"You should have had more time to mend," said Violet.
Mary nodded. "You should write about that," she said. "There was no sympathy for me, yet I had done nothing wrong."
"Did you say that the jury found Fanny's death felonious?"
"Yes. They said she'd been killed. The verdict was murder by person or persons unknown?"
"But they never found her killer?"
"They never looked. It was only the jury that believed in a murder – and the Aldriches who said they heard her cries for help. Within a few months, they'd forgotten Fanny as if she had never existed. As I told you, most people thought she had taken her own life, and like them, I did not see any purpose in an investigation for its own sake."
"And now?"
"And now, I wonder whether I should have done more to find out. Could a killer have lived among us these last twenty years?"
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
A Revelation
Henry Garrod's office formed part of a large terraced house in Mount Street a short distance away from the National and Provincial Bank. Lawrence had asked the clerk for directions and was in luck. Mr Garrod had conducted his banking earlier that day and had mentioned his intent to return to his office. Sure enough, Lawrence pushed the door open to find a young clerk writing in a ledger with studious concentration. The young man looked up as Lawrence entered and placed his pen in the inkstand. "May I help?" he asked in a faltering voice that sounded as if it hadn't quite broken.
"Is Mr Garrod available?" asked Lawrence.
"I'll check," said the clerk, rising to his feet. He was short; a full head shorter than Lawrence with fine, wispy, blond hairs covering the lower half of his face. "who will I say is calling?" he asked.
"Lawrence Harpham."
He hesitated as if about to ask a further question, then changed his mind. Lawrence watched as the boy walked timidly towards a wooden door at the end of the room and knocked twice.
"Yes?" A gruff voice came from the room beyond.
"A Mr Harpham to see you, sir," said the young clerk.
"What does he want?"
"I don't know," said the clerk, biting his lip.
The sigh from the other room was loud enough for Lawrence to hear. There was a short silence, then the door swung open to reveal a stout, grey-haired man of between sixty and seventy years. He was sporting a handlebar moustache.
"Pleased to meet you, Mr Harpham," he said, extending his hand. "This way," he gestured to the door through which he had come. "Take a seat, and I will be with you shortly."
Lawrence made himself comfortable in one of a pair of chairs at the front of a sturdy oak desk. A bookcase stacked with law books filled the right-hand side of the back wall while a tall bureau stood to the left of the fireplace. The side window overlooked a pretty cottage garden with tall, yellow foxgloves swaying against the glass in the light May breeze. Lawrence tried not to listen to the raised voice coming from the other room. The young clerk was getting a dressing down for some failing in his service.
Mr Garrod returned and pushed the door a little too firmly. It slammed against the frame, making Lawrence jump.
"Sorry about that," he said, as he sat behind the desk. He leaned forward on his elbows and steepled his hands. "He's only been with me a month," he continued. "Good at his numbers and letters but short on common sense. I'm not at all sure that he will cut the mustard."
"Good men are hard to find," muttered Lawrence, vaguely.
"Indeed, they are. Anyway, Mr Harpham. We've met before, haven't we?"
"Not as far as I know," said Lawrence.
"Are you sure? There's something familiar about you."
Lawrence shook his head. "I think I would have remembered."
"Never mind, must be imagining it. Perhaps I should retire, after all. Ellen is always saying that I should step back and leave things to my business partner, but I cannot agree. When a man stops working, he stops thinking. My friends all seem to die when they give up their occupation. Now, what can I do for you?"
"I hoped for some information. Am I correct in thinking that you are a coroner?"
"I am coroner for the liberties of the Duke of Norfolk."
"And you carry out inquests?"
"I do."
"Would you have conducted an inquest in Diss in 1877?"
"No. That would have been Mr Culley."
"Ah. How may I contact him?"
"That won't be possible without a medium. Culley died a long time ago. What is it you would like to know?"
"A young woman, Fanny Nunn, died in 1877. I wondered if you could tell me a little more about the inquest."
"It was nothing to do with me. A different jurisdiction, you see. Culley was deputy coroner for Norfolk."
"That's a shame."
"Not necessarily. I take it upon myself to collect copies of all inquests and autopsies relevant to Diss and the surrounding areas. It makes my work much easier."
"Then you have records for all suspicious deaths?"
"Yes, in theory. But whether a death is suspicious is a subjective matter."
"Meaning?"
"Well, a coroner is only notified if the policeman in attendance deems it necessary. Suspicion must exist in the first place."
"Are you saying the opinion of one man alone precipitates a coroner's investigation.?"
"Yes. That is often the case."
"So any flaw in logic, or laziness on the part of the policeman concerned, could prevent the reporting of a questionable death?"
"In principle, but there is no reason for a man of the law to disregard such a crime."
"And it did not happen in the case of Fanny Nunn. There was an inquest."
"From what you say, there would have been. I have an hour before my next appointment. I can check my records if it helps?"
"Thank you." Lawrence nodded appreciatively and waited while the solicitor opened the glass doors of the bookcase. He extracted a sizeable hard-backed register which he placed on the desk and within moments had located the relevant record. He turned the register to face Lawrence and pointed to an entry.
