The Case of Miss Elliott

by Baroness Orczy

  “The deed was drawn up,” continued the man in the corner, “there is no doubt of that. Mr Statham saw to it. The old lady even insisted on having two more legal opinions upon it, lest there should be the slightest flaw that might render the deed invalid. Moreover, she caused herself to be examined by two specialists in order that they might testify that she was absolutely sound in mind, and in full possession of all her faculties.

  “When the deed was all that the law could wish, Mr Statham handed it over to Mrs Yule, who wished to keep it by her until 3rd April – young Bloggs’ twenty-first birthday – on which day she meant to surprise him with it.

  “Mr Statham handed over the deed to Mrs Yule on 14th February, and on 28th March – that is to say, six days before Bloggs’ majority – the old lady was found dead at the foot of the stairs in Dartmoor Terrace, whilst her desk was found to have been broken open, and the deed of gift had disappeared.”

  2

  “From the very first the public took a great interest in the sad death of Mrs Yule. The old lady’s eccentricities were pretty well known throughout all her neighbourhood, at any rate. Then, she had a large circle of friends, who all took sides, either for the disowned son or for the old lady’s rigid and staunch principles of filial obedience.

  “Directly, therefore, that the papers mentioned the sudden death of Mrs Yule, tongues began to wag, and, whilst some asserted ‘Accident’, others had already begun to whisper ‘Murder’.

  “For the moment nothing definite was known. Mr Bloggs had sent for Mr Statham, and the most persevering and most inquisitive persons of both sexes could glean no information from the cautious old lawyer.

  “The inquest was to be held on the following day, and perforce curiosity had to be bridled until then. But you may imagine how that coroner’s court at Kensington was packed on that day. I, of course, was at my usual place – well to the front, for I was already keenly interested in the tragedy, and knew that a palpitating mystery lurked behind the old lady’s death.

  “Annie, the housemaid at Dartmoor Terrace, was the first, and I may say the only really important, witness during the interesting inquest. The story she told amounted to this: Mrs Yule, it appears, was very religious, and, in spite of her advancing years and decided weakness of the heart, was in the habit of going to early morning service every day of her life at six o’clock. She would get up before anyone else in the house, and winter or summer, rain, snow, or fine, she would walk round to St Matthias’ Church, coming home at about a quarter to seven, just when her servants were getting up.

  “On this sad morning (28th March) Annie explained that she got up as usual and went downstairs (the servants slept at the top of the house) at seven o’clock. She noticed nothing wrong; her mistress’s bedroom door was open as usual, Annie merely remarking to herself that the mistress was later than usual from church that morning. Then suddenly, in the hall at the foot of the stairs, she caught sight of Mrs Yule lying head downwards, her head on the mat, motionless.

  “‘I ran downstairs as quickly as I could,’ continued Annie, ‘and I suppose I must ’ave screamed, for cook came out of ’er room upstairs, and Mr Bloggs, too, shouted down to know what was the matter. At first we only thought Mrs Yule was unconscious-like. Me and Mr Bloggs carried ’er to ’er room, and then Mr Bloggs ran for the doctor.’

  “The rest of Annie’s story,” continued the man in the corner, “was drowned in a deluge of tears. As for the doctor, he could add but little to what the public had already known and guessed. Mrs Yule undoubtedly suffered from a weak heart, although she had never been known to faint. In this instance, however, she undoubtedly must have turned giddy, as she was about to go downstairs, and fallen headlong. She was of course very much injured, the doctor explained, but she actually died of heart failure, brought on by the shock of the fall. She must have been on her way to church, for her prayer-book was found on the floor close by her, also a candle – which she must have carried, as it was a dark morning – had rolled along and extinguished itself as it rolled. From these facts, therefore, it was gathered that the poor old lady came by this tragic death at about six o’clock, the hour at which she regularly started out for morning service. Both the servants and also Mr Bloggs slept at the top of the house, and it is a known fact that sleep in most cases is always heaviest in the early morning hours; there was, therefore, nothing strange in the fact that no one heard either the fall or a scream, if Mrs Yule uttered one, which is doubtful.

