Skin and Bone--A Mystery

by Robin Blake

  ‘I cannot possibly be absent when my husband is undergoing such a trial,’ she had said.

  I took my place in the position appointed for those answering complaints against them, a boxed stand that formed the dock when criminals stood trial. There was, of course, no jury present on this occasion, since at Court Leet the Mayor was sole juror and sole judge. He sat, however, with the Recorder Matthew Thorneley and two burgesses, one of whom was the former Mayor William Biggs, a man with no love for me. The other was Abraham Scroop.

  Danks asked me to confirm my name and then the town clerk swore me in and read the indictment in his usual wavering, reedy voice.

  ‘… that on Thursday last, the fourteenth instant, at the Skeleton Inn, you did lewdly, indecently and concupiscently unclothe Lady Rickaby and exposed her body without her consent, thereby causing her dishonour and distress, harming and depraving the good name of your office of Coroner and giving scandal to this ancient borough of Preston.’

  ‘What do you say to this charge?’ barked Thwaite.

  ‘I deny it,’ I said. ‘It is ridiculous.’

  ‘We shall soon see about that,’ said Thwaite. ‘Call Lady Rickaby.’

  The lady, supported by her sister Mrs Grimshaw, appeared and took her place in the witness box. She looked pale and wary, but resolute.

  The story her ladyship told under examination was that of a man – me – using his superior strength to subdue and affront a lady – her. Far from being overcome by smoke, far from being out of her senses, she maintained that, though coughing and in discomfort, she had been moving away from the fire and towards safety at the moment when I seized her and dragged her by main force to the window.

  ‘And what did the Coroner do then?’ Thwaite asked.

  Her eyes became wide.

  ‘Why, he ripped off my skirts, Sir. He exposed my nether clothing in a most brutal, shameless and violating manner.’

  The room was suddenly quiet, intent on hearing the evidence.

  ‘And did he speak?’

  ‘He pushed me half through the window, head first, so that my … my other end was towards him, and then he placed both his hands on me, and pushed me to my great shame and distress and with great force out on to the sloping roof, down which I slid and then fell to the ground.’

  ‘Surely you were hurt by such a fall!’

  ‘No, Sir, I landed softly, but with extreme loss of dignity. I was caught in a canvas sheet which, as I learned afterwards, was a sail held out for the purpose by brutish, laughing sailors whose coarse language in reference to myself I could not possibly repeat in this room. It was vile and beastly, Sir. It was demeaning.’

  I heard some whispering and a few stifled laughs from the public behind me.

  ‘Thank you, my lady. I shall not distress you more by making you further recall these unfortunate events. I think we have your testimony complete, and you may take a seat. Now, we had better hear from Titus Cragg himself, I suppose, and learn what he has to say.’

  It was a strange sensation, submitting to examination in a court of law, as it was I that usually did the examining. Thwaite’s voice, more full than ever (it seemed to me) with bluster and self-regard, boomed out his first question.

  ‘Is this true, Cragg? Did you violently tear and remove Lady Rickaby’s skirts?’

  ‘Yes, I did. If I had not done so, she—’

  ‘And did you push her in the indecent manner she described through the window.’

  ‘I wouldn’t call it indecent but, yes, I did push her through the window.’

  ‘But you do admit that you put your hands to her rump? That you seized and pushed her buttocks? That you—’

  Hearing the word ‘rump’ caused the lady and her sister each to give out a piercing squeal, but ‘buttocks’ had an even stronger effect. Clapping their hands to their ears, both ladies shut their eyes tightly and jammed their chins into their chests in spasms of embarrassment and shock. Thwaite turned to them.

  ‘I cannot apologize to you, my lady, or to you Mrs Grimshaw, for my choice of language. Here in this court a spade must always be called a spade, you know. You may answer the question, Cragg.’

  ‘Well, it is true that I did that, yes. I was trying to save her life, you see, and I was extremely pressed for time under the circumstances we found ourselves in.’