"That's it," he said. "You can read it while I take this document to young Mr Jones."
Henry Garrod left the room while Lawrence read the report. Mr Culley had presided over the well-attended inquest, and Mr John Aldrich was foreman of the jury. A dozen or so witnesses gave statements, all reputable members of Diss society. Two surgeons conducted the post-mortem, and neither found any marks of violence. Fanny Nunn was not pregnant at the time of her death, and the cause of death was suffocation by drowning. The coroner directed the jury to establish why the deceased was in the water. Was she there by her own hands or due to the actions of another? Evidence indicated that the deceased might have been of unsound mind at the time of her death, and there were discrepancies between the testimony of Alfred Wylie and that of Inspector Amis. The coroner allowed the jury to return a verdict of 'found drowned' if they had any doubt, but the jury was not so minded. After about an hour's deliberation, the public returned to hear a verdict of wilful murder by person or persons unknown. Lawrence closed the register and pondered. The conclusion was a surprise. The coroner had given a clear steer towards suicide or an open verdict, which had not swayed the jury. Either they were mistaken or had heard something that concerned them. Henry Garrod interrupted his thoughts as he returned to his office.
"How did you get on?" he asked.
"I'm not sure," said Lawrence. "This account has raised as many questions as it has answered."
"I am sorry that I could not have been more helpful. You're not local to Diss, are you?"
"No," said Lawrence." I'm here on business. I'll be returning to Bury in a few days. Thank you for your help anyway." He stood and held his hand out to the solicitor.
Henry Garrod clicked his fingers. "That's how I know you," he exclaimed. "Oh," his face clouded as a further thought crossed his mind. "It's a delicate matter."
"What is? How do we know
each other?"
Garrod sighed, seemingly regretting his recollection. He gestured to Lawrence to sit down.
"We have never met," he said. "I don't know you, but I know your name. I am sorry that you lost your wife in such tragic circumstances."
Lawrence slumped in the chair, dazed at the unexpected reference to Catherine. "You conducted her inquest?"
Henry Garrod nodded his head." I would not typically have done so, but from time to time, we cover other jurisdictions. It just so happens that I was available that night."
"I have never seen a report of Catherine's autopsy," said Lawrence. "I was unwell and in no mood to attend the inquest."
"That's probably for the best. Facts cannot undo the tragedy or lessen the sorrow."
"Yet I owe her a responsibility. I should have gone."
"You know how she met her end. Isn't that enough?"
"She died in a fire. She must have suffered terribly."
Henry Garrod turned to the cabinet once again. This time he selected a different volume with red binding and gold letters down the spine. He licked his fingers and turned the pages.
"Mr Harpham. On that fact, at least, I can reassure you. Your wife died of smoke inhalation. It is most unlikely that she suffered at all."
Lawrence expelled a deep breath. "Thank God," he said. "The thought of her last moments have haunted me for years. And my daughter, Lily?"
"The same. Lily was in her bed, and there was no evidence that she ever woke."
Lawrence's eyes filled with tears. "Thank you," he said. "I cannot tell you how much that helps." He managed a weak smile. "At least it must have been a quick inquest," he continued.
Henry Garrod nodded. "Yes. Once they discounted the arson theory, proceedings were straightforward. As you know, the verdict was an accidental death."
"Arson theory?" Lawrence pushed the chair away and walked to the window with his hands over his mouth. "Arson? Nobody has ever mentioned the possibility that the fire was deliberate."
Henry Garrod scanned the report. "As I said, the theory was raised and disregarded. Arson was mentioned only in passing at the inquest."
"I never knew."
"It is a hard thing for a man who has lost his family to hear. And unnecessary, it would appear."
"But I was in the police force. They had an obligation to tell me."
Henry Garrod raised his eyebrows. "I expect your colleagues were trying to spare your feelings," he said.
"Even so..." the words trailed away as Lawrence fought to regain his composure. "Mr Garrod. Thank you for your help. Forgive my reaction. I am truly grateful."
He reached out for Garrod's hand and returned to The Crown, so deep in thought that he remembered nothing of the journey.
Lawrence located Violet in the sitting room of The Crown Hotel. She was occupying a seat by the window and frowning in deep concentration as she studied the contents of her notebook.
He slid into the opposite seat, and she looked up.
"At last. I expected you back hours ago."
"I went for a walk around the mere."
"You should have come with me. Mary Nunn was very helpful. I feel as if I know Fanny much better now."
"Good," Lawrence murmured noncommittally.
"Only the jury believed it was murder. Everyone else thought the poor girl killed herself. It's only now that Mary Nunn is beginning to wonder."
"I know. I read the inquest report," said Lawrence. "The coroner directed the jury to return an open verdict or one of drowning while of unsound mind."
"Yet they didn't. There must be a reason. Are you listening?"
"Sorry." Lawrence was staring into the distance, lost in thought.
"Well?"
Lawrence regarded Violet impatiently. "The foreman was a Mr John Aldrich," he said. "And the main witnesses all carried the Aldrich surname. Assuming they were members of the same family, it is hardly surprising that their similar stories influenced the jury. Be that as it may, I do not think there is anything sinister in it."
