Chapter Four
“He’s not moving,” Fiona observed in a frantic whisper. “Is he dead?”
The possibility of the man walking out here, however mild the weather, for the purpose of taking a nap face-down in a mud puddle was completely nonexistent.
Dead was far more likely. “He’s not breathing, either,” I said.
“Not that I believe he could in that position.” I bent my knees to settle down next to the man.
Removing my gloves, I touched his neck where a pulse ought to be if he were alive.
I sank my other hand in the mud to steady myself.
No pulse, and his neck was cool, but not quite as cool as the air.
His arm was stiff but not rigid. Unfortunately, that could mean that he had died less than three hours ago or more than a day ago.
I came to my feet and shook my head. That motion served as a signal to the children.
They rushed toward us until I dredged up the presence of mind to stop them.
“Don’t come any closer,” I said, holding up my mud-dripping hand. “This man is …”
“Dead,” Grace finished for me, a grimace twisting her lips.
“It’s Mr. Scrooge,” Rose said in a small voice.
“It is not Mr. Scrooge,” I said, my tone perhaps a bit firm. “Mr. Scrooge is not real, but this man is. I don’t know who he is or how he died, but the police will want to examine this whole area.” I gestured to the entire clearing with my hand.
“Looking for clues?” Grace asked wide-eyed. “Was he murdered?”
Rose gasped. “Just like our book!”
“It’s Dr. Penhollow,” Gregory said in a matter-of-fact tone.
I ignored the questions and focused on Gregory’s statement. “How do you know that?” I glanced at the body, then back at Gregory. There was no recognizable feature visible. Or at least not one I could see.
Gregory pointed to the body. “That’s the coat he had on last night. I remember the leather bits on the elbows.”
“That’s very helpful, dear,” Fiona said. “But Aunt Frances is right. You mustn’t come any closer. In fact, I think we should get all of you home right now.”
I couldn’t have agreed more. “Why don’t you take them, Fi?” I suggested, digging into my pocket with my clean hand for a handkerchief to wipe my muddy one. “I’ll wait here with one of the footmen. Someone should stay. When you return, we can send him for the coroner.”
Fiona took a step closer to me and handed me her own handkerchief. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but if that really is Dr. Penhollow, he is the coroner. Or was.”
I paused in the act of cleaning my hand to gape at her. “That is bad news.”
“And the police superintendent is away visiting family until Epiphany, and Sergeant Hewitt is at the coast, helping the storm victims,” she added.
That turned the news from bad to dreadful. “Is there a local magistrate?”
She gave me a mirthless smile. “Why, yes, there is. Robert.”
It took a moment to comprehend her meaning. “Your Robert?” This situation really couldn’t get much worse.
“Yes, my Robert. But if it’s any consolation, he was only recently sworn in and wouldn’t know what to do in this circumstance, anyway, so it’s no great loss.” She blew out a long breath. “Fortunately, we have you, Georgianna.” She forced a smile.
“That’s not funny, Fi.”
“I thought it worth a try.” She placed a hand on my shoulder. “Buck up. I shall take the children home and return with more help. Sergeant Hewitt said he’d be leaving one of his constables in the village. Hopefully, he will come out and take charge of this situation.”
If not, we would have to send someone for Sergeant Hewitt, and since that might take hours, we’d have to do something with Dr. Penhollow. We could hardly leave him here, yet moving him might destroy valuable evidence. “Fi, you wouldn’t happen to have a camera at home, would you?”
“I’m afraid not. Will a sketch pad do?”
Unfortunately, it would have to. I hoped Fiona’s artistic skill was better than mine.
She rounded up the children, who left with great reluctance to follow her home the way we had come.
I shook off the mud from the handkerchiefs and stuffed them into my pocket.
Then, donning my gloves, I took a few steps out of the field to the clearing, where the remaining footman waited, still holding a basket of food.
I was careful to place my feet in the impressions I’d made in walking through the field until I was beside him on the worn path.
“You might as well unburden yourself,” I suggested, indicating the heavy basket.
He placed it on the ground next to his feet and glanced at me in question, as if I knew what he ought to be doing.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“James, ma’am.”
“Well, James, I don’t suppose you’ve had any police training?”
“No, ma’am.”
