Chapter 5 #2
“No, it was an informal picnic. No need to take the staff away from their duties,” James said.
There was a murmur of voices among others in the room that the coroner hushed with a glare.
“What did you do while Lord Aldrich was gone?”
“I decided to find a way to climb down the cliff face to get to Mrs. Jones, to verify she was deceased, and perhaps be able to judge how long she’d been deceased by touching her.”
“You would have the knowledge to do that?” asked the coroner incredulously.
“I spent several years with Wellington’s army during the Peninsular War. Yes, I can judge the deceased,” he said in his typical calm fashion, though his eyes were sharp as he looked back at the coroner.
The coroner coughed. “Yes, I suppose that might grant you that knowledge.”
“To continue, I removed my boots and jacket and, at the suggestion of my wife, pulled on my riding gloves to protect my fingers from the sharp rocks. I did not descend directly above Mrs. Jones. The ground there was unstable and showed signs of slippage. About ten to fifteen feet to the side, I saw what looked to be better handholds and toeholds for descending.”
“You did not repel like the magistrate did?” asked the coroner.
James shook his head. “We did not have a rope among our picnic supplies.
“I made my way over to her,” he continued. “When I was by her side, I touched the side of her neck. I was surprised to feel a light, fluttering pulse.”
“But she was dead by the time I touched her,” Dr. Patterson interjected.
James relaxed. “By then, yes. May I continue?”
“Yes, Sir James, please do,” said the coroner, his clerk beside him writing furiously.
“I spoke to her, and she reached out to grab my shirtsleeve. Her grip was surprisingly strong. She asked for water. My wife lowered down to us water I could pour onto her lips and into her mouth.”
“I thought you said you didn’t have a rope,” the magistrate protested.
“We didn’t. Lady Branstoke took one of the cart reins and tied it to the handle of a picnic basket and that way lowered a water pouch to me…
After drinking the water, Mrs. Jones tried to speak.
She seemed to be gathering whatever strength remained in her body.
She grew agitated. She said… No…penny…roy… Stop,” he said carefully.
“No pennyroy stop?” repeated the clerk. “What does that mean?”
“The last thing she said to her killer?” Sir James suggested.
“Telling whoever was there with her that she did not have any pennyroyal. I don’t know; however, simply saying those few words sapped the last of her strength.
She slipped into unconsciousness. I stayed with her, afraid she was near the end, and I didn’t want her to die alone.
It was about twenty minutes later that the death rattles began with its terrible breathing. ”
The crowd murmured among themselves at the end of his testimony.
“Thank you, Sir James,” said the coroner. He looked at his clerk. “Next?”
“Lady Branstoke,” read the clerk from his list.
“We don’t need Lady Branstoke’s testimony,” protested the magistrate. “Her husband can speak for her.”
“I assure you, we do.” Sir James said.
“She has an uncanny way of observing things others miss,” replied the coroner. “We should hear her testimony.”
The magistrate folded his arms across his chest. “Waste of time,” he muttered, glaring at the Branstokes.
“Lady Branstoke,” began the coroner, “you are the wife of Sir James Branstoke.”
She answered affirmatively.
“And you have resided in Mertonhaugh for the past two years… Please tell us your observations.”
“I saw Mrs. Jones lying nearly on her back, as Dr. Patterson described. Besides the blood from her head, blood had also seeped from her mouth. Her right arm was bent at an odd angle, but her left arm lay across her body, her hand open, palm down, and lay across her heart. Her fingers were where she’d typically pinned her cameo brooch.
Her eyes were closed—which I surmised meant she’d had an opportunity to close her eyes after her fall, as it also looked like she had been able to move her left arm. ”
“Why do you believe she had moved?” the coroner asked.
“I say that because there was white chalk visible on her sleeve.” Cecilia demonstrated on her own arm where the white chalk had shown on Mrs. Jones, and how the white chalk must have gotten on the sleeve when she first fell, then, when she’d picked her arm up, the white chalk had become visible on the top of her body.
“She’d lost the brooch in the meadow, most likely that same day,” she continued.
The coroner pounced. “How can you say that?”
“Because Miss Charlotte Aldrich found the brooch in the grass at the other side of the meadow from the escarpment. Lady Aldrich and I recognized the jewelry as belonging to Mrs. Jones.”
“Where is that brooch now?” asked the coroner. “We can ask Mr. Jones to verify the item.”
“It’s right here,” Cecilia said as she pulled it out of her reticule.
