Chapter Four
Kate was surprised to find that Chadleigh—always referred to by her hosts as “the village”—was, in fact, a small town with a busy market square.
As she wandered around, she overheard a lot of gossip, scandalous and otherwise, but none of it was about Dinah, Chadbon Court, or inquests.
Some of it was about the new curate—referred to disparagingly by some as “that boy they’ve sent to the vicar,” and by others as the charming new man whose sermons they could actually understand.
The idea of Rupert’s preaching any kind of sermon was so completely novel that Kate almost giggled.
Having a vague memory of an inquest several years ago—a nasty accident with a scythe on the home farm had proven fatal—being held at a local inn, Kate walked into the hostelry at the end of Chadleigh’s square.
It was just before one o’clock. She could hear a lot of noise coming from the ale-fumed taproom, though none of it sounded terribly official.
The coffee room, occupied by a few farmers and their families, was clearly not hosting an inquest either.
Perhaps it’s in a bigger town and I’ve missed it.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” asked a plump, cheerful woman, hurrying past with a tray of rather delicious-smelling food that made Kate’s tummy rumble in a most unladylike fashion.
“I’m not sure,” Kate replied. From instinct, she kept her voice low and discreet. “Is there an inquest held here today?”
“Private parlor at the end, ma’am,” the woman said, nodding to the back of the room, where there was a closed door.
This was odd. The whole point of using inns for inquests was their space, for they had to accommodate the curious public as well as witnesses, officials, and the corpse itself. Private parlors of country inns were not notoriously large.
Kate murmured her thanks and made her way toward the indicated door, which she opened without knocking—and immediately found herself in a press of people and chairs.
In fact, a row of chairs had been lined up almost against the coffee room door, as if this entrance had not been intended for use. Instead, another door opposite led outside to the inn’s yard. Between seemed to be chaos.
In the middle stood the coroner’s desk and chair.
Behind that, the body of Dinah Fenn lay on two tables pushed together.
She was covered to the neck by a sheet, which was at least some concession to dignity.
However, even as the thought drifted through Kate’s mind, a group of about a dozen men—shopkeepers and tradesmen, by their appearance—began to file past the body while some functionary pulled back the sheet for them.
Presumably these men were the jury who, by law, had to view the body of the deceased—and in particular, Kate imagined, her fatal wound.
Kate sat by herself in the chair nearest the coffee room door.
The jury took up their seats in a squashed huddle of two rows to one side of the coroner’s table.
A fussy-looking little man in a dapper coat, with a balding head and long, dark side whiskers, took his place at the front desk.
Presumably this was the coroner himself.
As everyone climbed over everyone else to take a cramped seat, Kate saw Lord Chadbon in the front row before the coroner.
Dr. Paxton sat beside him, and yes, there was Rupert.
She could only see the back of his head, for he didn’t turn.
Was he staring at the poor corpse? He had known the girl, in whatever capacity, and had been undeniably rattled last night.
I don’t like death, he had said.
Who did? Even so, a memory surfaced from deep in the past—Rupert as a boy of about twelve, in the stables, denying he was weeping because his old pony had died.
And then a few years later, he had vanished for a whole day after his favorite dog died.
The search parities hadn’t found him till well after dark.
Dinah was no pet, although Kate could not help wondering, again with that same twist of unease, exactly what their relationship had been.
Rupert had certainly not mended his rakish ways upon ordination. She knew that from her eldest sister Amelia, who seemed to find him much more amusing as an adult than as a boy.
But it wasn’t just Rupert that made her uneasy. There was something not right about this whole situation. The outside door was closed now. Kate suspected the body had been brought in quietly that way, along with the coroner and a jury discreetly rounded up no more than hour ago.
The coroner called the inquest to order and the members of the jury were hastily sworn in.
“So,” the coroner said briskly, “inquest into the death of Dina Fenn, spinster, housemaid, aged twenty years. Is her identity confirmed?”
Chadbon half rose. “Yes, sir, she is employed in my household at Chadborn Court.”
“And you are Lord Chadbon?” It was a formality. The coroner was already writing it down.
“I am.”
“Who found the deceased?” snapped the coroner.
“Mr. Grande,” Chadbon replied, “who was a guest in my house at the time.”
“Mr. Grande?” The corner swept the front row with his impatient gaze and Rupert rose to his feet. “State your name and occupation.”
