by Alis Hawkins
‘Mr Price said that your cousin had been staying at your house recently. I assume that means he’s no longer at Pantglas?’
‘No.’
‘Where is he?’
‘Gone back to sea.’
‘And when did he leave?’
Eynon hesitated. ‘First thing on Monday morning. But he’d always been going to leave then,’ he added, quickly.
I noted Eynon’s answer and asked the jury whether they had any more to ask him. A man rose from the bench.
‘Mr Probert-Lloyd doesn’t know Shoni Goch like we do, here,’ he said. ‘So I think you’d better tell him why your cousin went away to sea.’
‘Same reason most young men go to sea. Because there was no room for him on the farm.’
His words were greeted with forced, incredulous laughter and scattered cries of ‘Shame’ and ‘Tell the truth, Jeremiah Eynon.’
‘Not because he half-killed a man in a fight, then?’
‘It was a fair fight!’ Eynon had to raise his voice above the crowd. ‘And he didn’t half-kill anybody.’
‘Don’t lie, man! It took four men to drag him off! If they hadn’t pulled your cousin away, he’d’ve killed him. Everybody knows that. Including you.’ Shouts from the floor immediately corroborated this claim.
‘I don’t know any such thing!’ Eynon was on his feet, now, and shouting to be heard. ‘That story’s grown in the telling so much I don’t even recognise it any more! And the only reason it grew is because the man he knocked down went round for months accusing Shoni of trying to kill him.’
‘I was there,’ the questioner spat, jabbing at the air with a finger. ‘And you can tell your lies till Judgement Day but I know what I saw. Shoni Goch’s got a nasty, violent temper on him. Once his dander’s up, he can’t rule himself!’
Shoni Goch’s violent nature having been established to the juryman’s satisfaction, amidst a hubbub of speculation from the crowd, I dismissed Jeremiah Eynon and called his daughter to come and give evidence.
Our encounter in the Walters’s parlour had left me with the impression that playing second fiddle to Nan was Ruth’s choice, not a result of any feeling of inferiority on her part. Cautious where her friend was impulsive, she would weigh her answers carefully and any suggestion that I was trying to force her into an admission would only work against me.
‘Miss Eynon,’ I said, once she had given her oath, ‘can you tell me which chapel you attend?’
‘The Methodist chapel in Llanddewi.’
‘You don’t share Mr Rowland’s religious convictions, then?’
‘We’re a Methodist family.’
I made a note of that before asking, ‘Did you ever discuss religion with Mr Rowland?’
Ruth hesitated. ‘Mr Rowland didn’t speak a great deal about religion.’
Perhaps Hildon’s complaint of atheist sympathies had not been so wide of the mark. ‘Did his beliefs – religious or political – cause friction with anybody in the village?’ I asked.
Did she shake her head? Visible to me only in my imperfect peripheral vision, Ruth Eynon seemed almost unnaturally still, as if she was determined to make no movement of which she was not wholly in control. ‘I don’t think he ever spoke about politics in the village. He didn’t like to upset people. Didn’t like arguments.’
‘Would you say he kept himself to himself, then?’
‘No. Not particularly. I believe he spent time in the Three Horseshoes like other men. He liked company. He just didn’t like to argue.’
A wise man.
‘Miss Eynon, I know that you and Miss Walters wrote Mr Rowland’s correspondence for him. Did you send any letters to arrange meetings with anybody?’
When we had spoken to Nan and Ruth earlier in the week, both girls had denied knowing anything about any arrangements to meet with potential donors. But, now, Ruth Eynon was under oath.
Still, she was positive. ‘No. But I couldn’t say whether he received any letters of that kind.’
‘You don’t know, then, who Mr Rowland might have been going to see when he went off up the Pontllanio road, as we heard in Billy Walters’s testimony?’
This time, her answer was accompanied by a visible head shake. ‘No. But that’s in the direction of the Unitarian chapel, isn’t it?’
I turned to the spectators. ‘Is the Unitarian minister here?’
The absence of response indicated that he was not. In all likelihood, he would be preparing for Rowland’s funeral which was due to take place as soon as the mourners could make their way from the inquest to his chapel.
I addressed myself to Ruth again. ‘When we first met, I asked if you could remember the names of any of the gentlemen to whom you and Nan wrote on Mr Rowland’s behalf. Have you managed to bring any to mind?’
Before she could answer, my attention was distracted. The door to the schoolhouse opened and I looked around, trying to see what was happening.
John leaned towards me. ‘Montague Caldicot’s just left.’
Had Caldicot simply felt that he had observed my approach for long enough, or, seeing that I had no qualms about asking witnesses to come forward ad hoc, had he feared that he might find himself under oath?
Ruth rose and approached our table. ‘Nan and I made a list of all the names we could remember. We wrote them down for you.’ She gave her slip of paper to John and returned to her seat.
The crowd became restive as John scanned the list. After hearing details of Shoni Goch’s motive and character, the people of Llanddewi Brefi could not see what relevance these charitable gentlemen’s names could have. It was clear from audible mutterings that many felt we should move swiftly to a conclusion.
