The Butchered Man

by Harriet Smart

  “That’s as much as I can say, yes. He might have been drugged or poisoned, I suppose. Something strong enough to induce heart failure, perhaps. But I can’t say until I’ve got the stomach contents.”

  “Have you ever seen anything like it before?” Giles asked. Carswell might look young, but according to his references he had plenty of experience.

  “Never. You?”

  “No,” said Giles. He stared down at the corpse. “If it was to kill him, the savagery of it seems explicable, but after the man is dead? Why? And his hands, do you see them?” Carswell looked. “A gentleman’s hands, wouldn’t you say? Not a working man. They’re soft.”

  “You’re right,” said Carswell.

  “So the face is removed so we shan’t know who he is? Is that it? Then why take off the genitals? And the stabbing? What the devil is that for?” Giles said. He rubbed his face and walked away, considering a plan of action. “We must see the coroner. We can’t go any further with this until we’ve seen him.”

  “I can’t get started now?” said Carswell.

  “I’m afraid not. There’ll have to be an inquest, and that means a jury. Of course, I shall request an immediate adjournment and I will also get permission for you do the post mortem.”

  “Why do I need permission from the coroner?”

  “So that you can get your fee.”

  “Damn the fee,” said Carswell. “I don’t need it.”

  “Commendable enthusiasm, but if you don’t take a fee you’ll have every other doctor in Northminster on your back for it. If you were not here I’d have had to send for Woodcroft or some other fellow and you can be sure they would not do it unless they had the chit from the coroner guaranteeing their fee. You cannot wrong-foot the entire medical establishment of Northminster by setting a precedent like that – at least not on your first day.”

  Carswell exhaled expressively and then said, “I suppose not. How much is the fee, by the bye?”

  “Four guineas. You can buy me dinner.”

  ***

  Felix found the meeting with the coroner interminable. Mr Eames was apparently one of the leading attorneys of the town, and he looked as if he must be one of the oldest. Felix wondered if he had only just given off wearing a powdered wig. He had met his share of prosy Scots lawyers in Edinburgh but Mr Eames, of Eames, Eames, Woodwiss and Eames knocked them all into a cocked hat. He did not even offer them a glass of wine to make the ordeal bearable.

  But the Major seemed to know how to deal with him and Felix realised, even in the agony of it, that he had got off lightly. The inquest was set for three o’clock and Felix resigned himself to not being able to start the post mortem that day, because it was clear that by the time they had got through all the formalities any useful light would be quite gone.

  As the Major pointed out, there was nothing for him to do except get himself settled into his new rooms. Like any meticulous host, he showed him over them, set a match to the fire laid in the grate, sent for coffee, bread and cheese and then left Felix to his pile of boxes.

  Looking at the rooms at his leisure, Felix did not feel he had done badly. He had a consulting room with a small bedroom off it. Both overlooked an inner courtyard that seemed to be used for a drill square. The window in the larger room was a deep oriel and the light it gave would be excellent when the day outside was less murky. This and the ample supply of bookshelves was compensation for the alarming slope of the floor and the extreme austerity of the bedroom, which contained nothing more than a bed, a chamber pot and an upturned bath.

  He unpacked some of his books, looking out for certain titles in relation to the body downstairs, but failed to find them. He was glad to be distracted by the arrival of his bread and cheese, but less pleased by the sight of the letter which came with them. He recognised his mother’s spidery hand, and so propped it up against the coffee pot, not entirely willing to inflict it upon himself, at least not until he had filled his belly. But at length he could make no more excuses and ripped it open, breaking her careful seal.

  Typically it was a single sheet only – for the sake of economy. The novelty of the penny post had not made them extravagant. The square had been written on first by his father, in his dark, measured and legible hand and then she had crossed it with her far more urgent, discursive scrawl. He deciphered a few lines and found it contained just what he expected. He knew if he continued to read it, he would be obliged to reply, and there was really nothing to say that would give them any pleasure. He could hardly give a detailed account of his encounter with Lord Rothborough. They would have been horrified by that, and then there was the discovery of a mutilated corpse. What was he to say about that?

  He would have to write sooner or later. It would be his usual few lines telling them he was well, safe and behaving himself. The next letter from the Rectory would excuse his brevity with only the slightest hint of regret and reproach. He would try a little harder than usual, he decided, knowing he could at least write about Major Vernon, of whom they could only approve.

  “Dear Father and Mother,

  I am living in militaristic, monastic simplicity. The only female company here is a greyhound bitch and she never leaves her master’s side. Major Vernon is shrewd and hospitable. He seems to be an excellent, charitable man.”

  He got up to look for his writing case but instead found Christiston’s ‘Treatise on Poisons’ at the top of the next box he opened. Nothing could be more to the point, and he settled down in the bow window to read until it was time for the inquest.

  Chapter Three

  After the inquest, at which he had been commissioned to make further inquiries into the matter by the coroner, Giles shut himself up in his room and paced up and down in order to work out the best way to proceed.

  When Barker, his clerk, interrupted him to announce the arrival of a visitor he found the Chief Constable pinning sheets of foolscap to the walls.

  “Barker, do we have any larger paper?” he asked.