  “So far, you see,” continued the man in the corner, after a slight pause, “there did not appear to be anything very out of the way or mysterious about Mrs Yule’s tragic death. But the public had expected interesting developments, and I must say their expectations were more than fully realized.

  “Jane, the cook, was the first witness to give the public an inkling of the sensations to come.

  “She deposed that on Thursday, the 27th, she was alone in the kitchen in the evening after dinner, as it was the housemaid’s evening out, when, at about nine o’clock, there was a ring at the bell.

  “‘I went to answer the door,’ said Jane, ‘and there was a lady, all dressed in black, as far as I could see – as the ’all gas always did burn very badly – still, I think she was dressed dark, and she ’ad on a big ’at and a veil with spots. She says to me: “Mrs Yule lives ’ere?” I says, “She do, ’m,” though I don’t think she was quite the lady, so I don’t know why I said ’m, but –’

  “‘Yes, yes!’ here interrupted the coroner somewhat impatiently, ‘it doesn’t matter what you said. Tell us what happened.’

  “‘Yes, sir,’ continued Jane, quite undisturbed, ’as I was saying, I asked the lady her name, and she says: “Tell Mrs Yule I would wish to speak with ’er,” then as she saw me ’esitating, for I didn’t like leaving ’er all alone in the ’all, she said, “Tell Mrs Yule that Mrs William Yule wishes to speak with ’er.”’

  “Jane paused to take breath, for she talked fast and volubly, and all eyes were turned to a corner of the room, where William Yule, dressed in the careless fashion affected by artists, sat watching and listening eagerly to everything that was going on. At the mention of his wife’s name he shrugged his shoulders, and I thought for the moment that he would jump up and say something; but he evidently thought better of it, and remained as before, silent and quietly watching.

  “‘You showed the lady upstairs?’ asked the coroner, after an instant’s most dramatic pause.

  “‘Yes, sir,’ replied Jane; ‘but I went to ask the mistress first. Mrs Yule was sitting in the drawing-room, reading. She says to me, “Show the lady up at once; and, Jane,” she says, “ask Mr Bloggs to kindly come to the drawing-room.” I showed the lady up, and I told Mr Bloggs, ’oo was smoking in the library, and ’e went to the drawing-room.

  “‘When Annie come in,’ continued Jane with increased volubility, ‘I told ’er ’oo ’ad come, and she and me was very astonished, because we ’ad often seen Mr William Yule come to see ’is mother, but we ’ad never seen ’is wife. “Did you see what she was like, cook?” says Annie to me. “No,” I says, “the ’all gas was burnin’ that badly, and she ’ad a veil on.” Then Annie ups and says, “I must go up, cook,” she says, “for my things is all wet. I never did see such rain in all my life. I tell you my boots and petticoats is all soaked through.” Then up she runs, and I thought then that per’aps she meant to see if she couldn’t ’ear anything that was goin’ on upstairs. Presently she come down –’

  “But at this point Jane’s flow of eloquence received an unexpected check. The coroner preferred to hear from Annie herself whatever the latter may have overheard, and Jane, very wrathful and indignant, had to stand aside, while Annie, who was then recalled, completed the story.

  “‘I don’t know what made me stop on the landing,’ she explained timidly, ‘and I’m sure I didn’t mean to listen. I was going upstairs to change my things, and put on my cap and apron, in case the mistress wanted anything.

&nb
sp; “‘Then, I don’t think I ever ’eard Mrs Yule’s voice so loud and angry.’

  “‘You stopped to listen?’ asked the coroner.

  “‘I couldn’t ’elp it, sir. Mrs Yule was shouting at the top of ’er voice. “Out of my ’ouse,” she says; “I never wish to see you or your precious husband inside my doors again.”’

  “‘You are quite sure that you heard those very words?’ asked the coroner earnestly.

