by Amy Myers
Once the coroner was seated and he had explained that evidence of identity was not necessary as it had been given at the earlier hearing, Nell felt her tension level rise. It was the witnesses’ turn now. The first witness this time was the local inspector, who was summoned to take the oath. Would she be next? Nell fidgeted as he went through the time of his arrival and subsequent actions. No, the duckie Inspector Melbray came next.
‘I first saw the body of Charles Parkyn-Wright at four twelve a.m.,’ he informed the coroner, ‘at which time it was still on the gallery floor on to which I was told it had fallen earlier.’
For the first time she could see the inspector in profile: the stiff way he held his head, the aquiline nose, the chin and the mouth that spouted such oh-so-correct, confident words. ‘It appeared,’ he continued, ‘he had died by the wound from which the weapon still protruded. There was another wound to the abdomen which had bled profusely.’
‘Could the wounds in your experience, Mr Melbray, have been self-inflicted or by accident?’ the coroner asked him.
‘Not in my opinion.’ He went on to be more specific while Nell tried to distance herself from the memories his words evoked. It was hard, however, and even the technical medical evidence that followed from the doctor was more bearable. It did, as Nell had expected, include references to cocaine and opium.
When the court clerk finally called for Miss Eleanor Drury, she rose to her feet with such speed that her gloves and bag fell to the floor and had to be rescued. Flustered, she took the oath in a blur but the first question was simple enough.
‘You are the chef at Wychbourne Court?’ the coroner asked.
‘Yes, sir.’ She steadied herself for the next question. Yes, she had opened the door in the middle of the gallery screen.
‘Why did you do that?’ he asked.
‘It was dark and I thought I saw something liquid coming from under the door. So I put my lantern into the other hand so that the right one was free to open the door. I only pulled it gently but the weight of the body resting against the door on the other side made it fly open.’ So far so good. She was over the worst.
Then she was aware of a disturbance. There were people coming in or out at the back of the room and there were gasps from the public benches. Someone must have fainted or made a flamboyant entrance.
To her dismay, she saw a slender woman dressed entirely in black from her shoes and stockings to the chic hat and full black veil over her face. Only when she tremulously drew back the veil and dabbed her eyes with a lace handkerchief was Nell sure who it was. Miss Elise Harlington. Nell’s first ignoble thought was that she couldn’t have brought that outfit with her. She must have dashed up to London to acquire it.
‘I am late. I do apologise, My Lord.’
The coroner would love his elevation to the peerage, Nell thought meanly.
‘I was too upset earlier. Where should I sit?’ she asked plaintively, looking around as though this were the dress circle at His Majesty’s Theatre.
The coroner’s clerk rushed to assist her, leading her the entire remaining two yards to the witness seats where, with a pathetic smile to her neighbour, Inspector Melbray, she continued to dab her eyes with the handkerchief.
‘Shall I continue, Coroner?’ Nell asked loudly.
‘By all means.’ His voice was frosty, as though she had little right to be so composed in the face of the woe and tragic emotion displayed by the lady in black.
Nell managed to get through the rest of her evidence, even though it was clear that the jury was far more fascinated by Miss Harlington than by the details of whether or not Nell had known the deceased or moved his body. Even the story of the ghost hunt and the intended joke to follow it went down like a damp squib.
The jury was even more fascinated when Miss Harlington took the stand and repeated the oath in a tremulous tone to indicate the ordeal through which she was bravely struggling.
‘Are you the widow of the late Mr Parkyn-Wright?’ the coroner asked her gently.
‘Oh, no, Your Lordship. We were pledged, however. But …’ Another handkerchief came into play as the court was left to ponder on the happily married life and innocent children of which this unfortunate woman had been deprived.
‘Water, please, sir,’ she begged the clerk, who rushed to obey.
‘Tell the court – when you’re ready, of course – what happened that day. Was anything weighing on Mr Parkyn-Wright’s mind? Did he seem troubled in any way?’ the coroner persevered.
