The Coroner's Daughter

by Andrew Hughes

  Clarissa said, ‘But that is not the case with Mr Caulfeild. James completed his degree without difficulty.’

  ‘No,’ Inez said. ‘Mr Caulfeild is different. I confess that I do not know him well. But if Reeves has chosen him as his assistant, then I am sure he has a splendid character.’

  The professor came to join us. He said that it looked as though the weather might turn again, so we had best make for home lest we become stranded. Clarissa and I bid him good night, and waited for Liam to come around with the carriage. As we pulled away down the long drive, I looked back at the house and the domed roof, and a glow of candlelight in the windows of the equatorial room.

  Early the following morning, I saw Ewan make his way through the back garden towards the workrooms. Dewdrops had given the narrow lawn a silver sheen, and his footprints were visible in the grass.

  Father once told me of a murder in County Clare. A big country house was surrounded on all sides by rolling lawns, and a retired colonel, who lived alone with his niece and a stable-hand, was found dead, bludgeoned in his own chamber. The girl told the constables that a burglar had broken in, killed her uncle and carried off some valuables, and she pointed to an opened window in his bedroom. But the police looked out upon a pristine carpet of dew, undisturbed by trails or footprints, and they realized that the murderers had been in the house all along. The valuables were discovered in the niece’s bedroom, her affair with the stable-boy was exposed, and both were tried and hanged at the next assizes.

  Down below, the fire in the range had made the kitchen overly warm. Mrs Perrin stood by the counter, her hand wrist-deep in a plucked chicken.

  ‘The dead arose,’ she said when she saw me. ‘You look a little peaky. Did you not have a pleasant evening?’

  I said it was very enjoyable, though the Malaga wine may not have agreed with me.

  ‘I’m sure.

  She withdrew the chicken’s heart and placed it on a chopping block with some other entrails. When I was younger, Father gave me my first anatomy lesson with a butchered fowl. He showed me each organ in turn, told me to hold them, to test their texture and consistency. He tried to convey his wonder at how such pieces of offal could pump blood or filter waste or bellows air. Back then, I merely enjoyed the slimy feel. My chin barely cleared the table-top, and my fingernails were caked in gore.

  Jimmy came in through the back door, a bundle of logs held beneath his chin. The cool air from outside was pleasant, and I was sorry when he kicked the door closed. He brought the wood to the hearth and began to use a small hatchet to split the thicker pieces in two.

  His mother said, ‘When you’re done with that, go and polish the dining table. And fetch some water for the drinking cask.’

  ‘It’s all right, Jimmy,’ I said, taking the pail from beneath the sink. ‘I’ll get it.’

  The surface of the tank at the front of the house felt cold in the morning air. The slanted lid had large scallop-shells in bas-relief, and I lifted it up fully so it leaned back against the wall. The tank was empty. The sides were wet and glistening with smears of green and deposits of limescale, but no water had collected at the bottom. The ballcock drooped down in the empty space, keeping the plug in the base of the tank open. I lifted the mechanism a few times to ensure it was still functioning, but there was no water being fed through the ducts.

  I climbed the steps to see if the problem affected our neighbours. The road seemed busy for the time of day, with people walking hurriedly up the hill. A horse galloped by, a police constable riding low on its neck. I left the pail by the gate and followed the crowd. Several people had gathered by the gates of the Blessington Street Basin, and I pushed my way to the front. Two men knelt by the edge of the reservoir, reaching down into the water. The policeman that I’d seen had dismounted and stood behind them.

  I asked a woman if someone had fallen in, but she remained silent. The men at the water’s edge had become still, and seemed to confer with each other. A breeze caused the surface of the pool to shiver.

  The policeman gave a command, and the two men hauled the body of a young woman from out of the reservoir. Water cascaded from her dark skirts and long tresses on to the granite coping. The men held the girl beneath the crook of each arm, and they laid her down so she faced upwards, her unpinned hair plastered over her face. The constable stood for a moment, as if unsure what to do. He bent down to scoop her hair away, and laid it over her shoulder.