Mr. Jones could not help giving a little inarticulate cry at seeing it again. Cecilia handed it to him. Tears streamed down his face. “Yes, yes,” he choked out. “This is Miranda’s. For her, it represented our daughters, Faith and Hope, who left the village three years ago.”
“Mr. Davos, might I continue?” Cecilia asked after the room quieted.
He nodded. “Yes, proceed.”
“I did not see any evidence of a conveyance or horse in the area, nor signs of one, though I did look about. That could mean she walked up to the meadow; however, I don’t feel that likely. Vicar, could she have done that?”
“No, the arthritis in her knees meant she rode in her cart most everywhere. Or, she rode up to the meadow.”
The Earl of Mortlake raised his hand, and the coroner acknowledged him.
“The horse Mrs. Jones rides arrived last night at the Mortlake stables—still saddled. I gave her the horse last March.”
“You gave her the horse?”
“Yes, it was Lady Mortlake’s saddle horse that had become too old to be ridden in the fashion my wife prefers. I bought her a new mare before the holidays. Rather than having another horse to keep, I offered the mare to the Vicar and his wife.”
Cecilia raised her hand.
“My lady?” acknowledged the coroner.
“Were her painting supplies still on the horse?” she asked the earl.
The earl raised his chin as he nodded slightly at her question, his eyes thoughtful. “I couldn’t say to that, Lady Branstoke. Nothing was said of what was with the saddle. I should have to ask my grooms.”
She nodded, her lips compressing as she considered the implications of the presence, or absence, of painting supplies.
“Thank you, my lord,” said the coroner with a bow of his head.
Next, Lord Aldrich and Mr. Vernon were interviewed. They had nothing more to add to what Branstoke said. Cecilia’s thoughts wandered as they spoke, and she stared down at the still body of what once had been an active, smiling woman.
She had to have been with someone, Cecilia thought.
Even if she simply fell backward, why wouldn’t whoever she was with go to get help?
Had someone wanted her to die, whether they were the active agent of her death or not?
She couldn’t imagine that poor woman lying there, helpless for so long, perhaps crying out for help, but left there to die.
When no more witnesses came forward, the coroner asked the jury for a conclusion. The jury went into another room in the basement for their discussion, but soon returned.
“Jury, you have heard the testimony from the witnesses. What is your conclusion?” the coroner asked. “Accidental death or death by person or persons unknown?”
The jurors agreed, manslaughter by person or persons unknown.
“Manslaughter?” queried the magistrate, obviously irate at their conclusion.
“Aye, sir. Two of us knows that cliff well. If it be in the condition described by Lord and Lady Branstoke, it likely crumbled underfoot, causing Mrs. Jones to fall backward. Howsomever, she knew that cliff. She would nary ’ave gone close to it if’n someone hadn’t cornered her or chased her there, and with her jewelry on the other side of the meadow, stands to reason she were not alone,” said Mr. Altman.
“What about suicide?” the magistrate pressed.
Mr. Altman scratched his head. “I don’t see as how someone would go backward and land on their back if’n it were suicide. Don’t make no sense, physical-like, and not make a bit o’ sense to us who knowed her.”
The magistrate chuffed.
The coroner thanked the jury for their service, and the inquest was adjourned.
As she and James followed the crowd of people who had attended the inquest back up the stairs and into daylight, Cecilia felt satisfied with the verdict. Particularly satisfied that the magistrate did not get his suicide verdict!
But there was still the matter of who had been on the meadow with Mrs. Jones and what had been their intent? Why were they with Mrs. Jones?
“Sir James! Lady Branstoke!” hailed the Earl of Mortlake. He waved his son to proceed on without him while he waited for them.
“I want to thank you for your testimony on behalf of Mrs. Jones—and you, Sir James, for your care of her.” His face drew together in a scowl.
“I am quite put out with the bumptious behavior of our magistrate. I sense his position has damaged him. Pity. I used to like the fellow. We were at university together for a short time.”
Cecilia couldn’t help but smile at his last statement.
“It was the least I could do for the woman,” James said. “She was more than the vicar’s wife. She was an asset to our village.”
“I concur –I’d like you and Lady Branstoke to join my wife and me for dinner tonight. I know it is a last-minute invitation; however, I have a request for both of you that you are eminently suited to fulfill.”
Cecilia and Sir James exchanged glances. Cecilia raised an eyebrow at her husband to indicate that it was his decision.
Sir James looked back at the earl. “We shall be delighted to join you this evening.”
After exchanging details, the Branstokes parted from Mortlake and returned to Summerworth Park.