A Purely Private Matter

by Darcie Wilde

  The clerk gave Adam a Bible, which he held up in his right hand.

  “Do you swear that the evidence you shall give to this inquest, on behalf of our sovereign lord the king, touching the death of Fletcher Cavendish, shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

  “So help me God,” said Adam, and he kissed the book.

  The coroner at the table shuffled several of the papers in front of him. He wore an ordinary black coat and buff breeches. The grand accoutrements of robes, wigs, sashes, and high benches were reserved for those judges who presided over formal trials and convictions. Such as the trial that would come if it was decided that some specific person or persons had “committed murder against Fletcher Cavendish.”

  “Coroner’s Sir David Royce,” said George to Rosalind. “We call him Sir Dead Reckoning, because he’s so good at finding his way around a corpse.”

  Sir David found his paper, and picked up a pencil. “You are Adam Harkness, principal officer of the Bow Street Police Office?” he asked Adam.

  “I am,” replied Mr. Harkness.

  “How is it you were called in the matter of the death of Fletcher Cavendish?”

  Mr. Harkness described how he met the constable outside the police office (omitting the fact that they collided violently). He told about entering the dressing room and finding Cavendish dead on the floor.

  Sir David ticked off the points on his paper one by one.

  “Mr. Harkness, were you able to ascertain the cause or nature of the death?” he asked.

  “He was stabbed once through the heart with a knife, later identified by one Mr. Abraham Isaacs as a stiletto, probably antique and of Italian origins.”

  This caused considerable crying out and consternation on the part of the assembly, until the clerk had to ring his hand bell again to quiet them.

  Adam continued on, unperturbed. He described how he questioned the night porter, the theater manager, and the manager of the King’s Arms Hotel as well as Mr. Kean and Mrs. West, and from them he had both learned and confirmed the order of events that occurred that evening, including how Mr. Cavendish had dined in the presence of a Miss Alice Littlefield and a Miss Rosalind Thorne and how those persons, each questioned separately, all told him that Captain Seymore had interrupted that meal, an interruption he had also confirmed with the hotel manager, two footmen, and the waiters who served the dinner.

  Captain Seymore bowed his head while the crowd whispered and pointed. George made a note and elbowed Alice. She read it and shook her head and added a word of her own. Mrs. Seymore, sheltered by her veil, kept her face fixed straight ahead.

  “What is the significance of this interruption, as regards this inquest, Mr. Harkness?” asked Sir David, ticking off three more points on his page.

  “Captain Seymore had been seen earlier at the Theatre Royal, attempting to gain entry. At that time Captain Seymore was looking for his wife, Mrs. Seymore, whom he believed was engaged in illicit conduct with Mr. Cavendish.”

  The crowd gasped and the crowd shouted. The clerk clanged his bell, but was ignored for a very long time. The captain mopped at his forehead with his sleeve. Mrs. Seymore didn’t move. Rosalind felt her fists clench.

  “The court does call one Miss Rosalind Thorne. Miss Rosalind Thorne! Draw near and give your attention to this court!”

  CHAPTER 30

  You Shall Tell the Truth

  Upon view of the dead body [he] shall inquire of the persons that hath done the death or murder; also of their abettors, and consenters, and who were present when it was done.

  —John Impey of the Inner Temple,

  The Practice of the Office of Coroner

  Rosalind stood. She focused carefully on each movement. The entire room was looking at her. They must see a woman of breeding and dignity. They would stare, they would talk, but she would not give them extra food for their gossip.

  She climbed the three steps to the witness stand. The heavy, worn Bible was placed in her hand. She heard the oath, gave her affirmative reply, and kissed the book.

  When she lowered it, she looked across the court and saw Adam standing by the door, perfectly calm and assured. He nodded to her once, and Rosalind found herself able to breathe that much more easily.

  Sir David asked her to confirm her name, her address, and the fact that she was an unmarried gentlewoman. She did so.

