The Coroner's Daughter

by Andrew Hughes

  ‘It’s strange. He didn’t mention it to me when I saw him.’

  Ewan was chewing a mouthful of bread, and I pointed to a corner of my lip. ‘You have butter here.’

  He began to dab at his mouth with a napkin.

  ‘The other side.’

  Kathy came into the dining room with a plate of kippers and poached eggs. She placed it by Father’s empty seat, and said that he was on his way.

  When she left, I said, ‘Robert knew that the letter would place suspicion on Mr Darby.’

  ‘I should say so.’

  ‘And he didn’t trust to hand it to anyone else. Not even his father.’

  ‘Perhaps Judge Gould told him to deliver it.’

  I was about to say that Judge Gould had not been inclined to assist the inquest at all, but then Father came into the room. He seemed weary, the skin around his eyes was crinkled and his shoulders were stooped, but he adopted a light air and spoke of small things. He deftly removed the skin of his fried kipper with the point of his knife, and sliced through a flake of flesh. We spoke no more of Edith or Robert Gould or Mr Darby.

  The exterior of St Thomas’s Hall was like a church without a steeple, nooks of grey brick and weathered, sculpted figures. Inside the wooden hall, rows of seats had been set out. A square table sat in the middle of a raised dais with chairs for my father and a local justice of the peace. A longer table, borrowed from a local inn, had room enough for thirteen men. Only twelve were required for a jury; Father always picked one extra in case of a split decision.

  When Ewan and I entered, the hall was nearly full. The people attending were well dressed and respectable for the most part, with several faces that I was more accustomed to seeing at church. There was an expectant chatter among the crowd, like the moments before a play began. The only concessions to the sober occasion were the muted colours of dress. Ewan and I found two empty seats next to the aisle.

  There was no sign of Mr Darby or any of the Brethren, or members of Edith’s family, though that wasn’t unusual for an inquest, especially when distressing details might be aired. Edith was in a separate room where the jury could inspect her. Father would have to point out any features on her body visible from external examination, and I imagined the thirteen men gazing down on her, shuffling and crowding about the table, their faces white in the meagre light.

  I felt Ewan’s shoulder press against mine. ‘Isn’t that Mr Gould over there?’

  I looked to where he nodded. Robert sat hunched in a seat, his greatcoat buttoned up and the brim of his hat pulled down. His eyes were pressed closed as if in restless sleep, but then he opened them, his gaze fixed on the dais.

  ‘Yes, it is. He must not have been willing to hear the evidence second-hand.’

  The jurors emerged from a door at the top of the hall and took their seats at the long table. They were men from the locality, shopkeepers and apothecaries, chandlers and silversmiths, and except for the amount of grey in their hair, they could have been interchangeable. There were sheets of paper and pencils laid for each of them. I saw one man frown at the snapped nib of his own pencil. He swapped it with his neighbour’s while the other was looking away. A constable administered their oath and told them to choose a foreman. After a brief huddle, a man with mutton-chop whiskers and a bald pate was put forward, who identified himself as Mr Heeney.

  A hush fell over the crowd as my father and the justice entered and took their seats. The clock above the dais ticked towards the hour, and I knew that Father wouldn’t begin until the appointed time.

  The doors at the back of the auditorium opened and a draught stirred through the hall. Mr Darby walked in, flanked by several members of the Brethren all dressed in their dark coats. There were a few seats left, but Darby and his followers gathered together in the shadows beneath a raised gallery, and seemed content to observe proceedings from there.

  Many turned to look at them, including Robert Gould, who squinted slightly as if his vision was blurred. The chatter in the hall increased, and I thought Father would have to appeal for quiet, but I was proud of his composure. He addressed the jury members in a voice barely audible beyond the dais, which made the crowd go silent as they strained to pick up his words.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ he said, you are charged with inquiring when, how, and by what means Miss Edith Gould came by her death, if any person or persons were culpable, including the deceased, and, if her death took place away from her hearth and home, to follow the steps that brought her body to Blessington Street. If all oaths have been taken and everything is in order, I call upon Constable Matthews.’

