Skin and Bone--A Mystery

by Robin Blake

  ‘But Mr Scroop was not a tanner. How would he know how to do this?’

  Still that intense look – was it attention or fear in his eyes?

  ‘He would take advice, naturally.’

  ‘Would he need the advice of Mr Thomas Steers of Liverpool, for instance?’

  At the mention of Steers Strawboy turned pale then looked down for the first time. The pitch of his voice was lower and quieter.

  ‘I, er, don’t know who you mean.’

  ‘Mr Steers is a distinguished engineer established in Liverpool.’

  ‘Is he?’

  ‘Captain Strawboy, I think you know he is. I shall put it to you straight. Is it true that you and Mr Scroop, with some funding from others such as your uncle Lord Grassington, were planning a huge project for Preston Marsh, a plan that would entirely alter the character of that very useful and much appreciated stretch of wet land beside the river bank?’

  Strawboy’s face had begun to redden now.

  ‘I regret I am not at liberty to say more on this subject.’

  ‘You won’t be at liberty at all, Captain, if I decide to press you on this.’

  ‘But it is quite irrelevant to the present inquiry.’

  ‘That is for me to decide, Sir. But – ah! – I see one has arrived who might relieve you of the duty of helping us.’

  I meant Joss Kay who, flanked by the Parkin brothers, had just been led into the room. We had heard that Kay had been ordered back to prison by the bench, pending his appearance before the grand jury. Asking Strawboy not to leave the court, I let him down and called Kay in his place.

  ‘Mr Kay, the court has heard Captain Strawboy’s words, viz. that “it is no secret that Mr Scroop planned to improve the skin-yard”. However, there was more to this scheme than just the tannery, was there not?’

  Kay, already facing legal troubles of his own, looked trapped and miserable as he tried to weigh the perils of perjury against the secrecy of men who might yet help him out of facing a murder charge. Finally he must have decided it was too great a risk to lie. He nodded his head.

  ‘Clerk,’ I said to Furzey, who was writing furiously, ‘please note that the witness assents. Tell us more if you please, Mr Kay. This was indeed being kept secret, I think.’

  Kay cleared his throat.

  ‘It was thought best not to speak of the project until the moment was right. It was thought there would be unrest. Protests. Not even the majority of the Corporation knew about it.’

  ‘Who did know? Had you been told the full extent of the project?’

  ‘Not I. Mr Scroop, he was the prime mover. The Earl of Derby. Captain Strawboy. And the Captain’s uncle Lord Grassington also, I believe, though I don’t know the nobleman. There was also a group of men among your Preston burgesses who were interested in investing.’

  ‘But surely you yourself became privy to this secret also?’

  ‘Some of it. I was asked to make a survey, wasn’t I?’

  ‘Yes, and on the recommendation of Mr Thomas Steers of Liverpool, I believe.’

  ‘Er, that is so.’

  ‘Who is at present employed in Ireland – making a canal I believe – but who became known in Liverpool for something else. What was that?’

  Kay’s answer was in two words that came out in a hoarse low whisper.

  ‘Speak up, Mr Kay. You must make up your mind to tell the court in plain words.’

  The witness straightened his back. He had decided, it seemed, which side of the scales weighed heavier.

  ‘It was the dock,’ he said, quite clearly now. ‘Mr Steers designed and built Liverpool’s enclosed dock on top of the Pool.’

  ‘Ah! Did he indeed? And the work you came here for – tell us about that.’

  ‘It was to do a complete survey of the Marsh.’

  ‘With a view to?’

  ‘Doing the same for Preston’s Marsh as Mr Steers did for Liverpool’s Pool. To turn the whole place into a dock.’

  ‘Go on. Tell us why he wanted to do that.’

  ‘Anyone can see that the present wharf at Preston is not adequate. Our project is to replace it with an enclosed dock so great it would be one of the wonders of England, and far larger than Mr Steers’s first dock.’

  ‘And would it really consume all of the Marsh?’