"That's a sudden change of opinion on your part."
Lawrence sighed. "The whole case is ridiculous. I've created a mystery where there is none. We are wasting our time. I am surprised you have gone along with it."
Violet closed her notebook. "I thought it was what you wanted," she said, studying his face.
"You're my equal partner," said Lawrence, coldly. "If you think a case is not worth pursuing, you should say so."
"What's wrong, Lawrence?"
"Nothing."
"Yes, there is."
"Why must something always be wrong if we don't agree?"
"I know you better than that. Something has happened, and I don't think it has anything to do with the Aldriches."
Lawrence put his head in his hands. "I don't want to talk about it."
"But you will," said Violet. "And when you do, come and find me. I will be in my room." She gathered her notebook and papers and stood up.
"Violet." Lawrence looked at her helplessly.
She sat down again and reached for his hand. "What is it?"
"Catherine," he said. "Henry Garrod told me that he performed her autopsy. I never knew. And there's something else. The police considered the possibility of arson for a while."
Violet sat quietly, listening without interruption. "Poor Lawrence," she said when he had finished. "What are you going to do?"
"I don't know," he said, shaking his head. "I cannot seem to free myself from the past. Every time I accept Catherine's death, something comes along and knocks me off track."
"The best way to carry on is to embrace the present," said Violet.
"How?"
"By dealing with the task at hand. Our positions on the Scole case have altered," she said. "You have come to think of it as a waste of our time, but I do not. It is only a small thing, but Fanny packed her trunk to go. Why would she have bothered if she intended to do away with herself? And we have met Harry Aldrich. He is a reasonable man, a successful auctioneer and well regarded around the town. Let us give full attention to this matter. Forget the past for a while."
"I cannot."
Violet squeezed his hand. "Yes, you can. You must."
"What do you suggest?"
"Let's move forward with our investigation. I will speak to Alfred Wylie. He was Fanny Nunn's sweetheart. I have already checked with Minnie Panks, and Wylie still lives in Diss. While I'm doing that, you can visit Inspector Amis. He was in charge of the investigation but is now retired. He left Diss, but I have it on good authority that he resides in Attleborough. As you were both in the police force at the same time, he is bound to speak to you."
"I have met him once or twice," said Lawrence. "I do not know him well, but you are right. He is a decent chap and will no doubt cooperate."
"So that is settled?"
"No. Forgive me, Violet, but I must go back to Bury first."
"Why?"
"To see William Clarke."
"Who?"
"Superintendent William Clarke."
"Can he help?"
"Not with this. I used to work for Clarke. If they considered arson, he would have known. And it would have been his decision to keep it from me."
Violet was still holding his hand. "Is that wise?" she asked, with a gentle squeeze.
"Probably not, but I need to know."
"You are picking at a scab that will never heal."
"I cannot let things lie as they are, Violet. I have known for years that something was amiss. I have felt it and deliberately ignored it. If I am ever going to be free, then I must confront what happened. Do you understand what I mean?"
Violet nodded without speaking.
"I will go to Bury, and then I will go to Attleborough, I promise. Will you come with me?"
"No. You must go alone. I will track down Alfred Wylie."
"Get Michael to help."
"He is too busy, Lawrence. Michael has responsibilities of his own. I will manage it alo
ne."
"Again," said Lawrence. "I am sorry."
"Don't say it." Violet left The Crown and walked to the church. By the time she returned, Lawrence had gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
In Pursuit of William Clarke
Saturday, May 18, 1895 – 05.30 am
"Have you any idea what time it is?" Francis Farrow thundered down the stairs, clad in a dressing gown. His butler, Albert Floss, followed meekly behind.
"Yes, thank you," said Lawrence advancing towards him. "My pocket watch is functioning perfectly well today. Did you know that it could have been arson?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Catherine, of course. How many other people do you know who died in a house fire?"
"Ah. No need to be rude, Lawrence. Come and sit down. Albert, fetch some coffee please." He guided Lawrence into the breakfast room. "Now sit down and tell me all about it."
"No, you tell me. You must have known."
"Well, I didn't. Don't forget – I was stationed in Ipswich when Catherine died."
"You must have heard something."
Francis sighed. "There was the merest suggestion that her death might not be accidental. I don't know why. They quashed the idea almost immediately, and nothing further came of it."
"And you didn't think to mention it to me?"
"Of course not. You were in no condition."
"Then I'll go and see what Superintendent Clarke has to say."
"No, you won't. Not today at any rate."
"Why? Has he been posted away?"
"No, he's still in Bury. But it's Saturday, and we're hosting the Quatuor Coronati lodge for luncheon."
"Then take me as your guest."
"Certainly not."
"Why?"
"Because I hold a senior position in the lodge, and you will cause a scene."
"I only want to speak to Clarke."
"It's neither the time nor the place."
"Take me, and I'll be discreet. Otherwise, I'll meet him outside when it finishes."
"Don't do this, Lawrence." Francis tried to appeal to his better nature.
"I have to. As you would if you were in my position."
"Then don't involve me and don't involve the lodge."
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