  The young policeman that I’d seen at the reservoir made his way to the dais, and repeated the oath administered by the JP.

  He placed his cap before him, but perhaps thought it looked conspicuous on the empty table, and put it by his feet instead. He addressed his answers to the jury, saying that on the morning in question, he had finished his night-watch in and around Sackville Street when he heard reports of a body in the basin. Shortly after he arrived, Miss Gould was retrieved, still dressed in a dark frock and leather half-boots.

  My father interrupted him to say that those items could be shown to the jury. A helper brought the dress and shoes from the back room and placed them on the jury table, the black gown and its mud-encrusted fabric laid out fully, the shoes with their laces untied and tongues drooping. There was a leather rosette on the toe-cap of one, but it was missing from the other. I thought of Edith kicking them off beside her bed every evening, how she would have stepped over them, disregarded them, and here in front of a packed hall they had almost come to represent her. A jury member picked one up and inspected it close to his face, as if he were choosing a pair for his wife.

  Father continued to question the constable. At the time, did you form any impression of what may have happened to her?’

  ‘Well, there were no obvious signs of injury, so I thought the poor girl may have slipped into the water by accident. I was surprised though by the quality of her dress, and when she was identified as being so far from home I knew something was amiss.’

  ‘Who identified her?’

  ‘A young lady at the reservoir. I didn’t get her name.’

  I saw Father was about to enquire further, but then his head stilled and he turned a sheet in his folder. Ewan glanced at me. ‘Perhaps you should be up on the dais.’

  The woman next to us shushed him, and began removing bonbons from a paper bag with a persistent rustling.

  Father said, ‘Were any other items of Miss Gould’s clothing present?’

  ‘No, her head was uncovered and she had no cloak. If she did go to the basin alone, it would have been a long journey on foot with no coat on such a dirty night.’

  There were no other questions, and the constable was excused. His boots echoed on the wooden floorboards as he descended the three steps of the dais.

  Father next called Lisa Croft, and the maid with the Liverpool accent from the Gould household went to take her seat at the table. As she passed the jury, one of the sleeves of Edith’s dress slipped over the table’s edge and hung towards the floor. Miss Croft lifted it back and smoothed it down. I saw Robert Gould sit forward in his seat, one elbow resting on his knee.

  The maid’s voice was quiet and wavering as she swore her oath and answered Father’s first questions. She took a sip of water, gripping the tumbler with both hands as if she might betray a trembling. But the glances she gave to the jury and the crowd were pointed and darting.

  ‘You acted as a lady’s maid for Miss Gould?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘How long did you have that job?’

  ‘Nearly four years, sir.’

  ‘You must forgive me for prying, Miss Croft, but on the night she disappeared, did Miss Gould prepare for bed as normal?’

  ‘As far as I know.’

  ‘You mean you were not present?’

  ‘Not that evening, sir, but that wasn’t unusual for Miss Edith. As l
ong as her things were laid out, she would often dress herself. If she didn’t ring, then I knew I wasn’t needed till morning.’

  ‘So when was the last time you saw her?’

  The maid looked to the side as if thinking, but she must have expected the question, and had her answer prepared. ‘I saw her briefly outside her chamber just before she retired. But before that it would have been after supper. Miss Edith was drawing in her sketchbook in the front parlour, and asked me to bring hot water to her room at about nine o’clock. The usual time.’

  ‘Did she seem agitated at all, or anxious?’

  ‘No, sir. She was perfectly calm.’

  ‘You fetched water and laid out her nightdress. How long did that take?’

  ‘Fifteen minutes perhaps. I’m not sure.’

  ‘And you say you passed her in the hallway just before she went to bed?’

  ‘That’s right, sir.’

  ‘You bid her good night?’

  ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘Did you do so first, or did she?’

  ‘I think I did.’

  ‘Was that not presumptuous? Without knowing if Miss Gould required anything else?’

  ‘Believe me, sir, if she needed anything she would have asked.’

  Father wrote something out on a sheet, as if taking down her last answer verbatim, and the maid frowned.

  Without looking up, Father gestured towards the jury table with his pen. ‘Was that the dress she was wearing when you saw her last?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘You’re quite sure?’

  ‘I had helped her to don it before supper.’

  ‘And the shoes?’

  ‘No, she was wearing her silk slippers, as she always did indoors.’

  ‘So she entered her chamber at a quarter past nine, didn’t change into the nightgown you laid out, but rather put on these shoes in which she was later found.’ He paused for a moment, as if granting the maid a chance to correct or contradict him. ‘Did you notice the rosette missing from the shoe before?’

  ‘No, sir. They were as good as new.’

  ‘What did you do then?’

  ‘I went to my own room, directly above.’

  ‘What time did you go to sleep?’

  ‘Not long after.’

  ‘Around nine?’

  ‘No, sir, ten.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what I meant, ten. And Miss Gould never rang for you? You didn’t hear anything strange in the room below? Even Edith moving about later than usual?’

  All was quiet throughout the house.’

  Father removed his spectacles and closed over the temples. ‘Let’s go back earlier in the day, before supper. What had Miss Gould been doing?’

  The maid glanced towards the galleries. ‘She’d had a visit from a gentleman.’

  And who was that?’

  ‘Mr Darby.’

  A murmur spread throughout the hall, though Darby’s courtship of Edith was common knowledge.

  ‘Mr Darby had been a frequent visitor in recent weeks?’

  ‘It depends on what you consider frequent.’ An edge had entered her voice, but my father wasn’t perturbed.

  ‘I’m willing to trust your judgement on that.’

  Miss Croft paused and said, ‘Yes, his visits were frequent.’

  ‘They took a walk together around Fitzwilliam Square that afternoon?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘What did they talk about?’

  ‘I wasn’t there.’

  ‘But your mistress must have spoken about it when she saw you later. When you helped her dress for supper.’

  ‘Indeed she did not.’

  ‘She wasn’t in the habit of confiding things to you, despite the many years that you were her closest servant?’

  The maid’s face darkened.

  ‘Did she seem pleased at the encounter, or angered, or indifferent?’

  ‘Sir, she didn’t discuss it at all.’

  Father waited to see if she would add anything more, then rifled through some papers. He picked out a sheet and held it up for the jury. ‘Gentlemen, I have here an affidavit from Mr William Hawkins, a cabman who plies his trade around Fitzwilliam Square. Allow me to read it.’ He held his spectacles against the bridge of his nose without opening them. ‘I working on the square that night, parked on the corner of Fitzwilliam Street, waiting for a dinner party to break up. It had gone midnight, and I was sitting in the cab to shelter from the rain. I could see another carriage, not a cabbie, parked outside the eastern gate of Fitzwilliam Square. It waited there for several minutes in the dark, the driver sitting out despite the weather. A door to one of the houses opened, which one I can’t say for sure, but all the lights in the windows were out. Two women came down the steps, both wearing cloaks with the hoods pulled up. They hurried towards the carriage, and one spoke with the driver. He hardly seemed to acknowledge her at all, but the girl turned and opened the carriage door. I assumed both would get in, but instead they stopped and spoke on the street for several seconds, holding each others hands. One girl lowered her hood. They embraced, and then the first woman entered the carriage and shut the door. It set off immediately. The other stayed in the street to watch until it turned a corner. She replaced her hood and returned to the house.’

  Miss Croft stared at Father while he spoke, but as the narrative went on, her gaze lowered.

  Father handed the sheet to a helper, so it could be passed among the jury members. He looked at the maid without speaking until she raised her eyes again.

