The Strange Death of Mistress Coffin

by Robert J. Begiebing

  “A gift indeed. He must have come to trust you, Richard.”

  “It was as much perhaps his confessional.”

  “What have you learned by it?”

  “There is no evidence against anyone in Mistress Coffin’s death. But there is a tale of things hidden from others’ eyes, an undercurrent in these lives, as is so often the case. But I can say little as yet. The diary was given me in total confidence, which I had been sworn to bear. It may be, of course, that I will open enough passages of light into these doings and relations to necessitate disclosure of all my investigations. I can say now only that I have seen the woman’s version of her marriage and life here.”

  “An undercurrent often lies long hidden. This tale, you say, is such a one?”

  “It is a dark enough tale.”

  “Well, I’m anxious to hear whatever results and conclusions you winnow from these investigations. How will you proceed?”

  “That I must now rediscover. Coffin’s departure is a sudden turn. There must, however, be those in whom he has had to confide, if only for the aid of their labor. Even if these knew not his purpose, or his ultimate destination.”

  “They’ll be difficult to find. Coffin is a cautious man. Let me think on it. And ask a few questions. Come tomorrow, Richard, at mid-day. Come take dinner with us. Perhaps I can be of some help by then.”

  “I would be grateful. For the moment just allow me one question, now we are alone, over some unpleasant details—the condition of the poor woman’s body when she was found in the river. I have read and heard conflicting accounts.”

  “Well you might, Richard. Well you might.” Cole raised himself heavily out of his chair and stood facing the fire before him. He lit his pipe and filled the room with tobacco smoke. Browne watched his back. “She had been very much tormented, unfortunate creature. Hanged or strangled in some way. Her neck broken finally; tongue black, swollen, out of her mouth. All the blood seemed to have settled in her face. But if that is not enough, her privy parts were all swollen from terrible abuse. One dare not think what she suffered at the hands of her tormentor.”

  “Or tormentors?” Cole looked at Browne. “Do not the circumstances of the body suggest the possibility of more than one to you?” Browne asked.

  “May well be. Possible, of course.” He turned to face Browne completely. “If there were further evidence of divers persons, Higgins’ own defense against suspicions and accusations might be corroborated. But of course specific actions against him are long since withdrawn. Is there anything in this diary you speak of to suggest further the role of two or more persons in her death?”

  “Nothing. Merely an intuition from what you have told me.”

  “I see.” He relit his waning pipe. “Well, we’ll discuss this tomorrow, Richard.” Cole shook his head. “Perhaps this does merit continued pursuit.”

  Browne returned home immediately to conduct business of his own. His correspondence would grow heavy. And there were sawyers and mast cutters to be hired, sawmill owners to see, shipping clerks to contact. For the first time in his life all his responsibilities seemed overwhelming.

  His brother and sister-in-law had not returned with him to New England. They concluded that this brother would be much more useful to their Atlantic trade situated in Old England. They were optimistic about the future of the Commonwealth, despite the previous political quietism of Richard’s younger brother, William. Now the squirearchy and merchants began to look upon their mercantile interests with hope again.

  It seemed to the Browne brothers the best of times, in nearly a decade, to be about the enterprise of rebuilding their fortunes. They had, therefore, entered into a corporation—to nearly the limits of their remaining resources—with some half-dozen well-connected others. They expected to reap their corporate share of the bountiful forest in the vicinity of Richard Browne’s residence in the New World. That vicinity was, of course, but a tiny fragment of the enormous, plunderable wilderness encompassing, in King James’ grant to the New Council at Plymouth, everything roughly from present-day Philadelphia to Newfoundland. Indeed, Browne’s vicinity was but a fragment even of the still lesser patent granted in turn by the Council in 1622 to Sir Ferdinando Gorges and Captain John Mason for the region known as “Laconia,” which stretched from the Merrimack to the Kennebec Rivers.