  “Now, Miss Thorne,” said Sir David. “How was it you came to dine with Mr. Cavendish the night of his death?”

  “Mr. Cavendish had sent myself and my friend a pair of tickets for the performance,” she replied. “We were invited to dine together at his hotel afterwards.”

  Sir David looked at his list while the crowd whispered and sniggered. Rosalind made herself keep still, with her hands folded neatly before her. Adam was watching her. She would not give him reason to worry.

  “What was the reason for this gift of tickets?” asked Sir David.

  “I was fortunate enough to be able to assist a lady of Mr. Cavendish’s acquaintance with some social matters,” she answered. She had, somewhat to her shame, practiced several versions of this speech in front of her glass before settling on this one in particular. “Mr. Cavendish caused me to be presented with a pair of tickets by way of a thank-you.”

  The mutters rose up from the crowd, and the laughter and the sniggers. Rosalind’s jaw clenched.

  “Where did you dine?”

  “It was in the parlor dining room of the King’s Arms Hotel, as Miss Littlefield, my maid, Mr. Cavendish’s valet, and the hotel manager can attest, if it should become necessary.”

  “I’m sure no one is suggesting any impropriety on your part, Miss Thorne,” said Sir David with a long and meaningful look at the crowd. “Your manners bear you out. It is deeply unfortunate that a respectable woman such as yourself should become involved in such a matter.”

  Rosalind lifted her chin and made sure to keep her breath even. Another ragged laugh drifted through the court. Her gaze darted left, then right, and came to rest on Adam. He had not moved. He betrayed no hint at being perturbed by any stray sound or jest.

  Showing me I have nothing to fear.

  “Now, Miss Thorne, you will please say what happened during this dinner?”

  “There was some conversation,” she said. “Miss Littlefield, being a newspaperwoman, was interested in theatrical and social matters. Mr. Cavendish spoke pleasantly and impersonally. And then we were interrupted.”

  “Describe the interruption.”

  Rosalind felt her shoulders relax just a little. She was not to be asked for particulars of the conversation. Adam nodded minutely.

  Rosalind described how the captain burst in. She told them how Seymore had tried to get Mr. Cavendish to admit to an infidelity with Mrs. Seymore, but that Cavendish would not. She told how the captain had retreated, and Mr. Cavendish had closed the door.

  “Did Mr. Cavendish seem unduly upset or angered by this interruption?”

  “He did not,” she said. She wanted very badly to look at Mrs. Seymore to see how she received this statement, but she forced herself to keep her attention on Sir David.

  “Did he say anything regarding the cause or merit of the accusation? This,” he added to the jury, “is of importance, as you gentlemen may be asked to determine if the blow in question was dealt with malice and premeditation or in the heat of a moment’s passion.”

  The men all nodded earnestly.

  The commonplace sins of a commonplace life. Rosalind heard that sonorous voice again in her mind. I wish I could have put on a better show for you, Miss Thorne.

  “Mr. Cavendish only remarked that he was used to such accusations and they meant little to him,” said Rosalind. “He did not own the particular accusation in any fashion.”

  Sir David nodded, and he looked at his papers. He lifted up the on
e in front of him and moved it aside.

  With that, Rosalind was excused. She felt strangely light-headed as she walked down the steps. The whole room had taken on a dreamlike quality and she seemed to be drifting through it.

  “Sit down, sit down,” said George quickly. “Breathe, Rosalind. You’re going to faint.”

  “Of course I’m not,” snapped Rosalind. But she did take several deep breaths, just in case.

  Alice was called next, and she delivered her statement in short, rapping sentences and retreated, Rosalind thought, rather quickly. She also needed several deep breaths before she reclaimed her notebook from George.

  “Honestly,” she muttered as she began to write again.

