Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

THE INQUEST

G winnie followed her father down the narrow, worn wood stairs to a cool, stone-walled room. Barrels lined the walls, and on the far wall, a rack held bottles. It was markedly colder and damp down in this room. Lanterns hung on two walls and from the posts at the end of the stairs.

The light flickered. Gwinnie saw a makeshift table had been made of boards set over more barrels. A stained white tablecloth, not as long as the table, had been placed over the boards to provide a touch of respect for the deceased. A body lay under a shroud on the makeshift table.

Dr. Brogan carefully drew back the shroud to Mrs. Southerland's shoulders. Gwinnie could tell she had been disrobed except for her shift. She looked at her, trying to remain calm. She appeared to be sleeping, her gray hair, free of its cap and pins, swirled about her head. Gwinnie took a deep breath.

"First, we will discuss the neck wound, the cause of death. Note how the right side is lower on her neck than the left side, and the cut is clean, while the left side is higher and jagged. This indicates to me the action of the blade was right to left, suggesting the person who sliced Mrs. Southerland's throat did it with their left hand."

Gwinnie raised a gloved hand to her neck as she breathed deeply. Next to her, Mr. Martin lightly touched her elbow, silently asking if she was alright. She looked at his concerned face and nodded, then turned back to listen to Dr. Brogan.

"So, you are saying we are looking for a left-handed person?" one of the other coroner's men asked.

"Most likely, but not necessarily. This brings me to the second observation. Note the bruising around her mouth. Someone grabbed her from the right, placing a hand over her mouth so she could not cry out. I do not believe Mrs. Southerland gave up without a fight. Under the fingernails of her right hand is skin and blood. On her left hand is blood, most likely her own as she tried to pull the attacker's hand away. There are no other marks on her body," Dr. Brogan finished. He pulled the shroud over her.

"Mr. Gedney?"

"Thank you, Dr. Brogan. Mrs. Southerland was discovered by the back door to her establishment, Mrs. Southerland's House for Unfortunate Women, on Green Street. The discovery was made by two young women: a Miss Marke and a Miss Warden. They were returning from a shopping expedition. I'm told all the residents of the house have Friday afternoon free and often go shopping. There is no curfew on Fridays."

"That is not entirely correct," Gwinnie said. "The doors are locked at 9:00 p.m. Failure to return by that time is grounds for expulsion."

"Expulsion!" another man exclaimed.

"Yes," Gwinnie said simply. "Please continue, Mr. Gedney."

"When I spoke to them, they were still distraught, but said they did not see anyone in the alley or in the small backyard of the townhouse. This is where I would continue, with questioning Lady Guinevere…"

Gwinnie bowed her head slightly, then looked at the men who encircled Mrs. Southerland.

"I arrive at Mrs. Southerland's at 1 p.m. dressed as Miss Sarah Knolls to provide some private, one-on-one training to Miss Petrie. It was her day to serve as housemaid, and I was shadowing her and teaching her what she should know as a housemaid in a great house. Miss Petrie is enthusiastic, but lamentably slow to put activities in a proper sequence," she said.

"Excuse me, Lady Guinevere," one man said. "Why do you go there in the guise of another?"

"For acceptance. These women are intimidated by persons of rank. This is my way of getting them to relax and hear what I am saying, and not worrying so much if they are going to cause an insult."

"I see. Clever," the man said.

"Thank you. It was getting close to teatime, so I joined Mrs. Southerland in the parlor. Serving us tea would be another lesson for Miss Petrie. It was also getting close to the time I knew my father would send someone to escort me home. I was surprised when Mr. Martin arrived. He told me the footman who typically escorted me home had sprained his ankle and the duke, my father, requested Mr. Martin to fetch me instead."

"Mrs. Southerland and I invited him to share tea with us before I had to leave. He agreed and sat down. When Miss Petrie brought up the tea, she had a note for Mrs. Southerland. Mrs. Southerland begged our pardon that she might read it.