  “I may have some quarto sheets, sir.”

  “Look them out, will you, and bring them here.”

  “Of course – but you have a visitor, sir.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Mrs Fforde, sir. Shall I show her in?”

  There was no need for Giles to reply for at that moment the lady herself swept in, wrapped up in a great plaid shawl, against the snow.

  “Sally, what on earth are you doing out in this weather?” Giles said.

  “To be frank, little brother, I don’t know,” she said, throwing off the shawl with a rather theatrical gesture. She rushed to the fireside and bent over, warming her hands. “I was a fool. I thought it was clearing a little when I set out, but it got worse the moment I left the Minster Precincts. But don’t worry, I shall only stay a minute. In fact I can only stay a minute. I’ve still a great deal to do at home, and you look pretty busy too.”

  “Yes, I am, rather,” Giles said, looking at the piles of paper he had covered with unanswered questions. “Something has come up.”

  “Nothing so important that you can’t come tonight, I trust,” she said, shaking the shawl out in front of the fire and scattering water drops everywhere. “I really should get a mackintosh cape like yours.”

  “Tonight?”

  “I knew it!” she said throwing up her hands. “Well, it was worth a walk in the snow to hear it from your own lips. You have forgotten, haven’t you? I knew you would. I knew if I sent a note you would only ignore it.”

  “Guilty as charged,” said Giles. “So, what have I forgotten?”

  “My evening party, of course! The Bishop is coming to dinner and you promised me faithfully you would come in afterwards.”

  “Ah, yes, that...”

  “I don’t believe you forget accidentally,” she said. “I think you do it deliberately. You push it out of your mind because you can’t bear to come. That’s it, isn’t it?”

  “No, of course not,” Giles said, making a little show of mov
ing papers about on his desk that did not really need to be moved.

  “You cannot live like a hermit, Giles,” she said, after a moment.

  “I do not,” he said.

  “Laura would not want you to shut yourself up.”

  “Sal, please –” he said.

  Her hand was on his shoulder, but he turned away from her and the offer of her embrace. He stared fixedly at the row of papers he had pinned on the wall. He had headed them in bold inked capitals: Identity; Manner of death; Motive for actions; Perpetrator. They seemed to fade before his eyes.

  Instead he saw Laura. Not, of course, any comfortable recollection – his memory never granted him that. Instead, he saw her as he had seen her last, at the tail-end of the previous autumn, on a mild, apparently forgiving day. She had been sitting on the grass in that house by the sea, her dolls ranged about her, her hands busy with fallen leaves, her sing-song mutterings pleasant enough from a distance but disturbing, so disturbing when he came close, because only then had he heard the obscenities they contained. And then that dreadful moment when she had looked up at him, and her puzzled face. She had not known who he was. He was a complete stranger to her.

  He reached up and set his hand over his sister’s, and squeezed it.

  “You are right,” he managed to say, “it’s simply that... it’s those evening parties. They’re not the same without her.”

  She turned him towards him, and pressed her forehead to his.

  “Of course – how can they be? But I think it would do you good to come,” she said, softly. “There will be some good music.”

  “I want bad music,” said Giles. “Good music is too much for me.”

  “Then I shall only ask the most inept young ladies to play. How will that be?”

  He smiled and stroked her cheek.

  “Very well, I will attempt it,” he said.

  “Excellent,” she said, breaking away from him. “Now, you will come as early as you can?”

  “Well, I am dining with my new surgeon first, so –”

  “Bring him along.”

  “I’m not sure he will be a great one for society either.”

  “He’ll want to see the young ladies and they will want to see him. Is he handsome?”

  Yes, but he looks seventeen if he’s a day. And he’s no catch.”

  “In your opinion. He may build a great practice here.”

  “He’s not here to do that. But I mean that his family circumstances are not exactly –”

  “You mean he’s not a gentleman?”

  “No, he’s certainly that, it’s just that –”

  “What?”

  “This is to go no further, Sally, no further, do you promise?”

  “Now you have me all agog, Giles, what is it?”

  “You swear to be discreet?”

  “Of course. Do you think I am an old gossip?”

  “No, but –”

  “Then tell me,” she said.

  “I believe he is Lord Rothborough’s natural son.”

  Sally gave a sort of squeak and covered her mouth. “The one that Lady Rothborough detests?”

  “I don’t know about that. I don’t have the advantage of your friendship with Lady Rothborough.”

  “Nonsense, Giles, we are not friends, by any means. Acquaintances at most – but everyone says she is furious with Lord Rothborough for it, even though the boy was born before they were married. I suppose if she had given him a boy it would be different, but instead there are those four great girls, and not one of them married – and Lady Charlotte must be at least one and twenty. And your surgeon is the little French bastard!”

  “Sally!” Giles said, shocked.

  “I am only quoting her ladyship,” Sally said, but she was looking distinctly mischievous. “At least that is what people say she calls him. I suppose Lord Rothborough put you on to him.”

  “I never met Lord Rothborough until today,” Giles said. “He delivered the boy to my door – and Mr Carswell, to give him credit, seemed mighty embarrassed about it.”

