy murmured. She settled back in the corner, smoothed the skirt of her understated and restrained dark grey suit, thinking of Emma sitting in suspense at their sheep station in Australia, worrying about the outcome and about her grandson Anthony. The fact that her mother was under such strain worried Daisy. After all, she was eighty. Reassuring herself that Emma Harte was invincible, was really taking this in her stride as she kept insisting when she telephoned, Daisy attempted to relax. Eventually she said, ‘Have you decided what you’re going to do, Jim?’
‘Yes, I’ll stay on here, for the funeral tomorrow. I think they’ll appreciate the support and it’s the least I can do. I’ll fly back on Saturday. I hope to persuade Anthony to come with me. He has to get away from this place for a while.’
‘Of course,’ Daisy said. ‘And I’m sure he’ll want to see Sally.’ She swung her eyes to John Crawford. ‘I assume the inquest will be over in a couple of hours…David has arranged for his friend’s private jet to be at Cork Airport at noon, waiting for us. You will be coming back to London with me, won’t you, John?’
‘Yes, thanks a lot. I appreciate the ride. And yes, all being well we should be through in a couple of hours. I just hope we don’t have to recess for lunch. In the event that this happens the inquest will unfortunately drag on into the afternoon.’
Jim said, ‘You don’t have any reason to believe it won’t be routine, do you?’
‘No, not really,’ Crawford replied, but there was a strange hesitancy in his voice.
Jim picked this up at once. ‘You don’t sound as confident as you did last night, John. Is there something Daisy and I ought to know?’
‘No, no, of course not,’ Crawford murmured.
This response did nothing to convince Jim. He decided to plunge in, confide Emily’s worries, which Paula had relayed to him during their phone conversation earlier. He said, ‘Paula’s a bit anxious. Emily’s raised something…apparently she woke Paula during the night, and told her that ever since Sunday she has been concerned…about those five or six hours Min spent at the lake, after she arrived in the afternoon and before she died late at night. Emily thinks –’
‘I don’t understand why those hours are important,’ Daisy interjected.
John Crawford pondered for a second, elected to be honest and swung around in the front seat to face Daisy. ‘I must now confess that I myself have been troubled about the self same thing, my dear. And if I find that elapse of time strange, not to mention young Emily, don’t you think an experienced coroner will ask himself what the deceased was doing for that extraordinary length of time.’
‘Yes.’ Daisy frowned. ‘But why do those hours matter anyway? Look, maybe she went away and came back again.’
‘Or maybe she was never at Clonloughlin in the afternoon,’ Crawford said softly. ‘That possibility might easily occur to the coroner, as it has to me, and probably to young Emily too. Don’t you see, Daisy, those unexplained hours raise questions…in regard to Lord Dunvale’s story about the time his wife arrived, a story which, I might add, is only corroborated by his mother.’
‘You mean the coroner could think Anthony is lying, that Min came there late at night.’ Daisy caught her breath. ‘Oh good Lord, yes, I see what you mean! The coroner might jump to the conclusion that Anthony was also at the lake late at night –’ She broke off, and began to tremble, feeling suddenly nervous for the first time since her arrival in Ireland.
‘Perhaps. But Daisy, my dear, I do say perhaps. It would ease my mind considerably if we had a witness who saw the late Lady Dunvale driving into the grounds of Clonloughlin in the afternoon, or leaving around that time. Unfortunately, we apparently don’t have such a witness.’ Crawford threw Daisy a sympathetic look. He had adored her for years, wanted always to protect her. ‘Please don’t distress yourself needlessly, my dear. I haven’t mentioned my worries to you before, for the simple reason I knew I would upset you if I did.’ Giving her a reassuring and confident smile, he finished, ‘The post-mortem is usually the key in this type of case. It will prove conclusively how she died.’ Crawford gave Jim a pointed look. ‘I’m quite certain the pathologist will pronounce it death by accidental drowning.’ As long as he had found water in her lungs, Crawford added to himself, praying that the pathologist had done so. If he hadn’t, they were in trouble. The gravest trouble imaginable. Lack of water in the deceased’s lungs would prove
she had died before her body entered the water. In which case a murder charge would be levelled at somebody…or persons unknown.
Jim, understanding that John wished to allay his mother-in-law’s nervousness, said in a strong firm voice, ‘I agree with you wholeheartedly, John. I’m sure Min’s death was accidental. Now, Daisy, stay calm and cool, as you have been all through this ordeal. Edwina will fall to pieces if she detects the slightest sign of distress in you.’
Daisy said, ‘I’m all right, you’ve nothing to be concerned about, and I agree, I think we should all three of us be as positive as possible. Anthony and Edwina are going to find the inquest exceedingly trying, no matter what, so we must be supportive and cheerful.’
