Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

THE CORONER

D r. Ignatius Brogan was the coroner for this area of London, an area that included Covent Garden, but he lived closer to society Mayfair, in a middle-class neighborhood situated on its edges. Lewis walked to Oxford Street to hail a hackney carriage to take him there.

Riding in the carriage, his mind went back to thinking about Lady Gwinnie. He disliked leaving her at Mrs. Southerland's, even though she was a woman who always exuded confidence. He wondered what her father, the duke would say, or her uncle, Lord Aidan Nowlton would say, if they knew he'd left her there. Their worry and subsequent intrusion into her life had driven her to hide most of what she did from them. She'd achieved the privacy she craved against her uncle Aidan, but not the duke. To his credit, the duke came to understand she did not like him hovering over her, so he watched over her without intruding by setting himself and Mr. Hargate as guardians. More like watchdogs, he thought. He smiled as he held back a sudden urge to bark.

He found she was on his mind a great deal. He admired her. He knew her extreme height for a woman held her at a disadvantage among the men who wished for a more petite and fragile dance partner, let alone a life partner. Aidan had told him she often sat along the sides of the ballroom with the wallflowers if she and her quartet were not providing the music for the evening's dancing. He couldn't fathom how society gentlemen could overlook her. If ever he should marry, she was the type of woman he would wed. Luckily, he didn't think he would ever marry, so he need not be disappointed in his search for her twin in his class— Not that he had a class. Those who were base-born seldom did. He'd been raised in an earl's household, had a peer's education, yet could never be one. He was out of place in the world.

The carriage pulled up before Dr. Brogan's townhouse. Lewis jumped out and quickly paid the driver. With the coming of night, the temperature dropped. He ran up the steps to bang the knocker.

A footman answered the door.

"I must see Dr. Brogan immediately," Lewis told the man as he handed him his card.

" Who is it, Samuel? " Lewis heard from behind the footman's broad shoulders.

"Lewis Martin, from Bow Street," Lewis called out before the footman could answer his employer.

"Mr. Martin! Samuel let him in," Dr. Brogan said.

The footman started to step back as Lewis brushed past him to face Dr. Brogan who stood at the base of the staircase. The doctor was obviously doing well for himself, judging by his townhouse. A large crystal chandelier blazed with lit candles. Most houses did not have such ornate fixtures in the entry hall, nor did they light all the expensive beeswax candles if they did. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust.

"There has been a murder," Lewis said.

"I assumed as much by the way you push Samuel aside," the doctor said drily.

Lewis dipped his head as he gritted his teeth at the doctor's tone. "I believe you know the victim. Mrs. Southerland."

"Hilda Southerland! Where? What happened," Dr. Brogan demanded, taking a step forward.

Lewis was glad to hear the casual, sarcastic tone disappear. "Slit throat, at the back entrance to her home. She had gone out on an errand and was returning when she was attacked. No one heard anything. She must not have had time to call out or fight her attacker."

"Who found her?"

"Two of the residents returning from shopping."

"Has the body been touched?"

"No."

"Good. My wife and I are planning to attend the theater tonight as the guests of Lord and Lady St. Ryne. We can go to Mrs. Southerland's house first so I may see for myself the corpse and the situation. My wife will wait in the carriage. She is used to it— Samuel," he called out to the footman. "Find Reginald Gedney and have him meet me at Mrs. Southerland's House for Unfortunate Women. He should know where it is on Green Street off Soho Square."

"Yes, doctor," the footman said.

"I leave all investigation to the coroner's office investigators before the inquest," Dr. Brogan said, addressing Lewis.

"Of course," Lewis said. He did not care for Reginald Gedney. In his experiences with the man, he found Gedney lacked diligence. But it wasn't in the purview of Bow Street to investigate murders unless specifically requested. Murders were the responsibility of the coroner's office— as much as that truth irritated him.

"I need to get back," Lewis said, turning to go.

"Ride with my wife and me. My carriage should be out front by now and I know my wife is waiting for me in the parlor. We can leave immediately." The doctor crossed the hall to open a door. "Margaret, we can leave now. I shall have to make a stop first."