  “But still, everyone will say that you took him on because of Lord Rothborough.”

  “So you will contradict them, won’t you? Lord Rothborough had nothing to do with it. He is a man of some talent and I took him entirely on his own merits.”

  “Of course you did. But people will talk.”

  “Yes, I suppose so. It’s unfortunate – they resemble each other very closely.”

  “And is he French?”

  “Not remotely. He’s a thorough Scotsman, in fact.”

  “I shall say nothing. You can be sure of it. But you must bring him tonight. And I must go home and see to my syllabubs,” she said, picking up her shawl.

  ***

  Major Vernon had not been serious that Felix should buy him dinner. In fact, he had arranged that Felix would dine as his guest that night at The Blue Boar in Minster Street, to welcome him to Northminster.

  The Blue Boar was a respectable and sedate old hotel where, judging by the deference of the waiter who showed them to their seats at the long table in the dining room, the Major was a regular customer. There was not another soul there, though the table was set for twenty. The snow had kept everyone else at home.

  “Good, there will be no need for us to be discreet,” said Vernon, pouring out the claret.

  After some excellent pea soup, the waiter brought in a beefsteak pudding, the speciality of the house, and a dish of roast parsnips, and left them to serve themselves. Felix suddenly felt faint with hunger. The beefsteak pudding was as good as promised and he was soon cleaning his plate.

  “You’ll need to fortify yourself,” said the Major, cutting him another slice. “The clergy ladies will descend on you like a plague of locusts. Are you willing to be the novelty of the evening?”

  “I suppose I shall have to bear it,” Felix said. “And I’m hoping the snow will keep them away.”

  “It won’t – they are hardy creatures.”

  “I think our dead man will be much more interesting to them than me,” Felix said. “If he is gentry maybe one of them might know who he is. He didn’t seem at all familiar to you from what you could see of him? Even in that state, he’s distinctive, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Very. Six foot tall, well-built – without being fat – and fair haired. Clean-shaven too, as far as I could tell. No, there’s no-one I know of like that, but then I don’t know everyone. I’ve been a little out of circulation socially – for various reasons. And of course there are more strangers about in Northminster, far more comings and goings, since the railway opened. We will have to cast our net wide to identify him, I think. But if you hear anything interesting tonight, let me know. Someone missing unexpectedly, for example.”

  “No-one’s reported anything?”

  “Nothing. I sent a couple of constables round to ask if anyone had seen anyone disposing of anything suspicious, but they have had no luck so far. It isn’t so surprising – when the manufactories are open, the place is deserted. But we shall keep at it. Someone will have seen something, I’m sure.”

  After dinner they did not go straight to Mrs Fforde’s. Instead, Vernon led him into a thicket of ancient streets, some so narrow it seemed you could not have got any sort of vehicle down them. They then emerged abruptly into an irregularly shaped little square, with a crumbling church squashed in on one side of it.

  “Five Points Square,” said Vernon, consulting his watch, and then smiling as they saw a Constable trudging towards them, holding a lantern. “Right on time, Constable Evans. Well done. Anything to report?”

  “No, sir, it’s very quiet. Weather like this keeps everyone at home – even the villains. Shouldn’t you be by your own fire, sir?”

  “My sister is expecting me,” Vernon said, “but I would rather be at home, yes. Now, Constable, have you met our new surgeon Dr Carswell yet?”

  “Pleased to know you, sir.”

  “Constable Evans’ father has been in a
bad way of late. I’d be obliged if you’d go and call on him in the next few days, Carswell, if you would?”

  “Of course, Major. Where does he live, Mr Evans?”

  “Barrow Lane, Dr Carswell. Number 7.”

  “We’ll get someone to take you there,” Vernon said. “It’s easy to get lost in Northminster if you are not a native. It took me some time to learn my way about and I’m still not quite sure I’ve mastered it yet. It may take me a lifetime, in fact.”

  “With respect sir, I think you know the place as well as any of us now,” said Evans. “Probably better. Northminster folk stick to what they know, their own parish and don’t roam about as you do. You’ve been a lesson to me in that, sir. Since I joined the force I see the place in a different light.”

  “That’s because you have taken the trouble to do so, Constable. It’s nothing to do with me. Now, we must get on and so must you. We shouldn’t be standing still on a night like this. To it!”

  Vernon swept out his arm in the direction of one of the streets which led off the square, which was presumably the next stage on Evans’ prescribed beat. Evans touched his brim and plodded off.

  “An excellent man. I shall make him a sergeant at Easter,” Vernon said. “Now, I wonder if we have time to get down to St Luke’s before –” He consulted his watch again and frowned. “Perhaps not. This way, Mr Carswell! Now, if we go along here, I can at least show you where the best bookseller in the city is – though perhaps you’ll find it a little heavy with divinity for your taste. All the clerics have their accounts there. But Harvey will get anything you ask for, with reasonable dispatch. Recently he got hold of a capital French book on police investigation for me. It might interest you – especially in the light of today’s events.”

  Even though it was a bitter night, it struck Felix that Major Vernon would rather have tramped round the whole city and encouraged his men on their beats than go into the Minster Precincts and drink tea with his peers.