  Then, the court did call Stanislas Ulbrecht, who gave his profession as night porter at the Theatre Royal. Alice sketched the man, and drew a question mark over his head, which she showed to George, who nodded again. The night porter, with much scratching of his face and tugging at his ears, told about getting to his post in time for the evening’s performance, and how Mr. Cavendish arrived shortly afterward.

  He told how Captain Seymore had arrived sometime after that, and been turned away.

  Sir David ticked off another of his points. “Now, Mr. Ulbrecht,” he said. “With the clear understanding that no one is accusing you of negligence in your duties, is it possible that after this, Captain Seymore could have gone round to another entrance and gotten into the theater without you seeing him?”

  Captain Seymore started to his feet, but his wife pulled him back down. She leaned close and whispered in his ear, and he subsided, but just a little.

  Ulbrecht tugged his ear and scratched his corded throat. He shifted from foot to foot.

  “Well, I’ve only one pair of eyes, haven’t I?” he said at last.

  George underlined his note. Alice added an exclamation point. Sir David made another mark, and moved on.

  Ulbrecht swore that Mr. Cavendish left after the curtain had fallen, but that he returned. He further swore that Mrs. Seymore had arrived, but not until some hours later and had seemed much agitated at that time.

  “You saw her?” pressed Sir David.

  “I did that, sir,” agreed Ulbrecht.

  “With his one pair of eyes,” murmured Alice.

  “And aside from her agitation, you noticed nothing unusual about her person or demeanor?”

  He had not. He had not known anything serious was wrong until Mrs. Seymore came down the stairs to find him to open Mr. Cavendish’s dressing room door, which then revealed the dead man with the stiletto still in his chest.

  Someone screamed. Someone fainted. The proceedings paused while the prostrate personage was taken away. George and Alice compared descriptions. Rosalind looked toward the corner where she’d spoken with Lord Adolphus, but Lord Adolphus was gone.

  “The court does call one Captain William Seymore!” cried the clerk. “William Seymore! Draw near and give your attention to this court!”

  A great chorus of hisses and booing erupted from the crowd. The clerk rang his bell to no effect at all. Captain Seymore, his face utterly impassive, climbed to the stand and set his hat on the railing.

  “Quiet!” bellowed Sir David. “Quiet! Or I’ll clear this room!”

  The threat worked, eventually. Captain Seymore stood before them all as he might on a ship’s deck, his feet spread wide for balance and his hands behind him. His spotless uniform lent him a dignity beyond what Rosalind had seen in him yet. The captain was sworn in. He gave his name, his address, and his occupation, or rather, his former occupation as an officer in the King’s Navy, now retired.

  Mrs. Seymore turned her veiled face toward her husband. Her gray gloved hands were folded decorously in front of her.

  What will you do? Before she dressed for the dinner party yesterday, Rosalind had written to Mrs. Seymore, detailing her visit with the dowager. The reply she’d received with the early post had been brief.

  You must find the one who did this.

  Sir David shuffled his papers again. He read the one in front of him, and laid his finger on a particular point.

  “Did you, Captain William Seymore, go to the Theatre Royal on the night in question to try to see Fletcher Cavendish?”

  “I might have,” answered the captain shortly. He did not look at Sir David. He did not look at anybody. He kept his eyes fixed on the court’s far wall, as if it were the horizon. “I don’t remember.”

  “Why don’t you remember?”

  “Because I was the worse for drink.”

  The murmurs and the gasps and the barks of laughter rose. Alice and George wrote. The captain stood at attention and he waited for his questions. Rosalind wished she were anywhere but there. She wondered where Lord Adolphus had gone and what it meant.

  “Then you don’t remember breaking in on him at his dinner?” asked Sir David.

  “No, sir, I do not.”

  “Because you were the worse for drink?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Can you think of any reason you might have done these things? Aside, sir, from the fact you were the worse for drink?”

  The court chuckled.

  “I did at the time believe my wife . . . that Cavendish had seduced my wife.”