Mrs. Brogan came through the door. "This is becoming a habit, Ignatius. Perhaps we should invest in a second carriage that I might go ahead to our evening entertainment."

"I know, and I'm sorry my dear. However this one is important, I fear. Mrs. Southerland has been murdered."

"Oh no! Mrs. Southerland?! Those poor young women who depend on her! What will they do? Are they there alone now? Perhaps I should stay with them!"

"No, you will not!" said Dr. Brogan.

Lewis stepped forward. "Mrs. Albert, the housekeeper, and Miss Wooler, the cook, are there along with Miss Knolls," he assured her.

"Oh, good evening, Mr. Martin. I didn't see you there. You must have brought the news to Ignatius."

"I did."

"And he will be in our carriage as we go to her house. You can ask him more on the way, as I know you are full of questions. Come, let's be in on our way."

Lewis sat with his back to the horses, facing the Brogans and, as Dr. Brogan subtly warned, Mrs. Brogan was full of questions.

"How did she die?" Mrs. Brogan asked Lewis.

"Margaret, that is my job to determine!" Dr. Brogan objected.

Mrs. Brogan waved her hand dismissively toward her husband. "As officially you shall. Mr. Martin?"

Lewis looked between Dr. and Mrs. Brogan. The doctor gave him a slight nod. "Her throat was slit."

"Slit! Where did this happen?"

"At the back door to her townhouse. She had gone out for a quick errand and was returning. Whoever slit her throat must have come upon her stealthily, for not a sound of a scuffle or scream was heard inside the house."

"You were there?"

"Yes, I'd come to escort Miss Knolls home at the behest of her father. Mrs. Southerland requested we remain until she returned from her quick errand— an errand she appeared quite excited to go on."

"I know who Miss Knolls is," the doctor said. "Why would she need a Bow Street agent to escort her home?"

"There have been threats made against the duke and his family for the duke's investment in new inventions. As his daughter is the only one of his children in London right now, he has asked for protection for her. He knows she will not take precautions. She doesn't believe anyone would go after a woman as tall as she is."

"Wait," Mrs. Brogan interrupted, "are you saying this Miss Knolls is Lady Guinevere?"

"Yes, but please do not bruit it about. I think her disguise when she visits Mrs. Southerland's has been a protectant. That includes Mr. Gedney. Beg your pardon, Dr. Brogan, however, Mr. Gedney is known for loose lips when he's had a bit to drink, and I imagine this bit of news could be exciting gossip to share, and that may not be to Lady Guinevere's advantage."

"No, not at all," agreed Mrs. Brogan.

Dr. Brogan frowned and compressed his lips together tightly. "I have spoken to him about his drinking habits. He has made promises. However, in light of the threats to the duke and his family, I believe we can allow Miss Knolls to remain Miss Knolls."

Lewis let loose the breath he was holding in. "Thank you."

The carriage drew up before Mrs. Southerland's house.

"I'm coming in, too," Mrs. Brogan said, following her husband as he descended from the carriage.

"Margaret!"

"I come here every other Tuesday with Mrs. Grant. The girls know me."

Lewis stepped onto the pavement with them. "She could be a benefit. Her presence may allow me to take Miss Knolls home. I can return to answer any questions Mr. Gedney has."

Dr. Brogan shook his head but then said yes and the three of them hurried up the steps and knocked on the door.

After a moment, Gwinnie opened the door. He felt something loosen in his chest that it was she who opened the door and not either of the women he'd roused from the pub.

"Miss Knolls," he said, as he edged through the open door, "this is Dr. Brogan and his wife, Mrs. Brogan. I caught them on their way to the theater. Dr. Brogan is the coroner for all of Mayfair."

"Thank you for coming so quickly, Dr. Brogan!— Oh! Mrs. Brogan!" Gwinnie looked sharply at Lewis, her eyes panicked and questioning over Mrs. Brogan's presence.

"I am happy to meet you, though not under these circumstances. Please come in," Gwinnie smiled faintly at the couple, recovering her surprise. "Thank you for coming on short notice and when you were on your way to entertainment. I'm so sorry for the diversion."