  “‘I’ll take my Bible oath on every one of them, sir,’ said Annie emphatically. ‘Then I could ’ear someone crying and moaning: “Oh! what ’ave I done? Oh! what ’ave I done?” I didn’t like to stand on the landing then, for fear someone should come out, so I ran upstairs, and put on my cap and apron, for I was all in a tremble, what with what I’d ’eard, and the storm outside, which was coming down terrible.

  “‘When I went down again, I ’ardly durst stand on the landing, but the door of the drawing-room was ajar, and I ’eard Mr Bloggs say: “Surely you will not turn a human being, much less a woman, out on a night like this?” And the mistress said, still speaking very angry: “Very well, you may sleep here; but remember, I don’t wish to see your face again. I go to church at six and come home again at seven; mind you are out of the house before then. There are plenty of trains after seven o’clock.”’

  “After that,” continued the man in the corner, “Mrs Yule rang for the housemaid and gave orders that the spare room should be got ready, and that the visitor should have some tea and toast brought to her in the morning as soon as Annie was up.

  “But Annie was rather late on that eventful morning of the 28th. She did not go downstairs till seven o’clock. When she did, she found her mistress lying dead at the foot of the stairs. It was not until after the doctor had been and gone that both the servants suddenly recollected the guest in the spare room. Annie knocked at her door, and, receiving no answer, she walked in; the bed had not been slept in, and the spare room was empty.

  “‘There, now!’ was the housemaid’s decisive comment, ‘me and cook did ’ear someone cross the ’all, and the front door bang about an hour after everyone else was in bed.’

  “Presumably, therefore, Mrs William Yule had braved the elements and left the house at about midnight, leaving no trace behind her, save, perhaps, the broken lock of the desk that had held the deed of gift in favour of young Bloggs.”

  3

  “Some say there’s a Providence that watches over us,” said the man in the corner, when he had looked at me keenly, and assured himself that I was really interested in his narrative, “others use the less poetic and more direct formula, that ‘the devil takes care of his own’. The impression of the general public during this interesting coroner’s inquest was that the devil was taking special care of his own – (‘his own’ being in this instance represented by Mrs William Yule, who, by the way, was not present).

  “What the Evil One had done for her was this: He caused the hall gas to burn so badly on that eventful Thursday night, 27th March, that Jane, the cook, had not been able to see Mrs William Yule at all distinctly. He, moreover, decreed that when Annie went into the drawing-room later on to take her mistress’ orders with regard to the spare room, Mrs William was apparently dissolved in tears, for she only presented the back of her head to the inquisitive glances of the young housemaid.

  “After that the two servants went to bed, and heard someone cross the hall and leave the house about an hour or so later; but neither of them could swear positively that they would recognize the mysterious visitor if they set eyes on her again.

  “Throughout all these proceedings, however, you may be sure that Mr William Yule did not remain a passive spectator. In fact, I, who watched him, could see quite clearly that he had the greatest possible difficulty in controlling himself. Mind you, I knew by then exactly where the hitch lay, and I could, and will presently, tell you exactly all that occurred on Thursday evening, 27th March, at No. 9 Dartmoor Terrace, just as if I had spent that memorable night there myself; and I can assure you that it gave me great pleasure to watch the faces of the two men most interested in the verdict of this coroner’s jury.

  “Everyone’s sympathy had by now entirely veered round to young Bloggs, who for years had been brought up to expect a fortune, and had then, at the last moment, been defrauded of it, through what looked already much like a crime. The deed of gift had, of course, not been what the lawyers call ‘completed’. It had rested in Mrs Yule’s desk, and had never been ‘delivered’ by the donor to the donee, or even to another person on his behalf.

  “Young Bloggs, therefore, saw himself suddenly destined to live his life as penniless as he had been when he was still the old gardener’s son.

  “No doubt the public felt that what lurked mostly in his mind was a desire for revenge, and I think everyone forgave him when he gave his evidence with a distinct tone of animosity against the woman who had apparently succeeded in robbing him of a fortune.

  “He had only met Mrs William Yule once before, he explained, but he was ready to swear that it was she who called that night. As for the original motive of the quarrel between the two ladies, young Bloggs was inclined to think that it was mostly on the question of money.

