“We should go.”
Lewis knew Francis was right. The fire was burning itself out and there was nothing more they could do. Wearily, they began the long trek home.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Clementine found the courtroom stiflingly hot. Picton Court House itself was a handsome enough building and she admired the solemn Greek-inspired portico that guarded its entrance, although she was disappointed to discover that the pillars were constructed of wood painted to look like stone, and not the real thing. From the outside, the courthouse appeared massive, as though it should have numerous spacious rooms dedicated to the pursuit of justice, and as the county seat, she supposed Picton was where all trials and inquiries were held. The room set aside for the hastily-called coroner’s inquest, however, was small and airless, and grew increasingly uncomfortable as more and more people crammed in to hear the lurid details of the preacher’s discovery. The choice of rooms had been deliberate, she realized; an attempt to limit the number of spectators who could be counted on to disrupt the orderly proceedings of the inquiry. She wondered that so many people had so little to do on a weekday morning that they would willingly attend a hearing whose details were already so well-known.
Whatever evidence had survived the fire, along with the contents of the root cellar, had been gathered up and taken into the village by Constable Williams and the group of men he had gathered to assist him. They had been prepared to find Mr. Gilmour’s head. Although well-boiled, it had survived the fire. The preacher had told them about the other skull he had discovered, but to the constable’s astonishment, the cellar yielded two more, well-buried at the bottom of the mound of bones. Dr. Keough had examined the find and notified the coroner. The coroner had then directed the constable to pack up all the bones and take them to Picton for examination.
Reuben had been asked to look at the skulls, in the hopes that he could confirm one of them as his brother’s. He had been unable to do so. Clementine was grateful to him for at least sparing her that disturbing task, for there was no doubt in her mind that her husband, or at least his head, had somehow ended up in the bone pile in that cellar. Accident or misadventure was the only plausible reason she could think of to explain his failure to meet her at their rendezvous point at Niagara. Something had gone terribly wrong. She hoped the inquest would explain what.
Reuben had accompanied her to the courthouse as well, as befitted a brother-in-law, but she found no comfort in his presence. She sat, as impassively as she could, while the facts were presented, all the time wondering what she should do next.
Besides the skeletal remains, little evidence was discovered in or near the root cellar, other than a tall hat that had been found under a bush near a sprung bear trap. The only identifiable items taken from the cabin’s debris were a marble, a toy soldier made of lead, and a gold pocket watch.
The innkeeper testified that he had often seen Mr. Gilmour in possession of a similar watch, and that in all probability the one found in the cabin was one and the same, although he couldn’t be absolutely sure, he said, not having examined it closely while it was still being used by Mr. Gilmour.
Then the preacher took the stand. Clementine tensed. This man was too canny, by far, and knew too much already. Had he had time to search the shack before it caught fire? Who knew what he had found, or how much of what he knew he would disclose to the court?
He stated that he and his son-in-law had been looking for his granddaughter’s necklace, which she had lost while playing along the sandbar. His granddaughter mentioned that she had seen Mr. Gilmour by the lake just prior to his disappearance, and so Lewis was alert to any evidence that the gentleman might have explored the same area. They had stumbled upon a clearing that showed clear evidence of a mishap, and had followed a trail which took them to the cabin.
Lewis described the root cellar they discovered and gave a brief account of their struggle with the gun-wielding creature who had confronted them. Another man would have made much of this, Clementine mused, but the preacher was very matter-of-fact, mentioning only those details necessary to give the jury a full picture of what had occurred.
Several people left the courtroom when he recounted the scene in the cabin and one woman fainted when he described the contents of the iron pot. The other spectators hung on his every word, eager to have the more sensational aspects of the case confirmed.
“And what led you to believe that the head was that of the missing Mr. Gilmour?” the coroner asked. “Is there any likelihood that it could have belonged to someone else?”
Clementine found it an inane question, but then she supposed that this was such a bizarre case that the coroner was anxious to do nothing that would attract criticism later.
Lewis replied that he had frequently seen Gilmour at his brother-in-law’s hotel, and was familiar not only with his appearance, but with his effects, most notably his watch, his distinctive cravat and handkerchief, and his outer clothing, one piece of which had been appropriated by the man who had threatened them with a gun.
“Even though it was somewhat mutilated, there is no doubt in my mind that the head I found was the same one that had once been attached to Mr. Gilmour’s body,” he said. “It was of the right appearance, and I can’t imagine that he gave up his possessions voluntarily.”
There was a titter from the onlookers at this.
“And, apart from Mr. Gilmour,” the coroner asked, “did you recognize any of the other remains that were discovered in the vicinity?”
“At the time, I was aware of only one other skull, and it was not identifiable as any particular individual,” Lewis replied. “I discovered a sheaf of documents in a leather folder, and one of the papers bore the names of both Reuben and Nathan Elliott, but I didn’t recognize the names of anyone else listed there, so although it’s possible that the skull was Mr. Elliott’s, the document was the only piece of evidence that would point to that conclusion.”