"Quite suddenly, she seemed overjoyed with happiness. Giddy as a schoolgirl. Her writing desk was next to her chair in the parlor. She quickly wrote a note, then said she had to go out for a few minutes. Not long, she said, and would Mr. Martin and I remain at the house until she returned. She implied she might have some exciting news on her return. We agreed."

"She never gave you any hint as to what that exciting news might be?" Mr. Gedney asked.

"No, not at all. Mrs. Southerland then asked to borrow my short cape— she didn't want to take the time to go upstairs to get her coat. I agreed, knowing on her it would serve as a long cape. After she left, Mr. Martin and I chatted for the next thirty minutes or so until we heard screaming, and that is when we ran out of the room and down the stairs just as the women managed to get the back door unlocked. Mr. Martin went outside to check on Mrs. Southerland. I escorted the girls and Miss Petrie down to the kitchen, and I requested Miss Petrie to make another pot of tea for the ladies to calm their shock.

"Shortly thereafter, Mr. Martin returned and confirmed she was dead, and advised he needed to fetch the coroner if he was available. I asked him to stop at The Thirsty Pig first. Miss Wooler, the cook, and Mrs. Albert, the housekeeper, liked to go to the pub on Friday afternoons. I was certain he could find them there and send them back to the house. He agreed. I stayed with the women in the house until Mrs. Albert and Miss Wooler arrived. I left the returning women in their care and then went to the parlor to try to write a letter to Lord Soothcoor and to my father. Unfortunately, I couldn't think straight. All I could think about was Mrs. Southerland. I don't know how much time passed before Mr. Martin returned with Dr. and Mrs. Brogan. They decided— over my protests— that I should return to my home. Mr. Martin escorted me in Dr. and Mrs. Brogan's carriage. He dropped me off and I went into Malmsby House and presented my father, the Duke of Malmsby, with the horrible news."

Gwinnie crossed her hands together in front of her as she surveyed the jury. There were excited whispered comments among them.

"If you have finished interrogating my daughter, Mr. Gedney, I will see her home." The duke's irritation was plain in his voice.

"A moment, Your Grace, if you will," said Mr. Simmons from the other side of the table. He bowed when he saw he had the duke's attention.

"And you are?"

"Simmons, Your Grace, Jeffrey Simmons of Simmons Tobacco and Snuff on Bond Street. You might be familiar with us."

"As I neither smoke, chew, nor take snuff, I am not."

"Oh, yes well, I live on Green Street, two houses down from… from that woman's establishment," he said, nodding his head toward Mrs. Southerland's body.

"You're the one Mrs. Albert told me about," Gwinnie said hotly, stepping forward. "You're the one who wants Mrs. Southerland's House for Unfortunate Women closed down!"

"It doesn't belong in a genteel neighborhood," Mr. Simmons retorted. "With her dead, maybe now it will be closed down."

The duke pulled Gwinnie back beside him when she looked ready to explode. "Gwinnie!" he admonished.

"No, Father," Gwinnie said, looking first at him then the Earl of Soothcoor, "he has been canvasing the neighborhood, inciting the other neighbors, writing articles, shouting at the women. He is the nuisance, not the charity."

Soothcoor frowned. He looked at Mr. Simmons. "How long have you lived on Green Street, Mr. Simmons?"

"Eight months, my lord, and I certainly wouldn't have moved there if I knew about her presence on the street."

"Mrs. Southerland has been on Green Street for over three years," Gwinnie said hotly.

Soothcoor looked at Gwinnie from under frowning brows and raised his hand to still her words.

Gwinnie compressed her lips and relaxed back against her father's side.

The earl dropped his arms and folded his hands together. "Mr. Simmons, if you have a problem with the location of Mrs. Southerland's establishment, then your problem is with me."

Mr. Simmons's face crumpled in confusion.

"I own that house, and as Lady Guinevere has stated, the charity has been in that location for three years. In that time, it has never had a problem with the neighbors."

"Mr. Simmons, Lord Soothcoor, this is hardly the time or location to have this discussion. We are here to determine the cause of death," Dr. Brogan said.