"Nonsense, Miss Knolls, I am used to having plans changed unexpectedly. Where is the deceased?" Dr. Brogan said heartily.

"This way," Lewis said, gesturing toward the stairs down toward the landing.

"Margaret, please keep Miss Knolls company while Mr. Martin and I investigate."

"Certainly, Ignatius," his wife said serenely. "Miss Knolls?"

"This way, please," Gwinnie said helplessly. Reluctantly, she led Mrs. Brogan back into the dimly lit parlor. She'd wanted to be in attendance when Dr. Brogan viewed Mrs. Southerland's body so she could hear anything he might say that he observed.

"I'm sure Mr. Martin will tell you all my husband says," Mrs. Brogan said.

"Am I that obvious?" Gwinnie asked.

"To others, probably not; however, I am married to the coroner," Mrs. Brogan said wryly.

Gwinnie's thin smile reappeared.

"So tell me, why does Mr. Martin address you as Miss Knolls?" the woman asked, as they both sat down.

Gwinnie hung her head for a moment, then looked across at Mrs. Brogan. "So you recognize me?"

"I would have, for you are a rather distinctive person in society, but I learned who you were in the carriage on the way here, based on my husband's conversation with Mr. Martin," Mrs. Brogan said.

Gwinnie made a sour face. "Yes, unfortunately, but not to these young women, and they are why I am here. I don't believe they would pay attention to Lady Guinevere Nowlton in the way they might to the solicitor's daughter, Miss Sarah Knolls. I'm here to teach them. I cannot appear to be way above them. Sarah, as a supposed solicitor's daughter, is more approachable a person for them to get lessons from."

Mrs. Brogan nodded. "I supposed I can understand that," she said, nodding. "I come here every other Tuesday with Mrs. Grant. Do you know her?"

Gwinnie shook her head.

"Her husband is a banker with Mouton's Bank. She likes to talk to them about money, and how saving pennies helps and sewing them into hems protects their savings. She says in London, many more women may be mugged and their reticules stolen. If they have funds in their hems, they are not left completely destitute and starving, and they may pick themselves up and not be devastated and hopeless."

"That is true. Does she practice what she preaches to the women?"

Mrs. Brogan laughed. "Oh, yes! Sometimes her gowns get so heavy that her maid complains, and then she grumbles and moves some of the money into her husband's bank."

"I like to talk about hygiene," Mrs. Brogan continued. "Dr. Brogan believes many illnesses may be avoided with proper hygiene. We talk a great deal about the compromises they may have to make in the big houses they find work in, where hygiene for the staff is not prioritized and how to do the best they can in those households."

Gwinnie smiled and shook her head. "I knew others came to help these women, but I didn't know who. You are to be commended."

"Well, dear, we go by different names, too, more for Mrs. Grant's protection."

"I can certainly see why Mrs. Grant would!"

They heard footsteps on the stairs.

"Are they done already?" Gwinnie said, rising to her feet.

"It doesn't take long for a preliminary review," Mrs. Brogan said. She rose to her feet as the parlor door opened to admit the gentlemen.

Lewis closed the door quietly behind him. He looked over at Gwinnie. "Dr. Brogan and I agreed, we need to get you out of this house as soon as possible."

"But we discussed this earlier, before you went to get Dr. Brogan, and you agreed that I was going to stay here tonight and you would notify my father," she complained.

"I did not consider the ramifications of you being here when Dr. Brogan's investigator arrives and wants to question everyone here. He'll want to question you, too, and then your carefully constructed persona will be destroyed. It will harm your relationship with the women here at a time when perhaps they require Miss Knolls the most. I will escort you home and then return to answer any questions on your behalf, since I was here the entire time the events unfolded. Your testimony will not be required."

"But they need familiar faces with them, besides just Mrs. Albert and Miss Wooler," she protested weakly. She looked at each of them for support.

"It's all right," Mrs. Brogan said softly, as she lightly touched Gwinnie's arm. "I'll stay here while Mr. Martin escorts you home."

"I couldn't leave now!" Gwinnie protested again. "The young women are so distraught and frightened. Frightened of an inquest with men coming in and out of the house."