  The old cavalier Gorges and the younger gallant Mason shared, in separate ways, anachronistic dreams of becoming lords of vast domains. These two adventurers sent initial agents, such as the Hilton brothers (fishmongers out of London), to establish flourishing fiefdoms in the New World. But the reach of the dreamers was so disconnected from the reality of the wilderness that their failures to exploit like feudal lords their vast estates were to be redeemed only by Englishmen of lesser reach, and only in the aftermath of the struggles, deaths, and desperate persistences of early settlers. It was men like Richard Browne who came to face the challenge of shaping out of the old adventurers’ domain of gargantuan dreams a manageable and profitable harvest of wood, fur, and mineral.

  XV

  Richard Browne had not, of course, intended to invest the greater share of his time now with this case of the Coffins and Higginses. But he felt that he owed Cole some resolution, and he had, moreover, developed a personal obsession with the matter. All his waking hours seemed to be absorbed either by establishing a lumber trade or by the enigma of Mistress Coffin’s death, including its aftermath or impact on Elizabeth Higgins. He took no joy in his condition, but nothing else at the moment, not even his fair new house and its beautiful site, seemed particularly real to him. The more he contemplated his circumstances, the more anxious he grew to devote himself to trade, his house and garden, his new citizenship at Robinson’s Falls. He turned fanatically to the lumber trade for some days, wary of his competitors, meeting and negotiating with various men for their services and labors.

  That next morning, before he dined with Cole, Browne sat at his writing table, where he had fashioned a study out of a corner of an upstairs storage room. He was pleasantly surrounded now by his books shipped from England, which included not only his beloved poets and the usual selections from years of polite reading, but his modest collection of legal tracts, mostly at this point in his life practical guides: his own three-shilling version of The Book of The General Lawes and Libertyes, West’s Symboleography, Coke’s A Book of Entries, and Dalton’s The Country Justice, among some few less-useful if more learned tomes.

  He glanced up from time to time to look through his upstairs window at the great flocks of migratory birds flying above or feeding in the river and marshes below his house. Again his thoughts turned to a way of disposing of the Higgins-Coffin affair to his own satisfaction. Could he simply turn over all he had learned to Goody Higgins and Mr. Cole for their own disposition of the matter? Even what he had discovered of Jared Higgins? Yet who could say what was that man’s condition now?

  But he would soon meet with Cole, who might have further information of Coffin. He, Browne, would have to pursue any possibilities there. He tapped his writing table impatiently, stood up, and walked about the room, returning to the window from time to time. Suddenly he slapped his hand against the window casing. Any further information Cole had to contribute he would act upon. But only through November. Then he would cut any losses and move ahead completely with his own life and trade. He would by then have done his best, helped somewhat, paid any reasonable debt to Cole. (He thanked God he had no wife and children.)

  He sat down at his table again and settled into his correspondence and accounts, feeling virtuous and rested. After an hour he called his new maidservant Maggie, daughter of a local widow with twelve children, and asked for a mug of fresh sweet cider which she had bought, along with provisions, of the goodwives just yesterday. He asked her if his hired man, Elias Low, had gone out yet to purchase the horse, fowl, sheep, and pigs as Browne had directed. Yes, Maggie assured him, Elias had been out about such business all morning.

 
; He took some time arranging his papers for later attention and then went downstairs where the huge central fireplace divided two spacious rooms. There was a separate kitchen in the back as well. He left a message for Elias with Maggie in the kitchen. Then he left for his dinner appointment with Cole, who, he found, was his usual mixture of warmth and respect. While they drank strong cider, Browne entertained Mr. and Mrs. Cole with descriptions of England under the Rump parliament. Mrs. Cole, in her bright green gown and lawn sleeves, asked about the fate of certain great families. And the king had been in prison? And they had cut off his head? It was all true, Browne assured her. There was no doubt of the victors and where their interests lay. But there was considerable doubt as to how to govern, he said. She stared quietly in her astonishment while the two men turned to speak of the climate for trade.

