The Coroner's Daughter

by Andrew Hughes

  ‘You can do so later,’ the housekeeper said. ‘He has gone to Saggart to see the magistrate.’

  ‘Is Mr Caulfeild here?’

  She said no, which didn’t surprise me. The weather had not lent itself to astral study. But she added, ‘That young man never stays a minute more than he has to.’

  ‘I thought that he roomed here while assisting the professor.’

  ‘Oh, no. His carriage is always ready to take him back to the city at a moment’s notice.’

  The hairbrush caught in a knot, and I winced as she tugged at my wound. I felt a soreness in my throat, which I assumed came from the sap of the flowers. Perhaps they would make me ill, but so far there were no other symptoms. The rain on the window and warmth from the fire were soothing, and after I had nearly nodded to sleep twice, Miss Pike said, ‘Would you like to rest in the bed, my dear?’

  ‘I must find out if Ewan is recovering.’

  She told me that she would check on him, and took my wet clothes from the room. I gathered my knees beneath the blanket, and gingerly felt the back of my head. There was a bump, not too big but very tender. My hair felt damp and clean, and when I looked at the tips of my fingers there was no sign of blood. The housekeeper returned with another candle and a glass of warm milk. She said that Ewan had recovered his senses for a time, and had been able to speak with the professor. He was dry, warm and resting.

  ‘I would like to see him.’

  ‘Not now. Not dressed like this,’ she said. ‘Sleep for a few hours, and we’ll see then if you’re both well enough for some supper.’

  The sheets in the bed were stiff and cold, as though they’d been unused for quite a while. I fell asleep quickly, but would wake whenever I rolled on to the sore part of my head. The flames ebbed and the embers lost their glow. At one point, I heard the rattle of carriage wheels, but when I went to the window I couldn’t see anything. It must have been early evening, though it was difficult to tell in the heavy rain. I placed another log on the fire, and went back to bed.

  When I woke again, the room was gloomy. My dress and stockings had been left hanging over a chair, and the fire had been stoked. I rose, feeling light-headed and hungry, and changed back into my own clothes, which still bore some stains in the folds of the cotton. I realized that I had eaten nothing since leaving Dublin the day before. Rev Coogan had only offered me a whiskey when I arrived at the vicarage, and the fare at the inn had not been tempting. There was no bell cord to summon the housekeeper, so I went looking for her. She hadn’t returned my muddy shoes, and I slipped noiselessly through the house in stockinged feet. Our rooms were located in a large and disused wing. Some of the doors stood open, revealing chambers with closed windows and bare floorboards, all silent and still. One of the doors was ajar, with a glimmer of firelight in the gap.

  Ewan lay in a bed much like mine, the covers pulled up to his chest, and his arms resting on top. He wore a white shirt that wasn’t his own, opened at the neck. His face tilted towards the hearth. A gust rattled the window frame, and a draught crept through the room, so I closed the shutters, slipping the brass hook into place. I stood by Ewan’s bedside, and placed my fingers on his. Some colour had returned to his cheeks. The bruising had spread from his temple to his jaw. He shifted slightly. His eyes scrunched in pain, and I leaned over to kiss his forehead. His skin felt cool and clammy beneath a flat curl of hair, but when I drew away his features settled and his breathing was steady.

  Downstairs, there was no sign of the housekeeper or any other maid. I recognized some of the passages, and found my way to the drawing room, which seemed smaller than I remembered. On the night of the reception it had been filled with guests and conversation; now most of the armchairs were covered in dust sheets. A small side table held an opened bottle of Malaga wine and a glass tumbler, smudged thumb-prints visible in the firelight. The orrery in the corner had been set in motion, all the planets silently orbiting the brass sphere. I watched them twirl for a few moments, and something struck me. The path of Mercury was smooth and constant, when before it had lagged every half-rotation. I reached in and placed my finger against Jupiter, and the whole mechanism stopped. Time stood still, until I withdrew my hand and the planets resumed their courses. In the curved reflection of the sun, I saw a figure standing in the doorway behind me.