"I have arranged for her body to be carried to The Thirsty Pig. Mr. Watney has offered his cool room and is readying it now," Lewis said softly, trying to comfort her fears. Lady Guinevere was more shaken than he'd ever seen her.

"Good thinking, Mr. Martin," Dr. Brogan said. "This is not an appropriate location for an inquest."

"You need to get out of here before the coroner's office inquiry agents arrive."

"Take my carriage," Dr. Brogan offered. "It can bring you back here all the faster."

"My cape!" Gwinnie exclaimed.

Immediately, Lewis remembered the cape Mrs. Southerland wore, now soaked in blood. "You can wrap up in one of the blankets thrown over the back of the sofa in the parlor," he said.

"What is wrong with her cape?" Mrs. Brogan asked.

"It is a short, hooded cape. Mrs. Southerland borrowed it to go on her errand," Lewis explained. "— We must consider if someone mistook Mrs. Southerland for Miss Knolls," he said grimly. He picked up a black-and-yellow plaid wool blanket from the back of the settee.

Gwinnie snorted. "Hardly. It may be my cape, but I am a foot taller than Mrs. Southerland."

"All things must be considered in the case of a murder, my lady," Dr. Brogan said.

"Hush!" Gwinnie hissed out. "It's Miss Knolls."

Lewis draped the heavy blanket around her shoulders. "Come, Miss Knolls," he said, taking her arm and leading her out the door. The wind had picked up outside.

"All right, all right," Gwinnie said, grumbling, holding the blanket around her. She climbed up into the carriage.

"You do know I will want to know all that is said, all that is discovered!" she told Lewis, as he settled across from her. He knocked on the carriage roof to tell the driver to proceed.

"I know. There are some things you can do tonight to assist. Send notes to Lord Soothcoor and Mr. Hargate, Sr., the solicitor who handles Mrs. Southerland's legal papers. They need to be notified as soon as possible. Do you know if Mrs. Southerland had any family?"

"I know her husband is deceased," she said. She paused. "There is something else. Remember that note she wrote after you arrived?

He nodded.

"She wrote in pencil with a heavy hand. The imprint of some of the note passed through to the paper below. I used graphite shavings to make it come forward," she said, as she pulled the note from between the buttons of her pelisse. "I have not had an opportunity to study it yet. I heard this carriage draw up, and I folded this paper to keep it safe."

"Why did you feel the need to do so?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I don't know." She held out the note to him.

He took the note from her, noting the fine trembling of her hand. Lady Guinevere was not as calm as she tried to display. "You know her murder is out of my jurisdiction. I cannot investigate unless I am specifically requested and am offered funds for my efforts. It is in the hands of the coroner and his investigators."

She stared at him, biting her lower lip as she pulled the blanket up higher around her shoulders. "I shall see that the Duke of Malmsby engages your services if the Earl of Soothcoor cannot be reached before the inquest," she said. "He's at Appleton right now, you said?"

"He is, and that is less than ten miles away."

"Still, getting messages to him and back will take time, whereas my father is here," she stated as the carriage pulled up at Malmsby House.

He spread his hands in a shrug.

"Maybe you will get paid by both!" she said with a trembling, forced brightness.

He shook his head as a footman opened the carriage door.

Gwinnie jumped down from the carriage before Lewis or the footman could help her alight.

"Hello, Stephen," she said to the footman. "Is Father at home this evening?" she asked briskly. The cold wind pulled at the blanket wrapped about her and chafed her cheeks. She shivered.

"He is, Lady Gwinnie."

"Good. Close the carriage door, Mr. Martin needs to be on his way," she said over her shoulder, as she ran up the stairs and pushed open the heavy oak door before Stephen could get before her.

"The Earl and Countess of Norwalk and the Dowager Countess are with him," Stephen called after her as she was halfway up the stairs.

Gwinnie paused. "Helena and Adam are here? Jolly good! No wonder Father sent Mr. Martin for me. I'd best get changed before I see them, then," she said, glancing down at her plain attire. She turned and ran up the stairs, not stopping on the first floor, but hurrying up to the second-floor bedrooms.