  As they rose to go to the ample table, Cole said: “I have a few ideas you might pursue, certain people who might know more about this business of Coffin’s flight.” They were interrupted by the business of being seated and the bustle of Mrs. Cole and a servant about the table. The board-cloth was as fine as anything Richard had seen recently in England. The large silver standing salt glittered, uncovered, at the center. Even as they were seated and the servant girl was bringing food to the table on huge pewter serving platters, Cole, sitting directly beside his wife at the head before their single large wooden trencher, began to speak of Mr. Coffin. But as they started to eat, they all grew silent until Browne finally remarked: “I had forgotten how excellent a cook your Polly is, though how I could have forgotten is beyond me.” Cole and his wife, smiling, looked up from their food and Cole returned to his subject.

  “I believe Coffin was known to one Dr. Sedley, recently of Salisbury. Have you heard of Sedley? No? Well, he has a certain eminence among those who practice physic and surgery, and such like. I may have heard he studied with Harvey once. Probably just a tale; you know how such things get started. Yet Sedley is your man, Richard. Begin there.”

  “Now I think of it, the name seems familiar,” Richard said. “He had, I believe, something to do with the London College of Physicians, some post or influence. It may be the same man.”

  “That’s as I understand. And I believe Sedley was at Leyden and Padua before returning to London. But my speculations are not to the point. He is the man to find, in Salisbury, if I am not mistaken.”

  “What would such a man, if it is he, be doing in Salisbury?”

  “That you must discover, Richard. Little of this makes sense to me. Thus I called on you. I do know that he and Coffin had correspondence, most likely as to his collections and the like. Might not this Dr. Sedley be here to study our rarities as well? Who can say? He arrived only within the year, apparently.” Cole paused to pass the tankard to Browne.

  “Let us hope,” Browne said, raising the tankard in a gesture of thanks, “they were more than casual correspondents. There may be something here, Mr. Cole, thanks to your efforts.”

  “Let’s hope so. Such a one as Coffin has few confidants. But I have some others for you. There is Goody Hussey, the old potion doctress to whom I believe he repaired on occasion for her herbal experience in this land. At least I have one or two reports of it.”

  “Ah,” Richard said. “Where is this woman to be found?”

  “Hampton. She’s mad, of course. A truly mazed creature! Don’t expect to get sense out of her. But perhaps you should try; who knows what path may lead out.” He put his hand up to his cheek and spoke out of the side of his face in mock confidence: “Some say she’s a witch. She may hang for it yet.”

  They finished the meal in contemplative silence. Cole had claret brought in. When they were settled with the wine, Browne asked, “What others?”

  “Only two, Richard. Or maybe one.” He took a large sip of his wine. “The Fletcher brothers. Jacob and Henry. Henry’s a simpleton, and mute. He has a strong back and works in his way at whatever is available—lumber drives on the river, shearing, clearing planting fields, whatever. Jacob is more alert, but just as bad, ask me. Vaultneants, the pair of them! Foresworn dogs. As often under restraint or punishment as free and working.” He shook his head. “Some have charged Henry capable of everything: bestiality, theft, sodomy, smiting his father, lying with a child . . . At the least both are and have been brought up as loose and disorderly persons, idle and debauched.”

  “Mr. Cole!” his wife, who had been growing increasingly distraught, said. “We’ve had quite enough.”

  “Yes, of course, you are right, my dear.” He shrugged his shoulders and looked in mock helplessness at Browne. “Let me say only that Henry is alive today owing to his simplicity and inability to speak for himself. Some have propounded castration, others banishment, still others that he be locked away until his death. But nothing has come of such proposals. Some say Jacob restrains him, but one’s as bad as the other. And more’s the blame to Jacob since he’s not a simpleton, merely a dizzard.”

  “And the connection with Coffin?” Browne asked.

  “I was coming to that. I understand Coffin hired them once or twice for labor. It seems the brothers and Higgins are the only ones he ever hired, excepting the original carpenters who built his house back in . . . wasn’t it forty-four, dear?”