  ‘Is it necessary for us to summon Mr Hawkins so he can identify you in person?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Very well. Who was Edith planning to meet that night?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Miss Croft, you may feel compelled to keep the confidences that you shared with your mistress, especially in so public a setting. But that will not do. These gentlemen must determine the truth of what happened to Miss Gould, and anyone who obstructs those efforts, anyone who is deliberately unforthcoming, or misleading, is open to criminal charges.’

  ‘I swear she didn’t tell me,’ she said. ‘I asked of course, again and again, but she wouldn’t say.’

  ‘Was she going to meet a gentleman? She knew there was a carriage waiting for her.’

  Again, the maid hesitated.

  ‘Did you recognize the driver at least?’

  Still there was no response.

  ‘Please answer.’

  ‘I don’t know. I can say no more than that. You may lay any charge against me you like.’

  Father repeated his questions, but the maid remained silent. He told her that this wasn’t the last she would hear of the matter, in a tone of voice I’d often heard, such as when I dropped a crystal glass on the kitchen floor one Christmas, or when he caught me reading an anatomical tome in his library several years ago. Miss Croft was dismissed.

  When Mr Darby was called to the table, he walked up the central aisle instead of skirting around the side. His eyes swept over the jury, taking note of each member, and when the Bible was handed to him to swear his oath, he opened the cover as if checking the edition. He was undaunted by the rows of eyes gazing back at him, and he spoke in a clear, calm voice.

  My father said, ‘You heard the testimony of Miss Croft. Is there any part of it you would like to dispute?’

  ‘Dispute?’

  ‘You don’t deny that you saw Miss Gould the day before she died, and that you were a frequent visitor to her house in the weeks before that?’

  ‘Why would I deny such a thing?’

  ‘Why did you call upon the Goulds so often?’

  ‘They are members of my congregation. I had been offering them counsel in recent months, an issue involving their son.’ Robert glanced up at this mention.

  Father said, ‘What was the issue?’

  The corners of Darby’s mouth turned upwards, for Father had held the inquest into the deaths of Miss Casey and h
er baby in these chambers only weeks before. Darby said, ‘It was a private matter for the Gould family. Though when I called on them, I would often escort Miss Gould around the central garden.’

  ‘Alone?’

  ‘With the consent of her parents.’

  ‘Naturally. You were courting the young lady?’

  Darby regarded my father without blinking. ‘I was.’

  ‘Had you proposed marriage?’

  ‘I had spoken to her of the possibility, and I had broached the subject with her father. Judge Gould was amenable.’

  ‘Perhaps more amenable than she?’

  Darby was stung into saying, ‘Quite the contrary.’

  ‘You believe that she was willing to marry you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So when she left her home that night, she was going to see you.’

  ‘No.’

  Father took down that short answer, then studied it on his page as if the ink had blotted.

  ‘What happened to your first wife?’

  For the first time, Darby was perplexed by a question. He stayed still for a moment, then shifted in his seat and crossed his legs.

  ‘She was taken from me.’

  Father said nothing, and waited for Darby to elaborate.

  ‘My wife was with child. It was winter, and a fog covered the hills around St John’s. I sent for help, for the doctor, the midwife. No one arrived in time.’

  ‘What was the decision of the coroner?’

  ‘There was no inquest.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘It was God’s will.’

  There was silence in the hall, enough for the fluttering of pigeon wings to be heard in the loft overhead.

  ‘Did you ever speak to Miss Gould about your first wife?’

  ‘Yes, quite often. We once visited my former parish.’

  ‘What did you talk about in Fitzwilliam Square that day?’

  ‘I forget. Nothing of consequence.’

  ‘Nothing of your proposal?’

  ‘I would have considered that consequential.’

  ‘When did she tell you that she did not wish to marry you?’

  Darby wanted to hold Father’s eye, but he had already looked down to leaf through a sheaf of documents. With no answer forthcoming, Father handed him Edith’s letter of rejection through a helper.