Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Wearing a high-necked dark blue gown and a dainty feathered hat atop her black hair, she watched him from the gallery of observers at St. George’s vestry hall. Sir Christopher and Lady Redmayne sat by her side.
The room had begun to fill with curious members of the public in the quarter hour before the proceedings began, and Gideon recognized a few journalists standing in a haphazard line along the wall as well.
Electra’s blue-green gaze held his every time he looked her way, and when he’d completed his testimony, he claimed a spot along the wall, rather than a chair.
He preferred it, as it provided an opportunity to observe the rest of the witnesses and those among Pennington’s acquaintances who sat in the gallery.
Miss Lucy Faraday was called after Gideon, and Lance Pennington offered her an encouraging look, squeezing her gloved hand before she walked up and sat in the chair next to the coroner’s table. As expected, the young lady attested to her uncle’s demeanor on the morning of his death.
“He appeared in his usual good health. He did not seem agitated or indisposed.” Miss Faraday paused and gave a tearful glance at the gentlemen of the jury. “It is dreadful to recall how he quitted the house in good spirits, with no notion of the fate that awaited him that evening.”
“If there are no questions for the witness,” the coroner intoned, “Miss Faraday, you are released.”
Gordon Callister was called and gave much the same account he’d provided to Gideon, that he had seen Pennington in the afternoon and sent him away due to Callister’s own illness.
His demeanor was different, however. In his home, he’d be varyingly angry, irritated, and seemingly distraught.
Today, he spoke with cool detachment, his voice strong, with no sign of the rasp Gideon noted the previous day. No coughing either.
After Callister was dismissed by the corner at the end of his testimony, Electra on one side and Sir Christopher Redmayne on the other both turned to Lady Cordelia Redmayne as the coroner called her name.
Even from his spot on the far side of the room, Gideon noted the way the lady’s shoulders seemed to tremble. Several in the gallery murmured as soon as she stood with her husband beside her.
Sir Christopher looked as if he wished to accompany her to the chair himself, but Lady Redmayne said something to him, offered one firm nod, and then made her way to the witness seat.
“You were acquainted with the deceased, Lady Redmayne?”
“I was.”
“And you encountered him on the afternoon of July 28th,” the coroner said, reading from the report to which Gideon and the constables at Vine Street had contributed.
“I did.”
“What was Mr. Pennington’s manner and disposition when you met him?”
Lady Redmayne looked out into the observers and seemed to fix her gaze on her husband, who watched her with an open expression, as if to give her the courage to continue.
“Mr. Pennington was rather distressed because I told him that I wished for our acquaintance to cease.”
Gideon studied the jurymen’s faces at the declaration. A few seemed suddenly rapt.
“And why did you wish to end your acquaintance with Mr. Pennington?”
Lady Redmayne hesitated, focusing again on her husband, and said, “I did not feel it was appropriate.”
At least one gasp and a few murmured reactions could be heard in the low-ceilinged room. The coroner cast a warning glower at the gallery.
“And Mr. Pennington was, as you say, distressed when you told him of your decision?”
“Yes,” she said quietly. “He asked me to reconsider, but I refused, and I…left his company.”
“Did you ever see him again after that discussion?”
“No, I did not.”
“And what was the duration of your conversation with Mr. Pennington?”
Lady Redmayne licked her lips and lifted her shoulders. “Perhaps ten minutes.”
“So, it was a short meeting.”
“Yes.”
“And do you know the time when your conversation with Mr. Pennington ended?”
“Shortly after half three. Perhaps three quarters past the hour.”
The coroner scanned the face of the assembled jurors, no doubt looking for a sign that one of them might have a clarifying question. None raised their hand or gave any such indication.
Lady Redmayne sat so still and stiffly, she seemed to be holding her breath.
“You may return to your seat, Lady Redmayne, and are released.”
Sir Christopher stood, met her halfway, and wrapped a protective arm around her. All eyes seemed to be locked on them, and, to Gideon’s surprise, they did not return to the chairs they’d vacated. Instead, they headed toward the threshold and left the vestry hall.
As the coroner gave instructions to the jury, Gideon assessed those in attendance and found that one gentleman was watching him too: Gordon Callister.
He sat several rows behind Electra and wore a grim expression.
Two seats down from him, Miss Faraday seemed to be struggling to control her emotions.
She had her head bent, a kerchief pressed to her mouth, and Lance Pennington sat, seemingly distressed by her unhappiness, at her side.