  ‘So you say, so you say. But it appears you were trying with an unnecessary degree of, to put it in its best possible light, zeal. You gave no thought to the scandal you would cause.’

  ‘No, indeed I did not, because I—’

  ‘Because you thought to gratify a baser instinct with this lady.’

  I almost let out a guffaw, but just managed to check myself. Lady Rickaby was ten years my senior, and in terms of physical charms her palmy days were well behind her. I drew a breath.

  ‘I assure you, Mr Thwaite, that my only instinct was to preserve Lady Rickaby’s life.’

  I gestured towards her with a smile.

  ‘In this, as you see, I happily succeeded.’

  Now without warning Thwaite jumped to his feet. He was snorting like a war horse and his eyebrows writhed like a pair of black caterpillars.

  ‘Will you make a joke of this, Titus Cragg?’ he thundered, shaking his finger at me. ‘Well, let me tell you. Let me tell you how you succeeded. You affronted the lady, and her family. You yourself have admitted in this court to carrying out the actions complained of. By which you have further succeeded in shaming this great town of ours.’

  The public were buzzing like a beehive now, as I attempted to continue. I meant to say that both Lady Rickaby and myself could have lost our lives, and that it was imperative to make our exits from the burning room as quickly as possible, in which case considerations of modesty did not apply. But Thwaite, who had still not resumed his seat, shouted me down.

  ‘No! No! No! No! NO! Hold your tongue, Cragg. We have heard sufficient pleas in mitigation and I have made my decision according to the facts. Therefore I shall proceed to judgement.’

  He reoccupied his seat and the four men on the dais put their heads together to confer in whispers. It took less than a minute before they parted again and Thwaite composed himself. At last, adopting the gravity of a hanging judge, he intoned,

  ‘Titus Cragg, I find that, by your own admission, you did indeed take advantage of and indecently assault my Lady Rickaby, here present, in the manner and on the day specified in her complaint. Such actions cannot be tolerated in one holding a public office. It is therefore my duty, my very painful duty, to order your immediate retirement from the post of Coroner of Preston, and I order further that you be disbarred from standing in any further election to the said post for a term of five consecutive years. Next case, please.’

  I stood there for a few moments in a state of considerable amazement. What had I expected from this absurd process? An admonishment, perhaps. A requirement that I make some form of apology to the lady, at worst. But not this. I had been Coroner of Preston for almost a decade, the direct successor to my late father. Now suddenly I was turned out. It was hard, no, it was impossible to believe.

  * * *

  Elizabeth took my arm as we walked the short distance to Cheapside.

  ‘How will you fight this stupid decision, Titus?’

  ‘With everything I have.’

  ‘Quite right. You are a fine Coroner and devoted to the job. You have been shamefully abused by that woman.’

  Just ahead of us as we neared home I saw Furzey going into the office from the street. He had a ledger tucked under his arm.

  ‘I had better go into the office and tell Furzey the news. We will discuss what action to take.’

  I let Elizabeth go in by the door of the residence, while I went in by the corresponding office door.

  ‘I have just been at Court Leet, to answer this matter brought by Lady Rickaby,’ I said to my clerk. My voice was trembling. ‘Thwaite wouldn’t listen to me for a moment. The fact that I was saving the woman
’s wretched life carried no weight at all, with the upshot that I am precipitately expelled from the office of Coroner for moral turpitude, beginning now. I am thrown out like a dirty old shoe, Furzey.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Furzey, ‘so you are.’

  ‘In addition, I am disbarred for five years from standing for election again. How can they do that? I cannot believe it. Can you? All in the space of ten minutes.’

  ‘Forgive me for reminding you, Sir, but did I not mention it might turn out so?’

  When being proved right, as he quite often was, Furzey would usually sound a guardedly triumphal note, but now his voice was funereal. This decision affected him as well as me.

