Chapter 24
The Mortal Remains
These convictions must unquestionably have their own pain, and severe was its kind …
Jane Austen, Persuasion
Sir Anthony’s bedroom was dominated by a four-poster bed that had been stripped of its coverings. The shape of his corpse was visible beneath a plain white sheet. The ruined clothes had been laid on the press at the foot of the bed.
“Well, what have we here then?” said a man’s voice behind him.
Adam turned and saw Peter Layng, the coroner for Bath, coming into the room. Layng was a plump, sallow-complexioned man with a mane of gray hair. His love of pipe smoking meant that the smell of tobacco hung about him everywhere he went. It kept out the smell of other things, he said.
“Harkness, isn’t it?” said Mr. Layng as he stepped up to the bedside.
“Yes, sir.”
“Sir David said he’d taken you on. After some trouble at Bow Street, or so I’ve been told.”
Adam made no answer. Layng quirked a brow at him, and then shrugged.
“That’s none of my business, of course. However, this poor bastard is.” Layng folded the sheet back, exposing Sir Anthony’s corpse.
Sir Anthony had not been dead long. The corpse had only just begun to stiffen.
Layng was still able to turn the head as he leaned forward to squint at the wounds—because there were two.
The most immediately obvious was the one that had stove in his forehead.
But there was another, on the right side of the head, this one little more than a spongy depression.
But not all head wounds had to bleed to be serious, Adam knew.
Layng grunted and peered under the dead man’s linen vest, and then looked beneath the small clothes. He grunted again.
“Window in his sitting room was open when he was brought up?” Layng asked.
“That’s what his valet said.”
Layng went into the sitting room. He opened the window, just as Adam had done, and looked down to the pied-à-terre. He tapped the railing twice with his open palm.
“Well, that’s clear enough.”
“Is it?” asked Adam.
“I’m surprised you don’t see it yourself,” said Layng. “The man comes in, drunk. Sends his valet off to deal with his coat, but he’s so unsteady on his pins, he staggers and falls. Hits his head on the table, probably here.” He tapped the square table beside the window.
“The valet says he was not drunk,” Adam told him.
Layng shrugged. “A loyal servitor talking to a stranger. I expect that story will change when it comes time to swear to it. Now, this table, the top’s marble, in case you hadn’t noticed.
Deal a man a nasty blow if he came down on it wrong.
So. Our fellow there falls, and knocks over the candle on the way down.
” Layng nodded toward the scorch mark. “He’s stunned, or perhaps knocked out entirely.
But eventually, he does get up. Only, now he’s befuddled from the blow as well as the drink.
He picks up the candle and puts it back in place, and means to head for the door, or his bedroom, but goes to the window instead.
” Layng shook his head. “Tragic, of course, but perfectly simple. What do you say, Harkness?”
“I don’t know,” Adam admitted. “That could be how it happened.”
“Could be?” Layng snorted. “All right, out with it, man, what’s bothering you?” asked Layng.
“I’m wondering about Mrs. Lynn,” Adam told him.
“Who?”
“A friend of one of the daughters. She’d become much attached to Sir Anthony recently, and she was running what amounts to a casino from his house.”
“Was she, b’gahd?” muttered Layng.
“Yes, sir, and she was staying here. But now she’s gone missing.”
“Damn,” Layng muttered. “Well, that wants looking into, I suppose. Still, if we’re lucky, that may turn out not to have anything to do with this business.
” He went to the washstand and frowned to find the basin and the jug empty.
With a sigh, he picked up the towel and rubbed at his hands.
“Hey ho, another fine night.” Layng dropped the towel onto the basin’s edge and knuckled his eyes. “Got statements from the servants yet?”
“Only the valet. The rest have scattered, and they were all newly hired as it is.”
“Wonderful. All right. I’m going to leave this business to you, Harkness.
As I was getting set to come here, I had word there’s another death needs seeing to.
Man shot in the street. Some robbery gone badly, I shouldn’t wonder.
Unless it was a quarrel over money and women.
” He went back into the sitting room to fetch his bag and his hat where he’d left them.
Adam followed. “I know I can trust you to see things done properly here. Get the statements from whoever was in the house at the time as soon as you can find them, and bring them to my office. And you can tell Sir David I’ll take care of your fee. ”
“Thank you, sir,” said Adam. “And if I may? We’ll want some constables to go around to the coaching inns and ask about any women traveling alone. I can give a description of Mrs. Lynn.”
“Yes, I supposed we’ve no choice but to try to find the troublesome creature.” Layng consulted his watch. “But you’ll need to be quick. The first stage to London sets off at eight.” He tucked the watch away and looked toward the boudoir, and the corpse.
“Poor sod,” he muttered, and turned away.
Alone in that dim, silent, luxurious room, Adam found himself agreeing with this.
But the rest?
He looked at the square table by the window, and the candle in its heavy silver holder, and how it was just off center on the table. He could see the faint ring on the marble where it usually stood. He glowered at the silent room, and at the closed window.
Thrush had said nothing save that candle had been disturbed. Adam agreed. Everything was in order. But nothing was as it should be.