That made two of us. “Perhaps, you ought to go on to the village and ask about for a doctor or constable who might come to our aid.”
“I wouldn’t want to leave you alone here, ma’am.” He gestured to the corpse. “Seeing as that man was killed. What if the killer is still about?”
“We don’t know that he was killed, James.
” I gave the possibility some consideration while taking in the surrounding countryside.
Behind us was a narrow band of forest and Hadley Grange.
A stand of conifers lay to the right, which I believed was north—difficult to be sure under the lead-gray sky.
Stretching out in front of us and to the left, so west and south, was a field of yellowy-green …
something less than a foot tall and waving gently in the breeze. “What is this crop?”
James gave me a curious glance, then turned back to the field. “Winter wheat or perhaps rye. I don’t know much about farming. It might just be meant to be turned back into the soil come spring.”
“Do you know if this is part of Sir Robert’s property?”
“That it is, ma’am. This field, and the wood behind us.”
The dead man’s head pointed southeast, as if he had come from the trees on our right and planned to cut through this clearing and head to the village. “Do the Penhollows live through there?” I asked, pointing to the conifers.
“Just on the other side, about half a mile, I’d say.”
“Then Dr. Penhollow, if that is Dr. Penhollow, seems to have been coming from his home and heading to the village. Perhaps he was planning to offer his assistance,” I suggested.
James lifted a skeptical brow.
“Perhaps not.” Following along the path and stepping just a bit into the field, I could see a trail of flattened vegetation from the forest to the other end of the field.
Had he turned around and walked back? I took a second look at the trails Fiona and I had made.
Ours were not quite as mashed down. Here and there stems had already sprung back up, but Penhollow was significantly heavier than either of us, and the vegetation would have been wetter a few hours ago.
“It’s quite possible the man suffered a seizure or heart failure, fell to the ground, and died.
” I glanced at James. “This is not necessarily a case of murder at all.” If I was hoping to convince him, I was failing.
I hadn’t even convinced myself. “He seems too peaceful,” I said aloud.
“As if he walked to that point and just fell over dead.”
James watched me with a wary eye. He pointed to the trail from the body to the far side of the field. “If that’s what happened, ma’am, it looks like someone else kept walking.”
“Perhaps he crossed the field, then felt a pain and decided to head back home.” I glanced at James. “But sadly, it was too late.”
“Wouldn’t he be facing the other way, then?”
“He would, wouldn’t he?” But there was even more about this scene that looked off.
“Heart attacks, seizures, things like that come with pain,” I said. “Significant pain. It might have brought him to his knees. His clothing ought to be disheveled and dirty, possibly even torn. Can you imagine yourself struck with a sudden pain out here alone? You’d be desperate to get to help.”
James was staring at me as if I were some sort of ghoul. “If you please, ma’am, I’d rather not imagine any such thing. But if he fell face-down, why would the back of him be dirty?”
I turned my gaze back to the field. I needed George. He was so good at dissecting the scene of a crime. If I continued ruminating aloud, the footman was likely to think me a madwoman.
Unable to stop myself, I went on. “My point is that Dr. Penhollow ought not to be so tidy. He might have tried to crawl back home or to Hadley Grange or the village. But if he had, there would be mud all over his elbows and much more damage to the field.” I let out a tsk.
“I neglected to look at his hands for mud to see if he tried to push himself up. An unfortunate mistake. I hesitate to walk through the field again until we have documented the scene.”
“Perhaps I ought to go to the village for help,” James said.
I turned in his direction only to have wisps of hair blow into my eyes.
I could see James had had enough of my cause-of-death speculation, but I did think he should stay until Fiona returned.
And speaking of Dr. Penhollow’s death … “If someone had attacked the doctor,” I mused aloud, “there ought to be signs of a fight or struggle. Yet excepting the one clear trail across the field, it’s undisturbed. What do you make of that?”
His blank expression cleared as he pointed in the direction of the manor house. “Lady Fiona has returned.”
I was almost as relieved as he was to see her emerge from the stand of trees with her sketch pad and two more men, grooms judging by their clothing.
We’d wasted enough time. With the additional help, we sent James on to the village, with instructions to find a constable or doctor and report Dr. Penhollow’s death.
Then we would need that person to come back here with him to examine the body and the scene.
I’d barely finished with instructions before he was off.