‘Oh, no. That afternoon we had driven down to Wychbourne together in his motor car. Such a perfect day. We were so happy. So full of our plans for our life together. It was going to be so wonderful.’
‘Were you aware of this so-called joke in which Mr Parkyn-Wright was to play a part and which resulted in his hiding behind the gallery screen?’ There was disdain in the coroner’s voice.
‘Of course not. He must have reluctantly agreed to do that after we arrived.’
‘You had no knowledge at the time of how he came to be in the gallery?’
‘No,’ she sobbed. ‘If I had I might have prevented this awful murder.’
‘In what way?’ the coroner pressed her gently, ignoring the fact that as yet it hadn’t been established as a murder.
‘I would have warned him of the dangers.’
Nell stirred uneasily. This sounded ominous.
‘Charlie was so wonderful,’ Miss Harlington continued, ‘that there were some who resented him. He was so much in demand that people would confide in him and then regret that they had done so. He was so honest that when he heard those confessions he felt he should warn his informants that he might have to report them. I could tell you who those people are—’
‘No, Miss Harlington,’ the coroner interrupted, almost regretfully, Nell thought, and he was obviously fascinated by the husky voice that his witness had suddenly acquired. ‘This court has to determine how the deceased met his death and not who might have meted it out to him.’
‘But is there to be no justice?’ she wailed heartrendingly. ‘Is the murderer of my beloved Charlie to walk free?’ She burst into tears and indicated that she would like to be escorted back to her seat – perhaps, Nell thought, intending to seek the comforting shoulder of the duckie inspector.
Before she got there, however, the inspector stood up. ‘One moment, Coroner. As the representative of the Metropolitan Police, I have a question for Miss Harlington. And if it reassures you, Miss Harlington, no murderer will walk free from this crime.’
She looked at him with fluttering eyelids. ‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Before you arrived here,’ he continued, ‘sworn evidence was given that medical tests revealed the presence of cocaine in the deceased. The Metropolitan Police also has evidence that Mr Parkyn-Wright dealt in drugs. Were you aware of that, in view of the fact that you were going to marry him?’
Miss Harlington’s eyes had narrowed. ‘I can’t believe that, sir,’ she managed to gasp. ‘Not of darling Charlie.’
And then she swooned. But not before, Nell noted, she had tottered conveniently near to the coroner’s clerk. Perhaps she had unhappy memories of the inspector’s handling of her delicate frame at the last hearing.
Nell emerged into the sunlight with relief. The inquest was not yet over but at least during this adjournment for lunch she could feel normal again – even if Guy Ellimore was at her side with Inspector Melbray watching them from a distance. As Lady Warminster suddenly appeared from nowhere, that was doubtless the reason for his attention.
‘Mr Ellimore,’ Her Ladyship cooed. ‘At last, we can talk. So difficult in that courtroom. You still have evidence to give?’
‘I’m not to be called,’ he told her, smiling down at the too perfect doll-like face. ‘The police have already taken details of the period my band was playing in the ballroom.’
‘And playing so splendidly,’ she murmured. ‘We have to discuss – when this unfortunate business is over
– the music for my little party.’
‘My pleasure,’ he replied.
Lady Warminster was as expert a vamp as the Honourable Elise Harlington. Nell was highly amused. Guy was good looking, of course, and running into ladies with too much time, money and energy must be a familiar hazard in his line of business.
‘Why don’t you walk with me to my motor car?’ Lady Warminster asked him, dismissing Nell’s presence with, ‘I’m too fatigued to talk to you now, Miss Drury. All this emotion. To think I was present when he was killed.’
Nell blinked. ‘You saw it happen?’
‘Not in front of me, of course,’ Lady Warminster replied hastily. ‘But, as you know, I took part in that ghost hunt, and was so close to where it happened that I can imagine it all terribly vividly. Shall we go, Mr Ellimore?’