  ‘I can’t help the feeling that it is connected with this skin-yard inquest,’ I said. ‘Thwaite threatened me about it the other day – not in so many words, but he made it clear he was in a great hurry to get Kathy Brock found guilty.’

  But Furzey was not convinced by the case.

  ‘There is a better explanation, Sir. If you recall, certain members of the Corporation – certain mayors, in fact – have been plotting to remove you for years. Maybe it’s not the present case that precipitates Mr Thwaite’s actions, but his old desire to turn you out. In short, I think he has seized on this business with Lady Rickaby expediently because he wants the office for himself.’

  ‘Well he can’t have it, can he? It is an elected post.’

  ‘But once upon a time it wasn’t elected, Sir, not directly. Before the time of Oliver Cromwell there was never a poll for Coroner in Preston. Instead the Mayor did the job ex officio. It was Oliver’s parliament that took it off the Mayor and made it elected, and when the King came back no one thought of going back to the old way. Or not until now, is what I’m thinking.’

  Sitting at my desk I put my head into my hands and thought about it. But all I could see was Thwaite telling me darkly to get Kathy Brock found guilty of murder. I shook my head as if to dislodge the memory and concentrate on Furzey’s proposition.

  ‘Well, it is true they’ve been gunning for me for years, the Corporation,’ I said. ‘Perhaps that is it: pure expediency. They’ve seized this as a chance to bring me down, as you might seize the first ripe plum on the tree. Well, I believe I shall appeal to Lord Derby. As Chancellor of the Duchy he will reverse the decision. He must.’

  Furzey looked doubtful.

  ‘I fear his Lordship’s powers, though they are considerable, may not extend to reversing a mayoral decision ex cathedra, as you might call it, and nor may he wish to.’

  ‘We can only try. I shall need a written record of what was said in the court – that would help. I must make a memorandum of it immediately. His Lordship will be unable to credit what he reads.’

  Furzey took a step towards me, opened the ledger and placed it in my hands. I looked at the page, which was covered in his shorthand.

  ‘It is all there verbatim, Sir.’

  ‘You mean … Furzey, were you there in court? I never saw you.’

  ‘I was in the public benches. I thought it best to attend and get the proceedings down on paper, foreseeing the possible need of a record afterwards. Like I’ve told you, I’m doubting an appeal will do much good, but I knew you’d be trying.’

  ‘You knew right – by God you did! Thank you, Furzey.’

  * * *

  I went through to the house for dinner. Elizabeth received me calmly, though not complacently, for her first action was to embrace me and plant a kiss on my lips.

  ‘You will defeat these evil forces against you, my love, I am sure of it.’

  ‘Well, I might begin a case in the Duchy Chancery court, though it would be extremely tedious. I’m not sure the Mayor’s behaving constitutionally, but the history of the coronership in Preston is obscure and very shadowy. Furzey believes Thwaite wants the coronership back in the hands of the Mayor, as it used to be before they changed the rules during Cromwell’s Commonwealth.’

  ‘Thwaite is voracious for power, my love. But a case in Chancery would be a frightful expense.’

  ‘I know. It would probably ruin us, and fail besides or, if not, run on for years. My first thought is the best one, which is to appeal personally to Lord Derby. Furzey thinks his lordship has no power in the matter, but he is Chancellor of the Duchy after all, and his mediation would be powerful I believe.’

  ‘Then it is lucky he has arrived back at Patten House this very morning. He has returned from Knowsley Hall for tomorrow night’s Assembly. Oh! I am sure he will save the day. He has always been kindly disposed to you. You must go there immediately after dinner.’

  ‘What stings me most is the idea that I would have exposed Lady Rickaby’s legs, and shoved her by the arse, just for my own pleasure.’

  ‘There are few in town who think you would, Titus. It is all a nervous fiction of Lady Rickaby’s, that the Mayor has fashioned into a boot to kick you with.’