  Shock. Outrage. The rattle of laughter. Mrs. Seymore bowed her head. Because of the veil, Rosalind could see nothing of her expression.

  Sir David considered the written page in front of him, and at last laid it aside.

  “Captain Seymore, do you still believe Cavendish seduced your wife?”

  The court held its breath. Rosalind found she was holding hers as well. Captain Seymore looked toward his wife. She raised her chin.

  Admit your shame. Rosalind heard the captain’s plea echo in her mind. Own it.

  I will not lie, replied Mrs. Seymore. Except she would and she had, repeatedly. But the one lie her husband demanded was the one lie she would not and could not tell, because it would condemn not just her, but her child.

  Or so she said.

  “No, sir,” said the captain. “I do not believe my wife deceived me with that man.”

  A murmur spread through the court, and a few chuckles, which were abruptly silenced. Alice’s pencil stilled, but just for a moment.

  “What has changed your mind?” asked the coroner.

  “My own better judgment,” the captain croaked. “My understanding of my wife’s honest nature and her loyalty to me. I want . . . I wish it to be known, I had decided not to go forward with the suit.”

  Sir David frowned. So did Rosalind. Did Sir Bertram know about this change of heart? she wondered. Did Lady Bertram?

  Did Lord Adolphus, who still had not returned to the court?

  “The captain’s just paid for Margaretta’s suicide story,” murmured Alice. “He’s figured out that if he accuses her in public, she could change her mind, and condemn him.”

  “Maybe,” answered Rosalind. “Maybe.” Because there remained Mrs. Seymore’s determination to protect the child she carried. And there also remained the unknown question of what the other witnesses would say. What Rosalind did know was that what the captain said now was entirely at odds with what he’d said before.

  “Thank you, Captain Seymore. You may step down,” said Sir David.

  “The court does call one Mrs. William Seymore!” cried the clerk. “Mrs. William Seymore!”

  Amid the gasps and the murmurs, the jeers and the slurs, Mrs. Seymore moved with the grace of a queen. She mounted the stand without hesitation and lifted her veil. The sight of her pale and beautiful face elicited a fresh round of murmurs. She kissed the book with reverence.

  Sir David laid a new sheaf of papers in front of him.

  “Mrs. Seymore, I have here a sworn statement from you, signed in the presence of Mr. John Townsend of Bow Street, t
hat Mr. Cavendish did in your hearing threaten to kill himself.” He laid his finger on one point of the page. “Is this true?”

  CHAPTER 31

  Lies and Refutations

  But it is only by circumstances that you will infer the criminal connection between the parties.

  —The Trial of Birch vs. Neal for Criminal Conversation

  Rosalind’s fists clenched. Alice and George poised their pencils and together leaned forward.

  On the stand, Mrs. Seymore dropped her gaze, delicate and decorous, and turned her face away.

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  Again, the court erupted into tumult. There were wails of grief and wordless cries.

  “Liar!” someone shouted. “Liar! You did this!”

  “Throw that man out!” bellowed Sir David. Adam gestured over all their heads, and a pair of patrolmen waded into the crowd. Mrs. Seymore clutched at the rail, and swayed on her feet. Rosalind wondered if she planned to faint.

  Eventually, however, the crowd calmed and Sir David was able to continue.

  “Mrs. Seymore, in your statement, you affirm that it was because of this threat of suicide that you went to the theater not once but twice, and that your intention was to remonstrate with Mr. Cavendish.”

  “Yes,” said Mrs. Seymore again. “He told me he was in love with me, and I went to beg him to break off all connection with me, because I did not love him. I loved my husband.”

  “Your statement further says he showed you the stiletto, which he then had in his possession.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you later recognized it as the weapon that killed him.”

  She gripped the railing with both hands. “Yes, sir,” she breathed.

  When the uproar occasioned by this latest assertion died away, Sir David picked up a page and read it, and laid it down again.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Seymore,” he said. “You will keep yourself ready. You may be recalled later.”