Once again, Daisy McGill Amory settled back into the corner of the seat, and for the rest of the journey into Cork she remained silent, left the talking to Jim and John Crawford. She had her own troubling thoughts to preoccupy her.
Mr Liam O’Connor, a local solicitor, was the coroner presiding at the judicial inquiry into the cause of death in the case of Minerva Gwendolyn Standish, the late Countess of Dunvale.
The inquest was being held in the small coroner’s court within the County Law Courts in the city of Cork, county seat of Cork County.
A jury of six people sat to his right. They were all local residents of the city who had been passing the courts that morning, and had been gathered together by an official of the coroner’s court. This was the custom under British law in regard to inquests. Whatever their engagements planned for that day, they had had no option but to do as bidden and enter the coroner’s court to be sworn in as jurors.
The coroner said, ‘And now Lord Dunvale, before I hear testimony from Police Sergeant McNamara, the pathologist, and others present, perhaps you could give the court some idea of the deceased’s state of mind, prior to her tragic death. You may speak from where you are sitting. You do not have to stand in the witness box at this moment.’
Anthony said in a clear and remarkably strong voice, ‘My wife and I were separated and were about to divorce. In consequence of this, she had moved out of Clonloughlin House and was living in Waterford. Lately she had been in the habit of visiting Clonloughlin, and in the past month I began to realize that her disposition had changed radically. She was somewhat irrational, even quite violent both verbally and physically. I became increasingly concerned about her mental stability.’
The coroner nodded. ‘Did the deceased ever mention suicide? Did she ever threaten to take her own life during these spells of irrationality?’
‘No, she did not,’ Anthony replied in an even firmer tone. ‘Furthermore, I would like to state categorically that I do not believe my wife would kill herself whatever her state of mind. She was not a suicidal type of person. I am convinced her death was an accident.’
The coroner asked for further details about the deceased’s behaviour, and as Anthony answered, Daisy watched the coroner closely, listening with great attentiveness. Liam O’Connor was a small, spry man, with a deeply lined face. His expression was somewhat dour, but she noticed that he had wise and kindly eyes and a reflective manner, and these characteristics filled Daisy with a degree of relief. She was confident Liam O’Connor would brook no nonsense in his court, that he would stick to the letter of the law most scrupulously, yet she also sensed he would be eminently fair.
As the coroner continued his informal questioning of Anthony, Daisy stole a surreptitious look at Edwina. Her tension was so acute Daisy feared she would collapse any minute. She reached for Edwina’s hand, held on to it tightly, wanting to give her strength and confidence.
‘Thank you, Lord Dunvale,’ the coroner was saying. ‘Lady Dunvale, I wonder if you have anything you can add pertaining to your daughter-in-law’s unusual behaviour immediately before her death?’
Edwina was evidently surprised to hear her name mentioned and she started in her seat, literally gaped at the coroner speechlessly. She began to shake.
Daisy tightened her grip on her hand, whispered, ‘Edwina, don’t be afraid. And do answer the coroner, my dear.’
Clearing her throat numerous times, Edwina finally spoke in a low voice that trembled excessively. ‘Min…my daughter-in-law, that is, was…was distressed in recent weeks. Yes, that is quite true.’ Edwina stopped abruptly, choking on her words, and tears sprang into her eyes as she thought of the dead young woman, whom she had loved like a daughter. There was a long and painful hesitation before Edwina whispered, ‘I’m afraid she was – was – drinking heavily lately. At least she arrived at Clonloughlin in an inebriated state numerous times over the last month. Bridget, er…er…Miss O’Donnell, my son’s…Lord Dunvale’s housekeeper –’ Edwina stopped again, glanced at Bridget, then resumed, ‘Quite recently Miss O’Donnell had to put my daughter-in-law to bed in a guest room at Clonloughlin. I remember the occasion very clearly. Miss O’Donnell told me she was afraid Lady Dunvale would have an accident if she was allowed to drive back to Waterford in her…debilitated condition.’
Edwina swallowed. Her mouth had gone dry and she was unable to continue. Also, the effort to speak coherently and to hang on to a semblance of control had depleted her. She fell back against the seat, her face chalky and filmed with perspiration.
‘Thank you, Lady Dunvale,’ the coroner said, sounding sympathetic. He put on his glasses, referred to the papers in front of him, looked up, removed his spectacles and surveyed those gathered before him. ‘Miss O’Donnell, would you give me a few more details about the particular occasion to which Lady Dunvale has just referred, please?’