  ‘Well,’ I said with a rueful laugh, ‘the man’s a cobbler, when all’s said and done.’

  ‘It does me good to hear you laugh, Titus.’

  Chapter 16

  THE STANLEY FAMILY had over the years found excellent ways of deterring public access to themselves. Patten House, their town mansion, stood in its grandeur a hundred feet back from an entrance on Church Gate, with a high enclosing wall and an imposing gatehouse. It was garrisoned at all hours by a retainer enjoying the absolute power to deny entry to anyone he judged unworthy, or suspicious. If you should happen to get past him, you approached the house by an alley walled in brick on either side. In summer this flagged walk was aromatic of flowers and herbs, but the flanking walls were too high to allow sight of the gardens beyond.

  On arrival at the main door you found a short flagged passage with an anteroom on the right and a small writing room opposite. Here presided a second commissary, in this case one of the household clerks, with the duty of being every way as obstructive as the first. So you negotiated once more as he fixed you with a searching look, asking sternly for your explanation, your brief, your letter of introduction. If he, too, was satisfied, you were shown into the anteroom to wait.

  I had handed in a carefully worded letter requesting an interview with Lord Derby, and was now sitting in the anteroom with three or four others, all of us hoping for an audience as we listened to the light drumming of rain outside. One young fellow – dark, slim and with eyes so intense that they seemed to burn inwardly – sat beside me glumly eating currants, which he shook out of a pouch that hung from his belt. He’d carried in with him what appeared to be a hatbox. We fell into conversation.

  ‘My name is Joss Kay,’ he told me, ‘and I am an apomecometrist.’

  ‘You are what?’

  ‘You do not know the word? Not many do. In common terms, I am a surveyor of land and I received an instruction that I was required to conduct some apomecometry – a survey to you – for Lord Derby. I went of course immediately to Knowsley Hall to receive my commission, but after much delay I could not obtain it, as Lord Derby had upped and left to come here. I was forced to follow, all at my own expense.’

  ‘Why not wait at Knowsley at his expense? He would be bound to return.’

  ‘What? Wait idly and indefinitely? No. I find it impossible to be without employment. And besides, you never know with these lords where they’ll fetch up next. It’s best to keep on their tail. It was the same with the Duke of Portland when I had dealings with him.’

  ‘Surely you don’t have to wait on the Earl himself at all. His bailiff at Knowsley must be able to give you the office.’

  ‘Not he. Said he was not empowered. Nor would he tell me what the job is. No more would the steward, or the farm bailiff. For all I know this is all a fool’s errand. You are passed from one official to the next, and nobody has the authority to tell you anything. They only say that I must have my commission from Lord Derby in person, or I’ll not have it at all.’

  ‘Well, maybe you will not have long to wait now.’

  ‘M
aybe!’ Kay repeated bitterly. ‘That is just my difficulty. Everything is “maybe” and nothing is “will be”. I have been here all day. I cannot fritter such time away in waiting. I must know if I am to be taken on, and as soon as possible, or I shall look for work elsewhere. I am not a petitioner, I am a professional man. Am I to be kept at bay indefinitely? Oh, I am tired of this. And these currants are all that I have eaten since breakfast.’

  He put another into his mouth and sighed, and I sighed in sympathy for at that moment I felt as tired of waiting as he, though not as hungry. I had no way of knowing if the note I’d so carefully written and sent up to Lord Derby had been received; or, if received, opened and read. As Kay and I talked, men passed through the room, men of business carrying portfolios and brandishing documents, confident men and each with untrammelled access to the great earl. We eyed them sourly as they came and went.

  After a while, I nodded towards the hatbox by his feet.

  ‘What hat have you there?’

  He behaved as if I had said something highly peculiar.

  ‘How do you mean, what hat? This contains the tool of my trade. My apomecometer, or theodolite as you would probably call it. It is of my own invention – new and much improved, in every way.’