I turned my head towards John. ‘Is he on the list?’ I asked, voice low.
‘Caldicot? No.’
Ruth had taken her seat once more.
‘Miss Eynon, we’ve heard how your family attended chapel as usual on Sunday last. Do you happen to remember what text the minister preached on?’
I was hoping that if I could walk alongside her, in her mind, from the chapel to Pantglas, she might speak more freely about what had happened between her and Shoni Goch than if I simply asked her outright.
‘He was preaching on the raising of Lazarus.’
‘And did you discuss it with your cousin, Shoni Goch, on the way home?’
There was a brief silence. She seemed to be staring at me and John but, perhaps, her mind’s eye was seeing the walk home from chapel.
‘No.’
I waited but she offered nothing more. ‘Will you be so good as to tell us, please, what you and your kinsman did speak about on the way back from chapel that day?’
But, instead of answering, to my horror, Ruth Eynon began to cry.
John
When Llew Price started questioning Jeremiah Eynon, you could see that most of the jury thought this was just Llew on a hobby horse. They swapped glances, rolled their eyes, shook their heads.
They had another look on their faces altogether by the time Eynon went back to his seat. And they were agog when Harry called Ruth. They couldn’t wait to see her father’s reaction when he heard what’d gone on between her and Shoni Goch.
Of course, to start with, you could tell they didn’t know what Harry was up to, asking questions about the sermon at chapel. I don’t know why, mind. The farmers on the jury should’ve spotted his game straight away. It was no different to letting a skittish filly come and sniff you, see you’re nothing to be afraid of, so you can get a halter on her.
But then Harry asked about the argument and the weeping started. You’d have thought people’d be sympathetic but maybe Billy Walters wasn’t the only one who thought Ruth and his sister had made too much of their position with Nicholas Rowland.
‘Come on, girl,’ somebody shouted. ‘Don’t keep the coroner waiting!’
I watched Jeremiah Eynon. His eyes were fixed on his daughter, the way a cat pins its prey with a stare before pouncing.
<
br /> Finally, Ruth took her hands away from her running, red eyes and looked at Harry. She swallowed and wiped her eyes with a sleeve, like a child.
‘It’s like Mr Price said,’ she sobbed. ‘He wanted me to be his wife.’ And she broke down again.
‘But you didn’t want to marry him?’
A shake of the head while she smeared the tears from her cheeks. ‘No.’
‘So did you argue, like Mr Price said?’
She nodded. I was afraid she’d take fright if I told her to speak so that Harry could hear her, so I tapped the table once for ‘yes’.
‘Your father told this hearing that there was an understanding between you and Shoni Goch that you were to be married – is that not true?’
Ruth did that thing girls do where they sob and hiccup at the same time and shook her head again.
Harry’d seen. ‘Not ever? No previous fondness that you might have grown out of?’
‘No! It was them who had the understanding – my father and Shoni Goch. Not me. They never asked me.’ She sounded like a child who’d been accused of something she didn’t do.
‘I see.’
We all saw. For whatever reason, Jeremiah Eynon had decided that his daughter should marry his cousin.
‘Miss Eynon,’ Harry said, quietly, ‘I’m sorry to have to ask you this, but we’ve heard that Shoni Goch has a temper. Did he offer you violence?’
Could everybody else see that Ruth had started to shake, or were they too far away? Made me uncomfortable, if I’m honest, but we had to get at the truth, didn’t we?
‘No. He just shouted.’ Her voice was small again. Frightened.
‘Did he blame Mr Rowland – for you not wanting to marry him?’
I could hear her quick breaths, as if her lungs were full of fear and she could only use the tiniest part of them for breathing. She was panting through her nose, nostrils flaring in and out like a hare on its form, twitching at the scent of a hunter.
‘Miss Eynon?’
She nodded.
I leaned forward, urging Harry to go on.
‘Did Shoni Goch threaten Mr Rowland?’ he asked.
Ruth’s eyes shut and she started to rock herself in tight little jerks, as if she wanted to run away but was pulling herself back, again and again.
‘Miss Eynon?’
She looked up at Harry. ‘He said Mr Rowland needed teaching a lesson. That he’d turned me against him.’
‘And had he?’ Harry asked. ‘Had Nicholas Rowland turned you against the idea of marrying your father’s cousin?’
‘No! No! No!’ Her hands flew apart and her little fists drummed on her thighs. ‘I never wanted to marry him! Ever!’ The snot that comes when you cry was running out of her now and spit flew out of her mouth as she shouted.
‘That’s enough!’ Jeremiah Eynon was on his feet but Simi Jones and Harry spoke simultaneously.
‘Sit down, Jeremiah Eynon!’
‘Be quiet, please, Mr Eynon.’
Instead of shutting her up, her father’s words seemed to unstop Ruth.
‘I told him I couldn’t marry him! That I was promised to somebody else!’ She didn’t sound scared any more. Perhaps it was easier to defy her father in front of a crowd, where he couldn’t touch her.
Eynon was on his feet again. ‘Don’t talk nonsense, girl! You weren’t promised to anybody.’
