Chapter 12 #4
Mrs. Wayne’s lips compressed. “Because no one looked at his body. It didn’t help that the coroner couldn’t come, and you told him you would act in his stead.”
“Beatrice!” admonished her husband, looking apologetically at Lord Monteith.
But Gideon, Cecilia noted, was listening intently. She exchanged glances with James. No coroner meant no proper inquest.
“I’ll not be hushed. I’ve waited nigh on two years to say my piece and I am going to say it.”
“You were not in the cider mill when they pulled those apple crates off of him,” the magistrate said coldly. “Vicar!” he finished, silently ordering the vicar to control his wife.
“No, I was not. However, I washed him and dressed him for burial.”
“The verdict had already been rendered by the men of this village who know more than a woman about such matters,” he returned.
Cecilia scowled at the magistrate.
“Was the body undressed? Did they look at his body from all sides? Or was he just placed on his back?” Mrs. Wayne snapped back.
His eyes narrowed as he finally looked at Mrs. Wayne. “There was no reason to go through all of that. It was clear the stack of apple crates fell on him.”
She shrank under his regard.
“I’m not arguing that,” she said. Her chin quivered, but she rallied, determination in her expression.
Cecilia watched her intently.
“To get a body ready for burial, more must be reverently done,” she said.
She started to cry. “Oh, bother!” she exclaimed as her tears fell harder.
Cecilia rose from her chair and hurried to her side. “Come with me,” she said, softly.
She shot a glance over at her husband. He returned a faint nod.
“I know a lovely room where you can tell me what you saw without having nineteen people around you judging you before you even say another word,” Cecilia said.
Mrs. Wayne nodded and rose from the table, leaning on Cecilia as they left the room.
“Oh, please, must we have such drama,” Mr. Kassell said.
James blotted his lips with his napkin. “The woman is entitled to her say. It is lamentable that it is two years after the fact, but it is a kindness to hear her,” James observed.
“She is likely not remembering rightly,” Mr. Falstaf said. “You know how older people get,” he joked.
“My wife is not old!” protested Vicar Wayne. “She is four-and-forty.”
“Like I said, old,” smirked Mr. Falstaf.
James stared at him. “Thus says a man in his twenties,” drawled James in the old society manner he’d rarely used since marrying Cecilia. Perfected to depress pretensions.
Mr. Falstaf blanched, James smiled.
“Tell me, Squire Kassell,” Gideon said, looking hard at James for a moment before continuing, “what happened to my brother? I have only heard the story through your letter to me and through my solicitor,” he leaned forward, “and you know how those kind are—succinct and dry.”
James laughed, silently accepting the rebuke from Gideon for his slide back to previous habits. “Are you perhaps poking fun at yourself as well?” he asked.
“I might be,” Gideon acknowledged. “However, I’m beginning to see I have not asked enough questions about my patrimony.”
“It is a simple story with tragic results,” the squire said, leaping in to telling his story.
“There were no witnesses to what happened, but it was obvious to all that saw the results what had occurred. It was the official start of the Pomum estate apple picking. There were many men and boys participating. When their baskets were brought in to fill the crates, the workers quickly stacked the packed crates. They worked fast, as the pickers were coming in fast with their baskets.”
“Where were the crates stacked?” Gideon interrupted.
“Inside that first room, the staging room for grinding and pressing apples. They piled the crates too high and haphazardly. Eventually, the tallest stacks of crates toppled over. The new Lord Monteith was in the cider mill counting the crates when the crates fell. His body was crushed beneath the weight of all the apples.”
“How long was it after this accident occurred that you arrived?” Gideon asked.
“Twenty minutes, or so.”
“Who told you the accident had occurred?” James asked.
“Mr. Entwhistle,” Mr. Kassell said.
“When the apple crates tumbled on top of him, did he end up on his back or face down?” James asked.
“The crates had been moved off him before I arrived. I saw him on his back. I saw bits of splintered wood on him, concomitant with wooden crates falling on him.
James leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. The man’s rude vocal tone suggested he thought his questions irrelevant.
“Yes, I remember,” Mrs. Hargrave suddenly said. Every eye in the dining room looked over at her. She preened. “I sent Mr. Entwhistle to fetch the magistrate,” she explained.
She paused for a moment to adjust her profile in the chair.
“I had been with Lord Monteith since the start of the festivities, but when he said he wanted to count the filled crates, I got bored. I went outside to watch the pickers. Some of them were quite humorous in their attempts to be faster than others.”
“Were you the person who found Lord Monteith?” James asked.
“Oh no, I heard yelling, and that’s when I went inside and saw him. It was the stackers who came around the stacks to fix the fallen stack that found him.”
“Only one stack had fallen?” James asked for clarification.
“That I saw,” she said carefully, her brows drawn together in thoughtful confusion.
“What happened then?” Gideon asked. He had closed his eyes, but James could sense he was listening intently.
“Everyone started pulling crates of apples off him. No one knew if he was dead or alive. Mr. Entwhistle reached him first. He looked up at me and shook his head. I nearly swooned right there, but Mr. Entwhistle came and caught me. He sat me down on a bench outside, that’s when I told him to fetch the magistrate. ”
“Where was his body taken, for the inquest.” James asked, looking at the magistrate.
“The church narthex,” put in the vicar. “Due to his rank, it was decided to be the most proper place for him.”
“You didn’t think to take him back to Pomum Court?” Gideon asked.
“No, the magistrate declared that too far. It would be easier for those called to the inquest jury for the body to be in the village.”
Gideon reluctantly shook his head. “I can see that argument. However, there had been an inquest just a couple of weeks prior for my father at Pomum Court. I have not heard there was any problem with a jury gathering at Pomum Court.”
“Sparing your family, my lord, having two inquests close together,” Mr. Kassell said formally to Gideon.
“Who were you sparing? You didn’t wait for me to be notified and come down from Exeter.” Gideon didn’t give Mr. Kassell time to answer. He turned to the vicar. “Vicar Wayne, when did your wife first see my brother’s body? Was it before the inquest or after?”
“She saw us place him in the narthex. She was distressed by all the dirt on him. She volunteered at that time to cleanse the body for the inquest. Magistrate said that would not be necessary, that we could expedite the entire matter and save heartache for impacted souls by doing the inquest as soon as possible. It was called for 8:00 that same night.”
“That is quick for an inquest,” Gideon said. “If I had been notified properly, I could have been here in two days. What was the rush?”
“No one knew where you were.”
“That is not true, as I was down here the month prior for my father’s death. Who told you they didn’t know where I could be reached?”
“Mr. Gardiner,” Mr. Kassell said.
“Ah! The man we discovered embezzling from the estate!” Gideon said.
Mr. Kassell ground his teeth. “We did not know at that time that he was embezzling and would have cause to give me false information.”
“That is another point I suppose I must concede,” Gideon said. “Given the tenor of our conversation this evening, would anyone like another bit of brandy? I know I would. Coggle!”