  ‘Easily. It is a huge enterprise requiring much toil in excavation, drainage and embankments.’

  At this point one of the jury interrupted. He did not know what was meant by an ‘enclosed dock’. I turned back to Kay.

  ‘For the benefit of us inlanders, would you explain the construction and purpose of an enclosed dock?’

  ‘It is a man-made basin surrounded by quays and dug out of the river bank or, in this case, out of the Marsh. It allows shipping to come into it at high tide through sea gates. These close behind it, keeping the water level up even when the tide outside is low.’

  ‘So the ships inside float rather than, as now, sitting high, dry and a-tilt on the mud?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘But why do this in Preston, Mr Kay?’

  ‘To bring more sea trade. Loading and unloading will be easier, but more important are the many extra berths that will be provided, as well as warehouses and the like. Capacity at the moment is woefully low – four or five ships at a time, at the most. Such a dock would take ten times as many. And of course the profits arising will especially benefit the town’s life and manufacturing. Preston would be a great port and a happier town because of it.’

  ‘You are very confident there, Mr Kay.’

  ‘I am. I have based my whole life on the belief in improvement of all kinds.’

  ‘But not everyone would agree with this improvement. There are those who uphold the traditional employment of land – in this case of the Marsh in grazing and other uses. They would say your scheme rates private profit ahead of ancient public rights. So, from your own observation of him, was Abraham Scroop afraid that his plans would meet with this kind of opposition?’

  ‘He knew they would. He said there might be violence.’

  ‘Violence! That’s interesting.’

  ‘Unrest happens in many other places where improvement is pushed through by energetic men against the dead hand of ignorance. Unfortunately windows get broken and life is endangered. That’s why it was thought best to complete the calculations and working plans for the dock, and if possible get the Act of Parliament passed, before—’

  I interrupted.

  ‘A parliamentary Act is required, is it?’

  ‘Yes, or the work would not be legal.’

  ‘And the idea was to pass this Act before the people of Preston woke up to what rights they were losing?’

  ‘That is so, more or less.’

  The whispering in the room had become a buzz, a murmur of debate and a flurry of under-the-breath comment.

  ‘You have described Mr Scroop as the prime mover in the enterprise. Do you know if he feared violence against himself, if this news became public?’

  ‘I don’t know. He may have. You must ask someone closer to him.’

  ‘I intend to. But it has not escaped my attention that you have been questioned by the magistrates in Preston. They think you are concerned in the death of Mr Scroop. What do you say to that?’

  ‘No. I am quite innocent. I had done work for Mr Scroop and he owed me money. I was waiting to be paid, that is all.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Kay, your testimony has been enlightening.’

  He left the chair and I now called Mrs Scroop. She had been present from the beginning in her widow’s weeds, alongside her three equally black-clad eldest daughters. One of these, Harriet, helped her mother to the chair, then returned to her seat. I addressed the new witness.

  ‘Tell us what you know about your husband’s plans for the day on last Monday morning.’

  ‘I know nothing. My husband did not confide his plans to me, not ever.’

  ‘What about his personal safety? Did he say a
nything to you on this subject? For instance, in relation to this scheme for a dock we have been hearing of?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Very well, Mrs Scroop, here is another matter. Why have you given away or burned all your husband’s clothes, books, papers and personal things since he died?’

  ‘Because I do not like to be reminded of him. It is painful.’

  ‘I fear it will be painful also for you to answer my next question but I must ask. Did you choose the name Loammi for your baby son?’

  ‘No. My husband did.’

  ‘Do you know why he chose this curious name?’

  ‘No. But I imagine one cannot be barred from having what name he prefers.’

  ‘What about the inscription Mr Scroop asked to be carved on the headstone? Did he not consult you about that? It refers to yourself, after all.’

  ‘I know nothing of it.’

  ‘It seems to address the dead child. “Plead with your mother, plead”, it says. Plead to you for what, Mrs Scroop?’

  ‘I don’t know. It was all his idea, from beginning to end.’