  “‘Mrs William,’ continued the young man, ‘made certain peremptory demands on Mrs Yule, which the old lady bitterly resented.’

  “But here there was an awful and sudden interruption. William Yule, now quite beside himself with rage, had with one bound reached the witness-box, and struck young Bloggs a violent blow in the face.

  “‘Liar and cheat!’ he roared, ‘take that!’

  “And he prepared to deal the young man another even more vigorous blow, when he was overpowered and seized by the constables. Young Bloggs had become positively livid; his face looked grey and ashen, except there, where his powerful assailant’s fist had left a deep purple mark.

  “‘You have done your wife’s cause no good,’ remarked the coroner dryly, as William Yule, sullen and defiant, was forcibly dragged back to his place. ‘I shall adjourn the inquest until Monday, and will expect Mrs Yule to be present and explain exactly what happened after her quarrel with the deceased, and why she left the house so suddenly and mysteriously that night.’

  “William Yule tried an explanation even then. His wife had never left the studio in Sheriff Road, West Hampstead, the whole of that Thursday evening. It was a fearfully stormy night, and she never went outside the door. But the Yules kept no servant at the cheap little rooms; a charwoman used to come in every morning only for an hour or two, to do the rough work; there was no one, therefore, except the husband himself to prove Mrs William Yule’s alibi.

  “At the adjourned inquest, on the Monday, Mrs William Yule duly appeared; she was a young, delicate-looking woman, with a patient and suffering face, that had not an atom of determination or vice in it.

  “Her evidence was very simple; she merely swore solemnly that she had spent the whole evening indoors, she had never been to 9 Dartmoor Terrace in her life, and, as a matter of fact, would never have dared to call on her irreconcilable mother-in-law. Neither she nor her husband were specially in want of money either.

  “‘My husband had just sold a picture at the Watercolour Institute,’ she explained, ‘we were not hard up; and certainly I should never have attempted to make the slightest demand on Mrs Yule.’

  “There the matter had to rest with regard to the theft of the document, for that was no business of the coroner’s or of the jury. According to medical evidence the old lady’s death had been due to a very natural and possible accident – a sudden feeling of giddiness – and the verdict had to be in accordance with this.

  “There was no real proof against Mrs William Yule – only one man’s word, that of young Bloggs; and it would no doubt always have been felt that his evidence might not be wholly unbiased. He was therefore well advised not to prosecute. The world was quite content to believe that the Yules had planned and executed the theft, but he never
would have got a conviction against Mrs William Yule just on his own evidence.”

  4

  “Then William Yule and his wife were left in full possession of their fortune?” I asked eagerly.

  “Yes, they were,” he replied; “but they had to go and travel abroad for a while, feeling was so high against them. The deed, of course, not having been ‘delivered’, could not be upheld in a court of law; that was the opinion of several eminent counsel whom Mr Statham, with a lofty sense of justice, consulted on behalf of young Bloggs.”

  “And young Bloggs was left penniless?”

  “No,” said the man in the corner, as, with a weird and satisfied smile, he pulled a piece of string out of his pocket; “the friends of the late Mrs Yule subscribed the sum of £1,000 for him, for they all thought he had been so terribly badly treated, and Mr Statham has taken him in his office as articled pupil. No! no! young Bloggs has not done so badly either –”

  “What seems strange to me,” I remarked, “is that, for all she knew, Mrs William Yule might have committed only a silly and purposeless theft. If Mrs Yule had not died suddenly and accidentally the next morning, she would, no doubt, have executed a fresh deed of gift, and all would have been in statu quo.”

  “Exactly,” he replied dryly, whilst his fingers fidgeted nervously with his bit of string.

  “Of course,” I suggested, for I felt that the funny creature wanted to be drawn out; “she may have reckoned on the old lady’s weak heart, and the shock to her generally, but it was, after all, very problematical.”

  “Very,” he said, “and surely you are not still under the impression that Mrs Yule’s death was purely the result of an accident?”