Clementine jumped as Reuben clutched her arm.
“Shush, stop it,” she hissed at him. “He can’t know what it was about.” She hoped she was correct.
“There were a number of other articles in the shack,” Lewis went on. “Some buttons, the marble, for example — items that might have been discovered by anyone who rambled along the shore. I don’t know if the folder is indicative of Elliott’s presence or if it was merely something that had been found and added to the collection of trinkets.”
Had Clementine been conducting the inquest, the next question would have been about the substance of the piece of paper with the Elliott name on it, but the coroner seemed little interested in this.
“And did the man you apprehended give any indication of who any of the skulls belonged to?”
“The man who occupied the cabin had a number of severe deformities, including a hare lip. This made him nearly impossible to understand, but he seemed to indicate that he had found the older of the skulls at some distance from the cabin.”
“And this individual was already dead when he was discovered?”
Clementine wondered if she was the only one to notice the look of impatience on the preacher’s face.
“I don’t know. There is no way of telling what happened. As far as I could make out, he found both Gilmour and the other individual somewhere near his traps and he appeared to have processed them both in the same way that he dealt with the wild animals he caught. I suspect he thought that was the proper procedure. I don’t believe he had any contact with civilized society and in all probability was unaware of our usual distinction between dead animals and dead people.”
Clementine found this statement very odd. Lewis seemed to be defending the wild man in some way, giving him a rationale for his actions, as if he were sorry for him. There were depths to this preacher that she had usually found lacking in others of his profession, but then he had had much to deal with in his life, according to Meribeth Scully, whom she had pumped for information. He had tracked down a murderer and seen h
im hanged. He had testified once before to the unthinkable.
“How did the fire start?” the coroner asked.
“Having realized the extent of the degradation in the cabin, Mr. Renwell and I attempted to remove the man, with the intention of taking him to Wellington. He managed to free himself briefly and in his effort to exit the cabin, he apparently knocked some of the debris from the collapsed roof into the fire. I don’t know how long the cabin had been there, but the wood was old and extremely flammable, and by the time we realized that it was burning, we had little chance of putting the fire out. We dragged the man to safety, but again he freed himself and went running back into the flames.”
“And why, in your opinion, would he have done this?”
Clementine realized that this was one question the preacher hadn’t expected to be asked, for he hesitated for some time before he finally said, “I don’t really know why, but you must understand that this man lived in the manner of a wild beast. As well, his physical limitations may well have been matched by mental disabilities that were equally profound. I doubt that we would be able to understand his motivations even if he could somehow have communicated them to us.”
The coroner thanked Lewis and dismissed him. Renwell, the son-in-law, was called to the stand next. He confirmed the story the preacher had told, and the coroner had only one other question for him.
“It was you, and not your father-in-law, who managed to wrest the gun away from this man?”
Francis nodded his agreement with this statement.
“Was that not a very courageous act? To rush an armed man?”
Francis grinned. “Not really. From my vantage point, I could see that he hadn’t pulled the hammer back. Afterward, I discovered that the gun wasn’t even loaded. I don’t think the poor thing knew how to shoot it.”
After that, Wellington’s constable described his inventory of the cellar, and gave his opinion that the extra skulls must have once belonged to the old trapper and the woman who had lived with him.
“It was generally accepted that the deformed boy was their son,” he said. “You’d see him checking the trap lines once in a while, but the old man kept him away from the village. Now that I’ve had a chance to think on it, I hadn’t seen the trapper for some time, but he kept to himself anyway, so it didn’t occur to me that something might have happened to him.”
In a dry, clinical voice, Dr. Keogh next confirmed the details of what the constable had found in the cellar. The group of onlookers appeared bored during his long description, but the coroner’s next question caused an uproar.
“In your opinion, what would have been the reason for the barbaric splitting of the skulls?”
“I believe that splitting the skull is part of the generally accepted procedure for making head cheese.”
There were screams from the women still present, and it took several minutes to restore order to the room.
At that juncture, the coroner seemed content with the evidence presented and directed the jury to retire for deliberation.
Clementine was glad of the chance to exit the stuffy room, as, apparently, was everyone else, judging by the way they rushed for the door. Outside, the witnesses and the curious mingled together on the steps of the portico discussing the case while they waited for the jury to return.
Lewis thought that it might take some time to reach a conclusion in light of the evidence that had been presented.
“I think they’ll rule that it was Gilmour in the cabin,” he said to Francis as they stood a little apart from the mob that was milling around. “After all, we both identified the head and his watch was there. I don’t know what they’ll make of the others.”
“There’s only one piece of evidence to connect with Nate Elliott, and that’s burned up,” Francis said. “It’s hard to say which way they’ll jump on that.”
“By the way, you might have told me the gun wasn’t cocked. I hurt my knee rather badly when I rolled out of the line of fire.”
“I wasn’t completely sure.”