  Miss Pike had my shoes in her hand, the leather polished and gleaming. ‘I went to your room to look for you,’ she said.

  I thanked her, took the shoes and sat by the fire to put them on. She said that the professor had returned from Saggart, and was about to have some supper. ‘He asked for you to join him.’

  In the dining room, two places had been set on the corner of a long table, lit by silver candelabra and a warm fire. Thick red drapes covered the windows, and the rain outside continued to patter. Reeves rose from his seat when I entered. He said, ‘Miss Lawless, I am so pleased to see you up and abroad.’ He held a chair for me to sit down. The fare on the table was simple: soda bread and slices of cheese, and a bowl of red apples, the poor summer shown in their pale wrinkled skins.

  Miss Pike brought in a tureen of broth, and served us both before withdrawing. The soup was rich and steaming, and with the first sip I began to feel better.

  ‘I never had a chance to thank you for what you did on the road,’ I said. ‘Mr Weir and I were so fortunate.’

  ‘There is no need for thanks.’ He took a slice of soda bread from a plate, and broke it into his soup. ‘I was able to speak with Mr Weir about what happened. What a harrowing time you have had.’

  I was about to demur, but really it could not be denied. ‘And for you as well,’ I said.

  He paused and frowned. ‘How so?’

  ‘To shoot a man. In any circumstances, it must be distressing.’

  He considered this, and said, ‘If I had delayed at all he would have hurt you. It was an easy decision to make.’

  ‘Well, I am very grateful.’ A gust of wind caused some smoke to billow from the fireplace, and all the candles wavered. ‘How did you come to be on the road?’

  ‘We were on our way back from town when my driver heard the gunshot. These hills have always been a hideaway for bandits and ribbon-men. It is why I keep a pistol hidden in the armrest.’

  ‘Did you ever have cause to use it before?’

  Reeves blew on a spoonful of soup. He placed it in his mouth and swallowed before speaking. ‘No. To be honest, I was surprised that the shot found its target.’

  ‘What happened to the body?’

  He looked at me for a moment, and smiled. ‘You are always enquiring.’

  I bowed my head. ‘I cannot seem to help it.’

  He said that once Ewan and I had been brought back to the observatory, he and his coachman had retrieved Devlin and brought him to Saggart. They sought out the magistrate, but he was not at home, so they left the body at a nearby inn with instructions for the innkeeper.

  ‘Mr Weir told me that you had come to Wicklow without your father’s knowledge.’

  I was embarrassed to hear my own actions described, to think again of the terrible worry I must have caused him.

  But Reeves continued without admonishment. ‘So I arranged for a messenger to go to Dublin, to let him know that you are safe and well.’

  ‘Oh, thank you.’

  ‘The weather is still too treacherous for you to make the journey tonight. If Mr Weir is recovered in the morning, my coachman will take you back to Rutland Square.’

  The thought of seeing Father was so comforting, just to rest my head beneath his chin. He would probably confine me to the house for a year, but I didn’t mind.

  ‘What of the magistrate?’ I said. ‘He will wish to speak with us. And the local coroner will demand an inquest.’

  ‘All that matters at the moment is your recuperation. The best place for that is at home. If the inquiries of the magistrate or coroner are delayed, so be it.’

  ‘Father would be the first to say that the proper
procedures should be followed.’

  ‘I suspect that in this case, he will see reason.’

  Reeves poured himself some more claret, and offered me a glass, but I could still feel a soreness in my head, and I persevered with water. The professor only sipped at his wine, but did so frequently enough that he soon had to fill his glass again. Perhaps the stresses of the day had affected him more than he cared to admit.

  ‘Miss Lawless, I have been considering something.’

  He remained silent for a moment, and I placed my spoon on the plate.

  ‘I would not wish for your name to be associated with the events of the past few days,’ he said.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘You know the nature of the Brethren: their malice, the cruelty they showed to the memory of your mother. If you are connected at all with the death of their leader, they may turn their spiteful eyes towards you.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ I said. ‘Unfortunately, it is too late to change that.’