  It was Edith Gould.

  It felt as if the wind became chill, or the sun had passed behind a cloud. I bumped against a man who turned and muttered, just to get a better look, to be sure that it was her, but there could be no mistake. She looked so pale and cold, and I felt tears well as I pushed through the cluster of people.

  The men by the reservoir turned at the sound of my footsteps on the gravel path. The policeman frowned, pointed towards me and said, ‘Stay back, miss.’

  ‘But I know that girl,’ I said, and continued towards him without pausing.

  Edith’s eyes were open; a strand of hair still snaked over her nose and around her parted lips. I knelt down beside her, and the policeman said, ‘You can’t touch her.’

  ‘I know, I just want to . . .’ But when I reached out I didn’t know what to do – whether to remove the strand from her face, or close her eyes, or nudge her shoulder as if she still might wake up. I’d left the house without a coat, otherwise I’d have covered her with it, so she wouldn’t have to stay beneath everyone’s gaze. I could still see in her the girl from my childhood, quiet and reserved compared to Clarissa, but gentle and caring, and how pretty she was when her face would break into a shy smile. I covered my eyes, and the policeman remained silent as I cried for a moment.

  Finally he said that he was sorry, and asked for her name. I told him that she was Edith Gould from Fitzwilliam Square.

  His gaze swept south over the city. ‘Then she’s far from home,’ he said. After a moment, he frowned. ‘Is she the daughter of Judge Gould?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The crowd was continuing to gather at the basin’s edge, and he moved towards them, his arms outstretched. ‘Everyone must leave, get back beyond the gates.’ Some complied immediately; others grumbled and then moved on. One pointed at me and said, ‘What about her?’

  I looked at Edith again, and remembered how she appeared at Charlemont’s ball, the gown she wore, how it complemented the colour in her cheeks and the crystals in her hair. The dress she was in now was simple and unadorned, completely sodden. She wore leather walking shoes, the laces still tied in a double-knot. One shoe was missing a brown leather rosette over the toes.

  Her right hand was lying away from her body, palm up, her fingers curled slightly, with thin blue veins visible in her pallid wrist. Her other hand was hidden beneath a fold of her dress, which I moved aside.

  The hand was balled in a fist. I glanced over my shoulder to where the policeman was still demanding that people leave. The men who had fished Edith from the water had gone to help him.

  I reached towards her, but drew away from how cold she felt. I’d seen any number of bodies growing up, but this was different; never had I been so conscious of the absence of life. I whispered to her that I was sorry, took her hand again and gently eased her fingers back, just enough to peek inside. There was little or no stiffness. Edith gripped a dark metal hook with a fragment of black cloth still attached.

  ‘Miss?’

  I put the hand down and turned about.

  The policeman said, ‘I am sorry, but you will have to leave as well. The coroner will need to carry out an investigation.’

  ‘I know,’ I said, standing up and wiping tears from my cheek. ‘I shall go and tell him.’

  11

  Father sent out a summons for twelve jurymen to assemble that afternoon. It meant that Edith was to remain at the reservoir, for the inquest had to inspect the body where it lay – where she lay – and although she was covered in a blanket, crowds still gathered
at the gates on Blessington Street. I thought of her parents in Fitzwilliam Square, and her brother, Robert. Was it possible that they hadn’t heard yet? I was glad to have been able to identify Edith, for at least then a messenger could be dispatched to her home – little or no comfort, but better than whispered rumours of a drowned girl on the far side of the city, when your own daughter was missing from the house.

  In the afternoon, I watched as she was brought to the workrooms, hidden beneath a white sheet and borne on a stretcher by Liam and the constable. Ewan held the door open. The sheet caught on an exposed nail in the door frame and was about to be pulled away, but Ewan spotted the danger and unsnagged it. He noticed me at the window, and raised his hand in greeting. Before I could respond, he lowered his head and pulled the door closed.