‘Yes, sir, indeed I will.’ Bridget leaned forward slightly, and in her usual clipped, precise way she confirmed Edwina’s story and also the various incidents of irrationality referred to by Anthony.
Listening to her, Daisy thought that never had a better witness been heard. The woman was quite remarkable, especially in her attention to the smallest detail, and she obviously had a prodigious if not indeed photographic memory.
‘And did the deceased ever suggest to you, Miss O’Donnell, that she might do anything at all to harm herself?’ The coroner steepled his fingers, peered out over them, fixing his keen eyes on the housekeeper.
Apparently Bridget O’Donnell did not have to think twice about this question. ‘Oh yes, sir, her ladyship did. Not once, but several times lately.’
There were audible gasps in the courtroom.
Anthony, stiffening in his chair, exclaimed, ‘That can’t be so –’ He made to rise, but was restrained by John Crawford, who hushed him into silence, aware of the stern eyes of the coroner.
The latter motioned for silence in the court, and the hurried whisperings which had broken out ceased. ‘Please recount those incidents, Miss O’Donnell,’ he ordered.
‘Yes, sir,’ she said without hesitation, but she did cast a swift glance at Anthony before continuing.
Daisy, whose eyes had not left Bridget’s face, thought she saw an apology signalled to him silently, but she was not sure.
Bridget O’Donnell, directing herself to the coroner, said, ‘The late Lady Dunvale was a changed woman in the last few weeks of her life, as his lordship mentioned. She was hysterical in my presence on numerous occasions, and privately she said to me that she had nothing to live for, that she wished she were dead. The last time she threatened to put an end to her life was about a week before her death. She drove to Clonloughlin one afternoon, but I was the only person who saw her. His lordship was out on the estate with Mr Lamont, and the Dowager Countess was in Dublin. In any event, sir, her ladyship was very despondent, and she repeated over and over again that she wanted to escape the misery and unhappiness of her life by – by dying. She cried uncontrollably that afternoon, and although I tried to calm her, give her sympathy, she was beyond help really. At one moment, when I tried to soothe her by putting my arm around her, comforting her, she struck me across the face. The minute she had done this she seemed to come to her senses, and apologized over and over again.
I made a pot of tea and we sat and talked in the kitchen for a while. It was then that her ladyship confided in me about something else. She told me that the greatest tragedy of her life was that she had not had any children.’ Bridget paused, took a breath, resumed: ‘Lady Dunvale began to weep again, but quietly, sort of desperately, and added that she was barren, that she couldn’t bear children. Again I attempted to comfort her ladyship. I told her she was a young woman, had a lot to live for, and that she could make a new life for herself. This helped to calm her, and I thought she seemed more hopeful about things when she left a little later.’
Bridget sat back. She glanced down at her hands. Raising her eyes she stared at the coroner, and enunciated in the clearest voice, ‘I think her ladyship did take her life, sir, because of the failure of her marriage and because she knew she could never have children.’
The coroner inclined his head, brought his gaze back to the papers spread before him.
The court was deathly quiet. No one stirred and not one single whisper was heard.
Daisy, glancing around discreetly, saw that the jurors wore thoughtful expressions and there was no doubt in her mind that everyone had been affected by Bridget O’Donnell’s story. In its full context it left little to the imagination regarding the late woman’s mental state, her unhappiness and despair. Stealing a quick look at Anthony she was struck by his extreme pallor and a pulse beating rapidly on his temple. His face was devastated.
The coroner’s voice brought an end to the extraordinary stillness. Glancing at Michael Lamont, he said, ‘Since you are employed by Lord Dunvale to run the estate at Clonloughlin, Mr Lamont, you obviously came into contact with the deceased in the last few weeks. Do you have anything to add to Miss O’Donnell’s comments?’
Lamont cleared his throat, said in a subdued tone, ‘Not really, sir. I never heard her ladyship mention suicide, and I would be inclined to agree with Lord Dunvale that she was not the sort of woman to harm herself. However –’ There was a moment’s hesitation before he added, ‘I can attest to her ladyship’s despondency…Miss O’Donnell is correct in that assertion. I spoke to Lady Dunvale about two weeks ago, and she was in a very depressed state.’ He cleared his throat nervously. ‘She had also been drinking. Quite heavily, I thought that day. But what struck me the most was the deep, deep depression. She seemed burdened down by it. But that is all I can tell you. Lady Dunvale did not indicate why she was depressed, nor did I refer to it.’ Another pause, and then he finished softly, ‘I didn’t think it was my place to intrude on her ladyship’s privacy. As an employee of Lord Dunvale’s that would have been a presumption on my part.’
Hold the Dream Page 43