Another young man with light-brown hair and spectacles leaned close, murmuring something to her.
Gideon suspected it was William Worthington.
He resembled the young man he’d seen in the photograph at Mount Street; the suitor Miss Faraday’s uncle had not approved of.
It seemed her surviving uncle was more amenable to the young man.
As the jury filed from the room to begin their deliberations, Gideon made his way toward Electra, intending to claim one of the empty seats next to her, but a young lady reached the spot before him.
She settled next to Electra on the chair Lady Redmayne had occupied and regarded her with a kind of awestruck interest.
Gideon took the empty seat beside the young lady, the one that Sir Christopher had occupied. Electra wore an expression that told him she wished to speak with him, all but ignoring the young lady between them.
“Pardon me,” the young lady whispered. “You are Miss Electra Poole, are you not?”
“I am.”
After swiping a loose strand of dark-gold hair behind her ear, the girl leaned a little farther toward Electra.
“I am most interested in speaking with you. Might I give you my card and ask that you call on me at your earliest convenience? Today, if at all possible. I will be at home for the remainder of the day.”
“Of course.”
The young woman slipped her hand into her reticule and lifted out a cream-colored calling card, which she presented to Electra.
Electra’s eyes widened the slightest bit when she read whatever was written on the card.
“Thank you, Miss Poole. I bid you good day.” With that, the finely dressed lady stood and strode across the room to exit the vestry hall.
Gideon slipped over and settled onto the chair she’d vacated. “Seems she did not wish to hear the jury’s decision,” Gideon said.
Electra glanced at him with one brow quirked, her eyes flashing with an emotion he couldn’t name. Then she held up the young lady’s card so that he could view the name printed upon it.
“She’s someone you’ll wish to speak to. Perhaps we could go together.”
Miss Aurora Beecham was printed on the card in an elegant, gilded font. Gideon noted the address with interest, then lifted his gaze to Electra.
“I suspect she wishes to employ your abilities.”
“Yes, it seems she does, but you have questions for her too, don’t you?”
“It’s important that I speak with her father, since he seems to be the one who met with Pennington regarding the breach-of-promise suit.”
Electra placed the card in her skirt pocket. “Then you’ve no interest in speaking to her?”
“I didn’t say that.”
A moment later, the jury filed back into the room and, to no one’s surprise, the foreman announced a verdict of “willful murder in the death of Percival Pennington.”
The coroner nodded solemnly. “Gentlemen, you are discharged,” he directed at the jury. Then to those gathered, he said, “That concludes the inquiry. The inquest is closed.”
Those in the gallery immediately stood and began making their way to the exit.
Gordon Callister shot a look at Gideon over his shoulder. He seemed almost fretful that Gideon would wish to speak to him again. Lance Pennington and Miss Faraday crossed in front of Gideon and stopped to address him.
“Has anything been concluded, Inspector?” Miss Faraday asked. “Have you found any answers?”
“I am still seeking them, Miss Faraday, but you have my promise that I will visit you and Mr. Pennington personally once I’ve concluded my investigation.”
Something about the girl’s youthful, tear-streaked face tugged at Gideon.
“Thank you, Inspector.” Miss Faraday turned to Electra, who was gazing at her curiously.
“Miss Lucy Faraday,” she said with a courteous nod of introduction.
“Electra Poole.”
The young lady’s eyes grew large. “I’ve read about you in the papers, Miss Poole. Can you really foresee a person’s death?”
Electra shook her head. “Not always, no. And I rarely attempt to.”
“I wish my uncle had visited you, nonetheless.” Miss Faraday sniffed and seemed to struggle to keep her emotions in check.
“We should go, Lucy,” Lance Pennington said in a cajoling voice.
A reporter from one of the London dailies lingered at the edge of the row of chairs, his interest fixed on Pennington and his niece.
As her uncle led Miss Faraday toward the room’s threshold, the bold young reporter stepped forward, but Pennington lifted an arm to keep him from approaching his niece.
“We have no comment to offer you,” Lance Pennington bit out, even as he kept moving with his niece toward the exit.
Undaunted, the reporter pivoted on his heel and strode in Gideon’s direction.
“Nothing I can say at this juncture, Mr. Reid.”
Gideon knew the brash young man was simply doing his job, yet he’d also been one to detail Electra’s involvement in the Becknell case. The Metropolitan Gazette was not the most widely read of London dailies, but Reid was undoubtedly one of the most tenacious journalists he’d ever met.