  ‘You cannot tell us what it might mean?’

  ‘No.’

  The audience conversation now rose towards a hubbub. I had asked a string of questions and Mrs Scroop had remained as closed to me and as icily calm as ever. On my side, I was no nearer to knowing the truth, but my questions had been so many crumbs thrown into a fishpond and the carp were beginning to boil in the water around them.

  I quietened the crowd and, dismissing Mrs Scroop for the time being, called Dr Fidelis up to replace her.

  While he was making his way forward I said, ‘May I appeal to all of you present: if anyone can shed any light on the words Mr Scroop had chosen to inscribe on his son’s headstone, I urge you please to come forward. Ah, Dr Fidelis! Will you take the book in your right hand please?’

  Once he was sworn in, I asked for his opinion of Scroop’s death.

  ‘It was murder,’ he said. ‘He was killed with malice aforethought.’

  The room of course had been expecting this. They buzzed about it like bees, but did not roar in complete surprise, as I have once or twice heard in court.

  ‘You are very definite, Doctor.’

  ‘When I first saw the body I noticed that the eyelids would not close, while the extended limbs – the fingers for instance – were still loose. The stiffening of the eyelid is the first sign of the general stiffening of the muscles that begins to creep over a body five or six hours after death. Since I was examining the body at about two thirty in the afternoon I concluded that Mr Scroop had died between eight and nine in the morning.’

  ‘That contradicts the suggestion that Mr Scroop was knocked from his horse at ten thirty, dying shortly afterwards.’

  ‘It does. At the finding place, I looked for his hat and could not see it. Indeed it was not found, I believe. So I was not surprised when I noticed that the clothing on Scroop’s front – and he was found lying on his front – was wet, while that on his back was dry.’

  ‘What conclusion did you draw from that?’

  ‘That he did not die in the position in which he was found. I believe that he was moved to the spot, and this cannot have happened until after it rained at about ten thirty that morning.’

  The jury had continued to listen intently but this flummoxed them. Their agitated hand signals told me they needed help in understanding what had just been said.

  ‘The body was lying on its front,’ I explained. ‘The front of the clothing was wet, meaning the body must have come down on wet ground – that is, after it had been raining. But the only rain that morning was a heavy shower which began at ten thirty. Therefore Dr Fidelis draws the conclusion that the body – which was already dead for the reason previously given – had been deposited at that spot by another person after the shower had come and gone. Note – the back of the body was dry. Have I caught your meaning, Doctor?’

  ‘Yes. That is what I observed when I first saw the body.’

  ‘And did you have the opportunity to examine it more closely later?’

  ‘I did on the next day, at your request.’

  ‘What did you find?’

  ‘I noticed blood in the ear and from it removed a plug of material thickly soaked in dried blood. I then opened the skull and found that the brain had been assaulted via the ear canal by some thin instrument such as a spike or needle and severe bleeding had been caused, which would have brought about death in a few minutes.’

  ‘Could this injury have been self-inflicted?’

  ‘No man or woman could do that to themselves.’

  ‘Have you ever seen such an injury before?’

  ‘Only once, and that was recently. It was a death you held an inquest over at Preston – the baby found in the skin-yard.’

  ‘So you are telling this court that that baby and Mr Scroop died in the same way?’

  ‘Exactly the same.’

  ‘Thank you, Dr Fidelis.’

  The room had been taut with concentration. Now, as Fidelis walked back to his seat in the audience they released a collective out-breath and began to speak amongst themselves again.

  I let the chatter continue while I meditated my next step. We had heard all the evidence about the circumstances of Scroop’s death and were no nearer identifying his murderer. Did that matter? Strictly speaking the duty of the inquest ends when it has determined a cause of death, and I felt confident Fidelis’s evidence would have convinced the jury to find murder. There were still some details I would like to give them such as the meaning of the words on Loammi Scroop’s headstone. Perhaps someone would come forward with an explanation if we had an adjournment. I was about to ring my bell and call this when a folded paper was placed on the table in front of me, with my name on it.