  I’m not sure how long I stayed watching the exterior of the coach house, and the shadowy movements visible through the opened shutters, before there was a knock on the front door. It was more like a banging, loud and persistent, and continued until I went to answer. Dr Labatt stood on the steps dressed in a frock coat, the head of his cane raised mid-rap. Three young men in Brethren coats stood on the pavement below, next to a horse-drawn cart and driver.

  The doctor looked at me for a moment, expecting a greeting. Instead I ran my fingers over a panel of the door. His cane had left marks in the paint.

  ‘I need to see your father at once.’

  ‘I am afraid that Father is busy, and cannot be disturbed.’

  ‘If he is at work, then it is all the more urgent that you fetch him.’

  ‘You may not have heard, doctor, but there has been a tragedy.’

  ‘Why do you think I have come? The Gould family are demanding to have their daughter returned to them.’

  The three young men watched our exchange. One was quite young, and he regarded me with what seemed like hostility, though we had never met.

  ‘She will be after the inquest,’ I said.

  ‘Tell your father that I have a court order allowing me to retrieve Miss Gould immediately.’

  The doctor wasn’t holding a document, nor were any of the others. ‘May I see it?’

  ‘It is not meant for you.’

  ‘Did Judge Gould issue it?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘But one of his colleagues did. I do not think that my father—’

  ‘Miss Lawless,’ he said, and waited for me to look at him, ‘I have no desire to speak to you.’ He came on to the top step, tall enough now to loom over me, and asked me to move aside.

  ‘If you wait here,’ I said, ‘I shall tell Father that you wish to see him.’

  Labatt pushed his way past my arm and shoulder, forcing me to take a step back. The three men followed on his heels, crowding into the hallway.

  ‘Doctor, I said that I would—’

  Labatt ignored me. He seemed to know the way to go: through the basement, past the shocked stares of Kathy and Mrs Perrin, and out into the yard towards the coach house. The horses in their stalls looked on impassively as the four men entered. Liam was cleaning the carriage. He raised his head to watch them climb the stairs. The doctor opened the door to Father’s workrooms without knocking, and the others followed behind, their boots shuffling and scraping on the floorboards.

  Father was writing at his desk. Ewan stood near the cabinets, looking through one of the ledgers. In the middle of the room, Edith was laid out on the examination table, still in the clothes she wore at the reservoir except that her shoes had been removed. The toes of her dark stockings were wet, but her skin had dried in the hours since her discovery. It was only the strangeness of her surroundings that made it seem as if she wasn’t sleeping. Her hair had escaped its pins, and tumbled over the edge of the table in a tangled mess. The youngest of the Brethren craned his neck to look at her.

  Before my father could speak, Labatt took a folded document from inside his frock coat and handed it to him. Father held the opened page next to an oil-lamp. His eyes scanned over the text, and everyone stood quietly until he was finished.

  ‘What nonsense is this?’

  ‘We shall require a stretcher to transport Miss Gould to our cart.’

  ‘No court can order a body taken from the coroner.’

  ‘We can carry her without a stretcher of course, but I feel that would be less dignified.’

  ‘You will not be taking her anywhere.’

  Labatt turned to the young Brethren and said, ‘Gentlemen.’

  They approached the table, but before they could surround it, Ewan moved to one of the corners. My father stood beside him, and they faced the men across the table with Edith laid out between them.

  Father looked at Labatt. ‘The inquest has already begun, doctor. The body must remain in my custody until a verdict has been reached.’

  ‘The Goulds have made their feelings clear. They cannot countenance the thought of their daughter being cut open. Surely their wish to commit Edith to the ground intact is not unreasonable.’

  ‘I would have thought they would prefer to know the reason for their daughter’s death.’

  ‘She drowned,’ Labatt said, an impatient edge to his voice. ‘It is not uncommon. Come, Lawless, the inquest can be open and shut: “Casually Drowned” or “Visitation from God”. Why must you search until you find evidence for suicide? Can you, of all people, not grant the family a Christian burial?’