Nell watched them for a few moments and then gave some thought to her lunch. It had been arranged for those who wished for food to be available at the Coach and Horses but Nell had little appetite. She gave a last look at Guy and Lady Warminster, who had reached the far side of the green where William Foster was presumably waiting, as he’d been in court. Did the inspector know about Lady Sophy’s joke? she wondered. She couldn’t see how it could affect the murder case as Foster hadn’t been on the ghost hunt, but who was she to judge that? Nevertheless, remembering the possibility that there was a time gap during which in theory anyone could have gone up on the gallery, she felt uneasy. That applied to Guy too. Mr Peters was there all the time, of course, and he was sure he would have seen or heard anyone moving up there, but he could be wrong about that.
Nell could not bear the idea of being cooped up inside so she bought herself a sandwich and a glass of lemonade and then selected a spot on the far side of the oak tree where the afternoon sun, dappled by the shade of the branches overhead, looked far more attractive than sitting inside in the Coach and Horses. Revelling in the solitude, she closed her eyes.
Not for long.
‘May I join you, Miss Drury?’ Standing there was Inspector Melbray, also with a sandwich in his hand.
This was the last thing she wanted, but how could she refuse? The investigation into Mr Charles’s death lay in his hands.
‘Please do,’ she managed to say graciously. He sat down by her side but he didn’t begin interrogating her, which was something for which to be thankful.
‘We have achieved our sandwich lunch after all,’ he said presently, ‘although I apologise for your having to buy your own.’
‘You couldn’t buy me one anyway,’ she joked. ‘You’d be bribing a witness.’
‘That is true. You were talking to Lady Warminster just now.’
She stiffened at this pointed sign that she was second best for his choice of companion. ‘She’s over there.’ She pointed. ‘If you hurry you might catch her. I’m sorry I deprived you of sharing your sandwich lunch with her.’
He looked at her puzzled. ‘Why would I do that?’
‘Well’ – she was disconcerted – ‘I thought you might after your visits and personal attentions to her.’
‘Visits and attentions?’ He actually laughed, which wiped the grim look of dedication from his face. ‘Miss Drury, I told you to believe no one.’
She longed to ask him more about Her Ladyship but that might make it seem too important when really it was nothing.
‘In fact,’ he continued, ‘I can’t spot Lady Warminster but I do see your friend Mr Ellimore bearing down on us. He seems upset.’
He did indeed, and Nell scrambled to her feet in alarm as he approached. The inspector, however, remained seated on the ground.
‘I saw him, Nell,’ Guy began without preamble. ‘And Inspector Melbray … that fellow I said I was talking to in the supper room. My alibi, you’d call it. It turns out it was Lady Warminster’s gardener.’
‘William Foster?’ Nell exclaimed. Too late, she realized she had put her foot in it.
It didn’t escape unnoticed. The inspector immediately stood up. Grim dedication was back. ‘Details, please, Miss Drury.’
‘It was him,’ Guy continued, ‘but he’s refusing to admit it. He says he was nowhere near Wychbourne Court that night. He was at home at Stalisbrook Place, but I swear it was him I was talking to until just before twelve thirty when he dashed off somewhere and I came along to the great hall.’
‘You know William Foster?’ the inspector asked Nell non-committally.
Nell inwardly groaned. ‘I don’t know him. I saw him that evening at Wychbourne Court, just as Guy did. And again at Stalisbrook Place. I’m catering for a buffet dinner there on Saturday week.’
‘But you definitely saw him on the night of the murder?’
‘Yes, I saw him at the dinner that night but I didn’t know who he was.’
‘At dinner?’ He frowned. ‘In the servants’ hall?’
‘No, the Ansleys’ dinner.’
‘That seems unusual for Wychbourne Court.’
How could she tell the inspector to speak to Lady Sophy? The inspector was staring at her. Never had she wanted to be safe in her kitchen so much. She knew what Foster had been doing at Wychbourne and here she was making a first-class disaster of a stew.
‘I’ll speak to Foster,’ Inspector Melbray finally said. Nell’s face felt redder than a radish. ‘I’ll also speak to Lady Warminster – again. And who else should I speak to, Miss Drury?’
There was no way out. ‘Lady Sophy.’