“Rupert Grande, temporary curate at St. Swithin’s Church, Chadleigh.”
At least his voice was clear and steady, which was a small relief to Kate.
“How and when did you discover the deceased?” the coroner asked.
“I was leaving Chadbon Court by the orangery door when I saw her on the ground. It was probably around twenty minutes to eleven.”
“What did you do?”
“I went to find out what was wrong, saw that she had been stabbed, and called for help. There was no sign of life.”
“Yes, yes, the doctor will establish that,” the coroner said impatiently. “Sit down. Dr. Paxton!”
“Yes, sir?”
“Cause of death?”
“She had been stabbed through the heart with the blade before you.”
Awkwardly, the coroner passed the dagger to the cramped members of the jury, who handled it very gingerly. “Would death have been immediate? Did you find signs of any struggle?”
“I believe it would have been quick if not immediate,” Dr. Paxton replied. “And no, there were no signs of struggle on the body. No blood to speak of either, outwardly, at least. She bled internally.”
“So her killer would not have betrayed himself with bloody hands or clothes?”
“Not necessarily. There was very little on the victim’s clothing.”
The coroner shifted restlessly in his high-backed chair. “Could she not have called out for help?”
“I could not say, sir. The wound was severe.”
The coroner fixed him with a stern glare. “Was it self-inflicted?”
Kate held her breath. Was this how they would avoid the blame? Claim it as a suicide and let the poor girl be buried at the crossroads instead of on holy ground?
“There are no reasons to suppose so, sir,” Paxton said, much to Kate’s relief. “In my opinion it would not have been possible for her to do so. The blade pierced her heart without striking any obstruction, and was then twisted to cause maximum injury. It was no accident, either.”
Kate felt sick. No doubt the coroner had heard it all before, for he merely nodded curtly and turned his head to the jury. “That seems definitive enough. Any questions before you deliver your verdict?”
The jurors exchanged alarmed glances, mumbled, and shook their heads.
“Verdict, then? How do you find Dinah Fenn died?”
Another bout of mumbling and muttering and then one of them was shoved to his feet.
“Murder,” he muttered, “by person or persons unknown.”
There was really no other verdict they could have given in the circumstances, but somehow Kate was unsatisfied. It was all too rushed. No questions had been asked about Dinah’s circumstances or about the ornate weapon that had killed her.
The coroner set down his pen. “So noted. Remove the body for burial. Mr. Remington, the matter is in your hands.”
And that appeared to be that. The room emptied through the outside door, the coroner leading the way and Remington herding the jury out in front of him. Paxton and Chadbon left closely behind the magistrate, and two men entered to remove the body.
Rupert sat perfectly still, watching the procedure. Kate imagined a blast of loneliness emanating from him. Silly. Rupert had never been lonely in his life.
She stood and pushed her way through the chairs until she sat down beside him.
After a moment, he turned his head. “Very hole-in-the-corner for an inquest.”
“They’re keeping it as quiet as possible for Lord Chadbon’s sake.”
“The weapon is some antique of Chadbon’s.”
Kate felt her eyes widen. “Rupert, what do you know?”
He unwound himself from the cramped chair and stretched. “Not as much as I’d like to. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
As they left, also by the open back door, he cast a last glance over his shoulder at where the body had lain. She felt the shiver go through him.
“Did Dinah have a problem with Lord Chadbon?” Kate demanded.
“No, I don’t think so,” he said distractedly. “Although the dagger was his—I’ve seen it in his collection—anyone could have taken it. It was on display in his study, along with some other old weaponry, when I first called on him.”
“So, any of the guests could have picked it up, and any of the indoor servants, including the visiting maids and valets… Which would appear to rule out Mrs. Thornfield’s theory of a passing madman. Rupert, did you have an assignation with Dinah?”
“I don’t do assignations anymore.”
“That’s not what Amelia told us.”
“Amelia? Your sister Amelia? Oh, well, that was before.”
“Before what?” she demanded.
He glanced at her. His lips quirked upward, though it wasn’t quite a smile. They had just turned into the village high street, and a carriage pulled up beside them. Remington pulled down the window.
“Grande. Might I beg the favor of a word? Oh, good afternoon, my lady.”
She had the impression he hadn’t actually seen her till that moment and wasn’t best pleased by her presence. She inclined her head.
“Of course, sir,” Rupert said courteously. “How might I help?”