“You were, too.”
Francis just grinned. “I’m going to go look for a cup of tea. There’s an inn just down the street. We can see the courthouse from there, so we’ll know when the jury comes back in.”
Many others had the same notion, among them Reuben and Clementine Elliott. There were no unoccupied tables, so the two men stood as they sipped their tea. The Elliotts had managed to find a seat at a small table set away from anyone else. They appeared to be in a deep, and to Lewis’s eye, somewhat rancorous discussion. Curious, he edged closer, hoping he could discover what they were talking about, but Clementine noticed him long before he was within earshot.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Elliott,” he said. “If there is anything we can do to ease your burden, I hope you’ll let us know.”
“Thank you,” she said. Her face, which Lewis had never found attractive, was now pinched and pale and she looked more like a cat than ever. “I do appreciate you keeping Horatio occupied while I’m here. Little Martha has been a good friend to him.”
Betsy had offered to keep an eye on the children while the inquest was being held, and Sophie had promised that they could come into the kitchen to help her make cookies.
“It was the least we could do,” Lewis replied. “I know this is a difficult time for both of you.”
Clementine nodded her gratitude, but it appeared that neither had anything else to say. Lewis tipped his hat and wandered back to Francis’s side.
“I wonder what that was all about,” Francis said.
“I’m not sure we’ll ever know,” Lewis replied. But he was determined to find out.
After an hour, they were finally called back in. The jury agreed without question that Mr. H.G. Gilmour had suffered “death by misadventure” and that his remains had been cremated in the cabin fire. They agreed equally that the individual who resided in the cabin had been guilty of cannibalism, and that he, too, had perished in the flames; however, they could come to no determination as to whether or not he was guilty of murder. Nor could they come to any conclusion regarding the other remains that had been found.
“It is our opinion,” the foreman said, “that one of the human skulls found in all likelihood belonged to the trapper who was known to take his hides to Wellington, and it is probable that one of the others was his female companion — whether wife or otherwise, we have no way of knowing — but we cannot determine this with absolute certainty.”
The coroner nodded. The jury had confirmed his opinion.
“As for the fourth head …”
Lewis was watching not the foreman but the Elliotts, and though he saw Clementine stiffen, Reuben appeared unconcerned.
“…there has been conjecture that this belonged to the missing Nathan Elliott, and it is tempting to accept this explanation as the easiest and kindest conclusion for the family. However, we have no positive identification and no evidence in hand to suggest definitively that this is the case. Therefore, we have to conclude that these remains belong to a person or persons unknown.”
A gasp went up from the crowd. This was a source of gossip and speculation that would occupy them for months to come.
The coroner officially endorsed the jury’s verdict and dismissed the hearing, leaving the crowd in a hubbub. It was the finding that Lewis had expected. But he hadn’t expected Reuben Elliott’s lack of reaction to it.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The village was preoccupied with the true fate of Nate Elliott and rife with stories about the old trapper and his wife, although no one knew where the woman had come from and most claimed that no official joining in the eyes of God had ever taken place. Only a few people had ever encountered the Holey Man personally — those who worked near the docks or children who played near the shore — but it now seemed that nearly everyone had known of his existence, or so they claimed. It had not occurred to any of them to inquire after his well-being when so many months went by without a sign of the
trapper.
Perhaps it was just as well, Lewis thought, for what would they have done with him if they had? No family would have invited such a wild thing into their home. Had he not perished in the fire, he might well have been sent to prison to pay for his cannibalistic acts, even though to Lewis’s way of thinking these had not been deliberate transgressions on his part. He had not been flouting the strictures of civilized behaviour; he simply hadn’t known any better. Other than that, he had shown no criminal tendencies, and how could you lock someone up just because you didn’t know what else to do with him? Nor did Lewis subscribe to the notion that the Holey Man was mad, as some in the village claimed. Shunned and neglected, yes, but any derangement of thought he had shown had been the result of the bizarre circumstances in which he had obviously been raised. Besides, even if he had been insane, there would have been no place to send him other than to the grim, grey cells of Kingston Penitentiary. There were plans for the construction of a Provincial Lunatic Asylum in Toronto, but this had not yet begun, and again it would be a case of shutting away behind bars and stone walls.
No, the Holey Man was not mad, nor was he a criminal in the true sense of the word. Marked at birth, it was a miracle that he had survived at all. Raised in squalor, his life had been reduced to mere subsistence. It was as well that he was gone, for he would not have understood why he could no longer wander the lake at will, or why he must submit to a regime so foreign to him. It would have been like locking away a wolf and expecting it to understand the reason.
The village gossips had less to say about Gilmour. No one knew anything about him, really, other than the fact that he was an American and had appeared to follow Mrs. Elliott everywhere. No doubt he was unfamiliar with the area, they said, and unused to the woods. It was easy enough to understand how he could have become lost or suffered some mishap, but no one seemed to question why he had ventured along the sandbar in the first place.
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