The jury dutifully returned its verdict of murder due to a sharp instrument by person or persons unknown two hours later. By then the verdict was almost an anti-climax after the Honourable Elise Harlington’s performance and nothing, as far as Nell could see, had emerged to indicate who had killed Mr Charles. The funeral had, she’d gathered, taken place near Derby, where he had been born and his parents still lived, but it had been a family funeral only. Miss Harlington had been the only person at Wychbourne who had attended, and she was now wooing his bereaved parents.
‘Was there any truth in their being engaged?’ Nell had asked Lord Richard, perhaps tactlessly as he was clearly mortified by his beloved’s public desertion.
‘Not from what Charlie told me and he would have done,’ he told her miserably. ‘Helen won’t believe a word of it. I’m sure Elise is sacrificing herself for the sake of his parents.’
The only significant moment in the inquest after the verdict was that Inspector Melbray, after discussion with Lord Ansley, had requested all those present who had been at Wychbourne Court on the night of the murder to return there immediately.
Nell was flummoxed. Why not announce that earlier? Because of Miss Harlington’s evidence? she wondered – if it could rightly be called that. She had referred obliquely to knowing who Mr Charles’s victims were, save that she didn’t refer to them by that name. That, for Nell, at least, confirmed the blackmail theory. Mr Charles could have ruined careers, relationships or marriages, either for money or for power. Had the inspector dismissed her theory outright or would he be following it up now that Miss Harlington had implied she was Mr Charles’s confidante? Why did the inspector need everyone to return to the house, though? That would include her – which meant a speedy visit to the kitchens for catering arrangements. Mrs Fielding’s still-room would bear the brunt of a sudden tea for everyone but Nell still needed to be on hand.
When she arrived in the east wing both the kitchen and the still-room were in a flurry of dainty biscuits, scones and cakes which were miraculously appearing in many pairs of flying hands.
‘Lady Ansley wants to see you in the parlour right away, Miss Drury,’ Kitty panted as she hurried by with a tray of rock cakes. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I wish I knew,’ Nell said ruefully, automatically whisking one imperfect specimen from it. Tottering turbots, what next? With an agonised look at the kitchen, she hurried up the east wing staircase to the parlour. There in the familiar room was not only Lady Ansley but Lady Helen, who managed a wan smile.
‘The
prodigal daughter returns, Nell.’
‘Lucky we’ve several fatted calves roasting in the range,’ she laughed.
‘I have to stay here with Helen,’ Lady Ansley said, ‘and you’ll be needed in the drawing room. Will you be my eyes and ears as to what on earth is going on?’
‘Of course. If I can work it out myself,’ Nell added. At the moment she was more at sea than the Flying Dutchman.
‘The inspector wants Mrs Fielding there too, and Miss Checkam. And Peters,’ Lady Ansley said despairingly. ‘Tonight’s dinner will have to be at eight thirty and not seven o’clock to allow for whatever it is the inspector has in mind.’
That meant she would have to cancel her nine o’clock meeting with Arthur, Nell realized. She’d given Jimmy a note to arrange it, but with any luck she could catch Arthur in the drawing room to cancel it.
When she arrived there, it seemed that egalitarianism had come to Wychbourne Court in a big way. Lord Ansley was present with Lady Enid, Mr Charles’s parents and the inspector, and so were Lady Sophy, Lord Richard and Mr Beringer. Arthur was sitting next to Lady Clarice, on whose other side were Mrs Fielding and Mr Peters. Robert the footman and Jimmy the lampboy, both looking very uncomfortable, were perched side by side on a sofa. Lady Warminster was also there and Nell could see William Foster too, although not next to Her Ladyship or to Lady Sophy. The Honourable Elise Harlington was lounging on another sofa and surprisingly Guy was with her as her chosen comforter, although he didn’t look happy at this arrangement. Longing to get back to Lady Warminster, perhaps?
It was evident to Nell that Inspector Melbray, whose eye had fallen on her the moment she entered the room, was about to ‘address the meeting’ even though tea was still in progress. He did so with little pomp, merely standing up and thanking everyone for coming. A sure sign that trouble was on its way, Nell thought.