He was having to shout to make himself heard again. This was more entertainment than the crowd could’ve hoped for and they were making the most of it.
Ruth was on her feet now, facing her father.
‘Yes, I was! Mr Rowland had asked me to marry him and I’d said yes! We were going to wait till I was of age then get married!’
There was uproar then. People started gabbling at their neighbours, craning their necks to see what people behind them thought, leaning forward to share astonishment with the people in front of them.
Too late, I realised that I should’ve looked over to see Nan Walters’s reaction. By the time I’d scraped my wits back together enough to see whether the news had come as a surprise to her, too, Nan’s face was in her hands.
Jeremiah Eynon was a different matter. He looked as if his daughter’d just grabbed him by the balls. Luckily for him, the shock stunned him long enough for him to get a grip on his rage. Otherwise, I’m pretty sure Ruth would’ve been getting a hiding there and then.
She knew it, too. Or maybe the wave of voices had overpowered her. Either way, she collapsed back onto the chair and began to sob, hands over her face.
Harry leaned towards me. ‘Can you translate for Minnever and Hildon while I sum up?’
I got to my feet and listened to Harry telling the jury what they had to do. Didn’t know why he was bothering. Llew Price and Ruth Eynon, between them, had just handed the jury its verdict on a plate.
Harry
Though I spoke at length to the jury, sailing as close as I dared to telling them what verdict they should bring in, I was unable to prevent the naming of Jonathan Eynon – alias Shoni Goch – as the person responsible for the death of Nicholas Rowland.
‘Begging your pardon, sir,’ one juror said, in response to my argument that ‘unlawful killing by persons unknown’ would suffice, ‘but if Llew hadn’t called Jeremiah Eynon to tell us about his cousin, and Ruth hadn’t said what she did, I believe we’d have found for misadventure. Wouldn’t we?’
He had obviously looked to his fellow jurymen for corroboration as a scattered mumble comprising varying degrees of agreement was punctuated, finally, by a more definitive statement.
‘From what we’ve heard, here today, it’s Shoni Goch that’s killed him. No doubt at all!’
So, having charged Simi Jones with the task of conveying the jury’s verdict to the magistrates, who would now be obliged to send police officers to Aberaeron in the slender hope that Shoni Goch had not yet taken ship, I spent most of the ride back to Tregaron answering Minnever’s questions. It is a measure of how dismayed I was by the whole inquest that I would rather have been discussing election strategy.
Even more depressing was the knowledge that it was all my own fault. By failing to look conscientiously into the circumstances of those most closely associated with Rowland, I had allowed Llew Price to take control of the inquest and produce a culprit entirely unknown to me. And been made a laughing stock in the process.
Minnever, however, chose to see things otherwise.
‘I believe this inquest will bolster your chances at the election, Harry. Yes, I really do!’
I did not ask him to explain; I knew he would be unable to restrain himself.
‘One of the criticisms of you as coroner,’ he went on, ‘is that you’ve spent too much time and money in conducting your inquests. That you’ve not relied enough on local officers who are already paid for their efforts. But, here, you relied almost entirely on the parish officer to bring forward witnesses. And you gave the jury its head, proving your respect for an ancient institution and bowing to its judgement even when you’d rather it had been otherwise. That will sit very nicely with the voters of Llanddewi Brefi and Tregaron.’
Dear God! If Minnever was offered a turd he would look for the clean end by which he might receive it.
‘If you say so.’
‘I do!’
I did not know how to respond to his optimism but, as so often, he did not require a response.
‘The point is, Harry, voters are easily swayed. And that’s why, tomorrow, we must ensure that you speak last. Yours must be the words that everybody takes away from the meeting, the words they remember.’
‘But what if I speak last and still can’t convince people? Or if Caldicot’s an orator of the first order and it’s his words they can’t forget?’
Minnever didn’t miss a beat. ‘That’s when we’ll depend upon two things – party allegiance and your popularity as a candidate. Why do you think I’ve been trying to get you to speak affably to people? They need to know that you’re an app
roachable man, a man who doesn’t turn his nose up at a drink after a hard day’s work. A man they could come to with news of a death that troubles them without fear of being sent away with a haughty flea in their ear.’
Which meant that, once back in Tregaron, we would make straight for the public houses of the town to discuss the inquest with anybody who wished to do so. And I would not even have John by my side as I had asked him to represent me at Rowland’s funeral.
I groaned inwardly.
John
I was glad Harry’d asked me to go to Rowland’s funeral. Hanging around with him while he canvassed made me feel about as useful as a wether at tupping time and Minnever was getting on my nerves.
What I wasn’t so happy about was the reason he’d asked me to go.
‘I want you to see who’s there,’ he’d said.
‘You mean Caldicot? You think he’s going to be there?’
Harry shook his head. ‘Given that he’s determined to deny any association with Rowland, I doubt that very much. But others might be. If Rowland did have influential supporters we need to know—’
‘We? We don’t need to know, Harry. We’ve held our inquest. The verdict’s in. That’s the end of it for us.’