  Father didn’t respond at once, though his eyes narrowed. I looked down at Edith’s face in the grey light. Was that why the Goulds were so concerned? A belief that their daughter had taken her own life? On the table, Edith’s hand lay open by her side, though the hook had been removed. Father would have understood its significance, of course, but he could hardly tell those present what such a piece of evidence indicated: that Edith had not been alone at the reservoir. I glanced at the jackets of the young Brethren. Their hooks were all accounted for.

  ‘This court order will be rescinded,’ Father said, handing it back to Labatt. ‘In the meantime, Miss Gould will remain here.’

  Ewan took a white sheet from a shelf beneath the examination table. It was folded in such a way that it could be unrolled in flat segments, and Labatt watched until Edith was covered completely.

  ‘I tell you, we are taking her now.’

  ‘You must know, doctor, that reports of a body stolen from the coroner’s office will not reflect well on the people you represent, be they the Goulds or anyone else.’

  Labatt placed the document on top of the white sheet, where it nestled against the peak of Edith’s foot. Ewan was quick to pick it up, and he gave the doctor a dark look for using her body as a table-top. Labatt continued to regard my father. ‘Let me talk to you in private.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘We arranged for the court order to be granted so that you could save face, Lawless.’

  ‘Well, I do not require it.’

  ‘Are you sure of that? This is not the first time we have had to speak with you.’

  ‘I know, doctor, and I am weary of listening.’ He turned and walked back to his desk, pulling the chair out to take his seat. He placed the nib of his pen on his finger to see if the ink had dried. ‘You had no difficulty gaining entrance, gentlemen. I am sure you can find your way out.’

  The black of Clarissa’s mourning dress made her skin appear paler than usual and brought out the shadows beneath her eyes. We were silent as we made our way to Fitzwilliam Square. Had her mother not been with us, and had the tragedy befallen someone else, we might have discussed every rumour and speculation. But for Edith, that didn’t seem right. I had wondered if I should go to the house at all after what had been said between Father and Labatt, but Edith had once been my friend, and I wished to pay my respects.

  Several carriages had congregated near the front of number five, and we had to walk a short distance in the drizzle to reach the house. The door was off its latch, and opened immediately when we knocked. A young maid with dark hair directed us into one
of the front rooms. Several people were there, dressed all in black but for their white cuffs and handkerchiefs. They stood about the room in small groups, talking quietly to each other, their attention fixed on Mrs Gould. Edith’s mother sat with one elbow on an armrest, and her hand over her brow. Two of her older sisters sat on either side, and were the principal responders to those who approached and offered condolences.

  Judge Gould stood in a corner, speaking with another gentleman. There was no sign of Robert. Mrs Egan led us through the room towards the grieving mother, but Mrs Gould hardly lifted her head as we spoke with her sisters, offering platitudes that we knew to be inadequate. The oldest of the three knew Mrs Egan, and spoke with her politely. She also thanked Clarissa for coming, but when she turned to me she hesitated.

  ‘I am sorry, but I don’t believe we have met.’

  ‘I am Miss Lawless.’

  Mrs Gould looked up at the mention of my name. She didn’t say anything, but her eyes lingered on me. Perhaps she was thinking of how her daughter was currently in my house instead of her own. Father’s name may have been mentioned a lot before they dispatched Dr Labatt. Also, it hadn’t been long since my last visit. A few weeks at most. In the depths of her mind, could she have forged some link between that event and this?

  I told her again how sorry I was. She nodded, and covered her eyes once more.

  We moved to one of the windows, where we could see carriages splashing through the street outside Fitzwilliam Park. Clarissa and her mother began chatting to a neighbour of the Goulds, and a young maid came forward to offer tea. She was pretty and soft-spoken, with a mild Liverpool accent. Before she moved away, I said, ‘Is Mr Gould here today?’