  And behold the people knew not, as of old they had known, the word of the Lord. And the Lord therefore hid his face from the people covering them with ignorance, yea, as he has covered the very frogs and toads and creeping things of the Earth.

  Chapter 30

  THE NOTE WAS unsigned. I read it through three times, and came out from behind my table in order to speak quietly to the front row of the audience. The woman that had handed me the letter said it had been passed up from behind her. I enquired behind, and identified some of those that had handed the letter forward from the rear of the room. None, however, could say who had written it.

  I called for order and immediately adjourned the inquest. I sent the jury to the room in which their dinner awaited, telling them they could discuss the case – how could I have stopped them? – but must make no attempt to reach a verdict until after they had heard my summary which would be delivered after we had all eaten. Then I took the Bible that we used for swearing in, and shut myself in the small adjoining parlour where my own meal was laid out.

  I did not touch the food at first, but stood at the window and looked out across the busy Saturday market place. Sellers shouted their wares. Customers came and went between the stalls, stopping to feel a piece of worsted or test the ripeness of a plum. Draught animals stood with infinite patience between the shafts, twitching their ears at the flies. A puppy lay asleep in a patch of sunlight.

  Under the market cross at the centre of my view a fellow was climbing with some difficulty on to a mounting block. He was dressed in black and held in his hand the same book as I had in mine. Having perched himself on thin legs above the heads of the passers-by, he got ready to preach, holding up his Bible just (I couldn’t resist the thought) as I have seen hucksters and quack doctors hold up their bottles of patent medicine.

  On a sudden impulse I went out, down the stairs and into the open air. What had that note tried to tell me? The one question not answered during the morning’s proceedings had been the meaning of the words Scroop had carefully chosen for his son’s tomb. Was this person – I supposed he or she was too shy to speak openly – pointing to their source in the Bible and saying the reason no one had identifie
d them was because of widespread ignorance of the scriptures?

  This marketplace preacher would know his Bible, however. The book was his touchstone, and the source of his power. He had no need for ordination, or a tap on the shoulder from a bishop’s crozier. So long as he could come up with a biblical quotation to fit every human situation, so long as he could show that he knew the word of God as intimately as he knew his own mother’s face, he would never lack legitimacy, whether in a meeting house or in the open air.

  I stood in a small group watching the man’s Adam’s apple jerking up and down as he denounced the ways of the world, in a voice surprisingly rich in one so skinny. After ten minutes he stopped to wipe his perspiring brow and take a swig of cold tea from a bottle in his pocket. I took this opportunity to step forward.

  ‘I wonder, Sir, if you can identify a quotation from Scripture for me?’ I asked.

  He looked down at me warily.

  ‘I do not perform tricks of memory, Sir. I am not a fairground attraction.’

  ‘It is nothing like that. I am the County Coroner, and I am enquiring into some words that may originate in the Bible.’ I nodded towards the black volume in his hand. ‘I hope you can tell me exactly where they occur.’

  The preacher now stepped down from his perch and took my arm, drawing me a little apart from his other hearers.

  ‘I will help you if I can, Sir, but not in public. Of course it does me credit with these people if I succeed in placing the words. However, by the same token, I cannot afford to fail, which I might do. The Bible is a very long book. What is it you are looking for?’

  I showed him the anonymous note, which he studied, frowning and with his lips pushed out, before handing it back to me.

  ‘No. These words seem biblical, but I regret I can’t place them. I would like to, as they are extremely apposite to most Christians in the world. I will search for them.’

  ‘Then what of the words “Plead with your mother, plead.” Can you place those?’

  He immediately looked happier.

  ‘Oh yes! Yes, indeed, I know those. The Book of Hosea. The most difficult of all the prophetic books. The edicts of the Almighty it gives are puzzling to say the least. “Plead with your mother, plead”. Yes. I think you’ll find the words near the beginning of the book. I’ll leave you to construe them as you will, however. I must get on, if you’ll excuse me.’