Chapter 48
The inquest was a few days later, and Miss Macintyre, Cecilia, and the Major were all summoned by official letter to attend.
Bianca had slept through the whole affair, and Beatrice had only arrived in the room after the shot was fired, so their presence was not requested, but naturally, they came to support their sister and companion.
The whole party received a great deal of sympathetic attention from the people who had crowded into the large upstairs room in the Crown and Castle that was apparently always used for the purpose of inquests.
Miss Macintyre in particular, who had managed to find nasty crocheted mittens, a drab pelisse and rather squashed bonnet that somehow made her look most advanced in decrepitude, had her hand squeezed by a great many sympathetic strangers.
There was talk among local ladies of taking up a collection on her behalf, Mrs Pritty had told them.
What more could one ask of a diligent chaperon, in all honesty, than that she should shoot down a wicked man who crept into a house at night and menaced the property, virtue, and possibly even the lives of her charges?
It was not normal practice for duennas to go about armed; maybe it should be, the ladies agreed.
The coroner was a local lawyer with whom the Constantines were not acquainted, but it was plain from the outset that he had been well briefed by Mr Marjoram.
He was most sympathetic in his questioning of the few witnesses, even if he did show a perceptible tendency to defer to the Major and place more emphasis on what he said he’d seen than what Cecilia and Miss Macintyre had seen, even when it was exactly the same.
When he went so far as to thank Major Bartrum for his prompt action in ensuring the safety of his neighbours, Alistair replied bluntly that no thanks were necessary, as he’d done precisely nothing to help, and matters would have turned out exactly the same if he hadn’t been there at all.
The legal gentleman looked rather nonplussed and murmured a nonsensical remark about offering reassurance and protection to the distressed ladies after the dreadful events they’d endured; the Major merely smiled a touch sardonically in response.
It was no doubt useful that everyone should consider the Constantines, and even Miss Macintyre (who had coolly shot a man straight through the eye in a room illuminated only by a flickering candle and a little faint moonlight), as weak and helpless creatures.
It was ridiculous, Cecilia thought, given the strength of the evidence to the contrary, but in the circumstances, it was undoubtedly extremely helpful.
The inquest was a very brief proceeding.
The jury of local farmers, tradesmen and innkeepers needed no steering from the coroner to bring in a verdict of accidental death on Lord Pallant, rather than manslaughter.
There would be no further legal repercussions for Miss Macintyre, the heroine of the hour, and it was hoped that the Hall’s remoteness would protect its inhabitants from those annoying people who liked to come and gaze witlessly at scenes of murder and mayhem, and even sometimes take away souvenirs.
At present, the village constable was stationed at the foot of the steps to the beach to prevent this, one of the constables from Debenbridge was standing guard at the gate, and two sturdy young relations of Mrs Pritty were working in the garden on a temporary basis, within call if anyone should attempt access.
This prohibition on unexpected visitors, naturally, did not extend to Major Bartrum and his mother, Rory having gone back to Cambridge already; Mr and Mrs Drinkwater; and Mrs Leontina Constantine, who arrived in Suffolk in a post-chaise two days after she received Bea’s letter with the startling news.
She hadn’t written back to say that she was coming – there had scarcely been time – but her daughters could not be surprised to see her.
She had previously resolved to let her three youngest children have a little space in which to accustom themselves to their new life – but that had been before a strange man had been shot down in one of their bedchambers in the middle of the night, and by their former governess to boot.
Only the most neglectful of parents would not hasten to her daughters’ side in such extraordinary circumstances, and whatever Leontina was, she was not that.
A little while after her arrival, she was sitting down to tea and honey cake in the parlour, having already been shown her room so that she could put off her bonnet and pelisse and tidy herself after her long journey.
‘Very well,’ she said, regarding them all in turn with those disconcertingly sharp, dark eyes.
‘I had always thought Allegra the most troublesome of my daughters, but even she never presented me with a dead man in the house and some cock-and-bull story to explain it. Now tell me what really happened.’