  He smoothed a ruffle in the tablecloth beside his glass. ‘But is it? What if you were to go home, rest and recover and withdraw from public gaze? I can tell the magistrate that my driver was attacked on the roadway by a crazed man. We shall not mention you or Mr Weir. Let the coroner in Manor Kilbride declare that Mr Darby hanged himself. What difference would it make? Two wicked men have met their just ends; you are home and safe with your father, and no more is said of the affair.’

  The tablecloth was smooth, but he continued to press it with the tips of his fingers.

  ‘I couldn’t possibly ask you to do that,’ I said.

  ‘I am the one proposing it.’

  ‘Reverend Coogan saw me in the village, as did many others.’

  ‘I shall write to the Reverend. I am sure that he would be discreet if he knew that your well-being was at stake.’

  ‘But whatever Mr Darby has done, it is only fair that people know the circumstances of his death. The truth is the most important thing.’

  ‘We shall know the truth. You and I, and Mr Weir, and your father. That is enough.’ Reeves saw that I was about to speak again, and he held up his hand. ‘I know that this may go against your principles, Miss Lawless, but it will keep you and your family safe. Please consider it.’ He smiled again, though his eyes didn’t change shape. I told him that I would, and he poured himself another glass of wine.

  ‘It is very admirable that you are guided by what is true,’ he said. A drop ran down the outside of the glass. He smeared it with his little finger and dabbed his tongue. ‘An irony, perhaps, that Mr Darby should benefit.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘All he ever did was peddle falsehood.’

  Before, I would have agreed, but I felt some compunction not to speak ill of the murdered.

  ‘Perhaps he believed that what he preached was the truth.’

  ‘Nonsense.’ Reeves frowned slightly, and glanced at me. Perhaps he had placed more emphasis than intended. ‘Even if that were so, on what did he base this truth? Divine revelation. Archaic texts. Scriptural secrets of such importance that only the elect can escape perpetual torment.’ Reeves had looked away from me, his eyes fixed on the hearth. ‘Imagine what it must be to think like that,’ he said. ‘To look upon people strolling in a park, young men and women with their arms linked, children chasing each other through the pathways, and see nothing but lost souls; not only that, to relish the prospect of their torture.’ He made a face as if he had tasted something rotten, and took another sip of wine. ‘Imagine the arrogance to believe that a god would grant salvation to his wretched sect alone – a tiny number on a small island, on a solitary globe in the vast heavens.’

  I said that every religion was guilty of that conceit, but Reeves wasn’t listening.

  ‘They contribute nothing,’ he said. ‘They are like a canker. The spirit that Mr Darby fostered was one of ignorance and censure, where enquiry and creativity and joy could only wither. What do you see when you picture his followers, Miss Lawless?’

  I guessed that the question was rhetorical, and he soon provided his own answer.

  ‘I see an old man on his death bed, racked by despair, convinced that some petty lapse has condemned him to the fire. Or a young woman berating and scourging herself for a yearning that is perfectly natural and pure. I see only suffering because of Mr Darby’s delusions.’

  ‘Professor, there are still good people in the city who will not be swayed.’

  ‘That is exactly the complacency I fear. Men of the Brethren are sitting on King’s Bench, on hospital boards and in science academies. Do you not find it disheartening, Miss Lawless? All of Europe basking in enlightenment, and Dublin facing another dark age.’

  I had not taken a sip of broth for some time, and found that it had grown cold. Despite sleeping a few hours, I felt weary and sore, and wished to return to the room.

  Reeves had finished his soup as well, but he still drank the wine. ‘If news reaches the city that Darby was murdered, I see him being lauded as some hounded martyr.’ He was silent for a moment, and only continued when I met his eye. ‘But imagine if his death is ruled a suicide. His followers would have to admit that they had been deceived. Only a man who had lost his faith, or had none to begin with, a man who had no fear of God’s punishment, could take his own life. He would be called a hypocrite, and we could say that their supposed fraternity was founded on a lie.’

  Reeves may have forgotten his reference to my own mother’s death minutes before, and also, it seemed, his primary concern for my welfare.