  “I believe so,” Mrs. Cole said. She was shaking her head, a pained look on her face. “Mr. Browne,” she said, changing the subject, “would you not come to our merriment Thursday evening next? Thomas Andros will be here with his music.”

  “That would be delightful, Mrs. Cole.” He asked what hour but barely heard her reply. He had so little time, he felt, to conduct what other investigations he might that he pushed ahead, saying to Cole: “There are no others, then, Mr. Cole?”

  “I am sorry to say no. Or none that I have been able to discover. You may of course inquire of anyone, but all seem equally in the dark on this matter. These are Coffin’s recent associates.”

  “A small but wondrous strange collection.”

  “A menagerie,” Cole said and laughed. “They will be difficult to question. It seems Dr. Sedley may be away on some expedition. But due back soon. The brothers Fletcher are closer by, cast in two actions to the value of about six pounds, subsequent to a hearing to be held tomorrow. You might join us then to see what you make of these two before you question them on this other matter. The widow Hussey you may handle as you wish, or not at all, ask me. She has not talked sense for ten years.”

  “I thank you for the information, Mr. Cole. My time, as you know, is not so free as it was. Yet I’ll pursue these people you mention. I believe Mr. Coffin can be found.”

  “Good, Richard. All you can do is pursue him. And I understand that you are a man of many responsibilities to your family and associates now.” Cole stopped and rose from the table. They all rose and Cole, excusing them from his wife for a few minutes and refilling their winecups, brought Browne aside into the next room.

  “I can’t but think that this private journal you spoke of may be more productive of witnesses,” Cole said once they stood alone in the room. “If there was some adultery or other evil doings come to light.”

  “So there seems to have been, Mr. Cole. But by her own account, and everything I’ve seen, there is no clear cause for that woman’s death, and the brutalities she suffered.”

  “Such is often the case, or so it seems.” He mused a moment. “Ah yes, adultery is that common evil which produces a whole race of kindred evils.”

  “We are looking at much more than adultery here,” Browne said, “from the start.”

  “Just so,” Cole replied. “And with attendant evils. And perhaps even with things separate and darker still.”

  “The whole matter may be more murky now than when I began.”

  “Not so, Richard! Not so. You have been a tremendous help since your arrival.”

  “But you, Sir, seem to have guessed nearly as much as I know by all my researches.”

  “Well, experience must count for some
thing,” Cole said and laughed. “And I hear many things about town. Moreover, need I remind you that history is replete with the debris of those who have believed that love excuses all.”

  “Or rather that lust excuses all.”

  “People mean what they believe, and do not make such distinctions. They believe only what they believe, so to speak. What is real, the case or circumstances or even the feeling, is not the issue, is it?”

  “Perhaps not,” Browne answered. He thought about it. Love excuses all. Yes, so we believe by our acts. It was simply human nature again. And by the other face of the coin, hate would excuse all, or vengeance as hatred. Yet there was no use in such speculations at this point. He was thinking, as he excused himself to be returning home, that already his self-imposed deadline was disintegrating. One month! He himself could be such a fool. It would have to be, somehow, a matter of balancing several projects, not a series of deadlines.

  Suppose he were able to free Higgins of suspicion in Mistress Coffin’s death, at least? Would not that be a worthy service to his friend Elizabeth Higgins? And if Higgins were guilty, especially of such a terrible murder, he, Browne, would be able to lay to rest the question of Higgins’ whereabouts, guilt, and true relations to his own family. The last, of course, did not bode well. Perhaps Higgins would have learned his lesson; perhaps they could be reconciled after the truth, Jared and Elizabeth. That would be in any case no longer any of his personal concern.

  XVI

  When Richard Browne walked into the inquest concerning the Fletcher brothers—held in the hall of Cole’s house—the testimony had already begun. A young woman was testifying that upon returning from a quilting party, before her parents returned from a neighbor’s harvest, she found that someone had forced his way into her house.