"I'd have to disagree, Dr. Brogan," Lewis said laconically. He'd been standing more toward the back wall in a shadowy corner where he could see everyone. He stepped forward.

"How do we know Mr. Simmons didn't choose to kill Mrs. Southerland as a way to shut down the charity?" Lewis suggested.

"Such is my thought," declared Gwinnie.

"How dare you, sir! Who are you?" demanded Mr. Simmons.

"Lewis Martin, Bow Street." Lewis did a curt bow in his direction.

Mr. Simmons looked across at Mr. Gedney. "Is that why you invited me to this inquest? So you could accuse me of murder? I won't be a party to this. I'm leaving!" he declared.

"No, you will not," declared the duke. He looked toward Lewis. "Mr. Martin, if you would, please?"

Lewis gained the stairs before Mr. Simmons could get through the other men. He stretched his arms from one stairway post to the other, blocking the stairs.

"Stand aside," Mr. Simmons demanded.

Lewis smiled congenially at him as he shook his head. "Sorry, I can't do that. You heard the Duke of Malmsby, you're not to leave."

"No one is accusing you," Soothcoor said.

"Yet," Gwinnie said.

"Gwinnie," growled her father.

"Dr. Brogan, Mr. Gedney, at what time was Mrs. Southerland killed?" Soothcoor asked.

"Based on when Mr. Martin appeared at my house, and the statement we heard from Lady Guinevere, I'd say between 4:30 and 5:00 p.m.," Dr. Brogan said.

"Mr. Simmons, where were you at that time?"

"At my shop, serving my last customer, Baron Morbank."

"And the baron can vouch for being in your shop with you at this time?" Lewis asked.

"Yes, of course."

"Now, see how easy that was," Lewis said, stepping away from the stairs. "Though I imagine Mr. Gedney will want to know whom you stirred up in the neighborhood so he can question them as well. Your agitations could have caused someone else to commit murder."

"No!" Mr. Simmons protested. "That was never my intent…" He trailed off, looking stricken.

Gwinnie suddenly smiled and bounced on her toes.

"Excuse me." One of the gentlemen brought in as a juror raised his hand.

"Yes?" Dr. Brogan said.

"Mr. Simmons approached me regarding Mrs. Southerland's establishment," he said, almost apologetically.

Dr. Brogan frowned. He looked at the rest of the jurors. "Were any others of you approached by Mr. Simmons, or otherwise engaged in negative discussions about Mrs. Southerland's?"

Four gentlemen raised their hands.

"That has certainly thrown the fat into the fire," Lewis whispered.

"What do you mean?" Gwinnie whispered back.

He nodded toward the coroner.

Dr. Brogan pushed back the edges of his jacket and settled his hands on his hips as he turned to face his officer. "Mr. Gedney, what instructions did you give the parish constable when you requested he gather a jury?" he asked tightly.

Mr. Gedney flushed. "Nothing in particular, Dr. Brogan."

Dr. Brogan took in a deep breath. "Gentlemen, any of you who have had discussions with Mr. Simmons, please provide your names to my clerk. You are dismissed from the jury but expect to be recalled as witnesses. This inquest is adjourned for three hours to allow for jurors— without prior connection to either Mrs. Southerland or Mr. Simmons— to be found as your replacements,"

"Will I need to repeat my deposition for the new jurors this afternoon?" Gwinnie asked.

"No, my lady," Dr. Brogan said in a kinder tone, his hands easing from his hips. "The clerk will read your statement."

"Mr. Gedney, if you would take over now?" Lewis suggested. He attempted to repress a smile at Gedney's discomfiture. The man would actually have to do some work.

"Lady Guinevere and I are leaving," the duke said. "Thank you, Mr. Martin, for your assistance. Please carry on, I shall expect a report this afternoon."

Lewis stepped away from the stairway as the duke and Gwinnie made their way to the stairs. He had to smile when he noted Gwinnie positioning herself so she passed near Mr. Simmons and could look down on him. She whispered something to him Lewis couldn't hear. The man visibly swallowed and stepped back.