  ‘Professor, I do not intend to draw a veil over what has happened.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘There are still too many questions. I wish to know why Devlin tracked down Mr Darby, and why he killed him. If he was acting on behalf of someone in the Brethren, or if he had a motive of his own.’

  ‘What does that matter now?’

  ‘I have encountered Devlin before,’ I said. ‘Prowling in the wards of the Rotunda on the night that Emilie Casey died. And he was known to Edith Gould, for she had drawn his lazy eye in her sketchbook. I am sure that the murder of Mr Darby was not his first crime.’

  ‘He can no longer trouble anyone. Whatever he has done, surely you can say that he has received his punishment.’

  I folded my napkin on the table. ‘Perhaps. But I still want to know why. As I said, I cannot seem to help myself.’

  The professor’s chair creaked as he leaned back, one elbow on the armrest, his other hand stretched out to twirl the stem of his wineglass. The door opened, and Miss Pike came in to clear away the tureen and our soup bowls. I used her interruption to say, ‘I shall think about what you have said, Professor. We can discuss it again in the morning. Now I am rather tired.’

  We rose together, and he said, ‘Miss Pike will show you back to your room.’

  ‘I know the way. I very much enjoyed our supper, and thank you again for all that you did today.’

  He answered with a small bow, and took his seat without waiting for me to leave. Candles were lit in the hallways, and I found my way back to the guest wing. I opened Ewan’s door by a crack. The fire burned brightly. He still lay beneath the covers, his face to one side, and I began to pull the door closed again.

  ‘Abigail?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, walking in to stand by the bed. He squinted up at me with his hair tousled, as if I had woken him from a deep slumber.

  ‘You are not hurt?’ he said.

  I told him that I was fine. ‘A few aches and bruises. What about you?’

  He rubbed his fingers over his eyes. ‘My head feels as if it is in two halves, but better than it was.’

  ‘Do you know of all that happened?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. Reeves had told him.

  He reached for a tumbler of water on a side table, and I helped him take a drink. The only chair in the room was a large armchair by the fire, so I sat on the edge of his bed.

  I said, Are you warm enough?’
r />   ‘Too warm if anything. I may be getting a fever.’

  I placed my palm on his forehead. He didn’t have a temperature, and I began to take my hand away, but he said, ‘Don’t. Your fingers are cool.’

  He closed his eyes, and I remained leaning over him until his breathing became steady. My thumb rested against his temple, and I began to rub it gently.

  I told him that Professor Reeves would take us home in the morning, and described our conversation over supper. ‘When you spoke to Reeves earlier,’ I said, ‘did he suggest to you that we conceal the truth about Darby’s hanging?’

  I felt his brow stir beneath my hand, and he opened one eye. ‘He did not mention the hanging at all. I don’t believe that I brought it up.’

  ‘You must have.’

  ‘The professor only asked about Devlin. Whether he had spoken to us on the road; if anyone else had seen him. We did not discuss Mr Darby.’

  ‘You were half unconscious. You must not remember.’

  His eyes closed again, ‘Perhaps. What was it that Reeves suggested?’

  I told him, and after a moment Ewan said, ‘I cannot see your father agreeing to that.’

  ‘Nor can I.’

  We stayed together in silence as the fire crackled and the wind whistled in the chimney stack. Ewan fell asleep. I considered fetching a blanket to curl up in the armchair, but enough scandal would dog me without spending the night in the room of a young man.

  The fire in my own chamber had dwindled. I could tell that Miss Pike had been in again. She had folded the nightgown on my bed. I didn’t want to change clothes, and lay on the bedcovers, watching the clock tick past ten. My weariness came from aches in my muscles. Sleep was still a long way off. I rose to close the window shutters. The dome of the observatory jutted from the front of the house, and I could just about see it looming to my right. Candlelight flickered in the windows of the turret, and I wondered at Reeves working on such a foul night. I thought back to our conversation over supper. I was sure that the professor had been first to mention Darby’s hanging. Let the coroner in Manor Kilbride declare that Mr Darby hanged himself, he had said. What difference would it make?