Bruce Alexander - Death of a Colonial

Neither the Coroner nor the Magistrate of Bath was eager to accept the word of Sir John’s sixteen-year-old helper as definitive in this matter. That much was evident from the expressions — doubt on the first and anger on the second — which they wore upon their faces. Yet only the second gave voice to his feelings.

“This is all very well, Sir John,” said Mr. Bester, “but what you’re suggesting is murder. . homicide. That sort of thing isn’t done here in Bath. You come out expecting to find the same sort of lawlessness here that you meet every day in London. That just isn’t the way of it. We have lords and ladies, nobles and gentlemen, the very best of society, and these just ain’t the kind to commit murder. Occasionally, we’ll have a duel that ends fatally for one of the two involved, which is against the law, of course, but you can’t call it murder.”

“Nor could I call Margaret Paltrow’s death the result of a duel.” Sir John paused and resumed in a different tone, not in the least aggressive, nor sarcastic. He sounded, for all the world, like the voice of pure reason: “See here, gentlemen, since you are so certain that the poor widow died as the result of a mishap, you should not mind if my helper and I were to view the premises of the widow and perhaps make a cursory inspection of her corpus. I promise to say no more to you of murder.”

The two seemed surprised by the request. They looked at one another and frowned.

“I take it she has not yet been moved? I was told that there are constables guarding the door.”

“No, “ said Mr. Bester, “she’s not been moved. Seeing it’s you, Sir John Fielding, we’ll allow you and your young friend inside. You may look at whatever you like, but you may not remove anything. Her son has claimed the body.”

“I suppose that all her belongings should go to him, too,” said Dr. Diggs.

“Just one more thing,” said Sir John. “When was the body found?”

“This morning, fairly early, about eight o’clock,” said the Magistrate of Bath. “That was her son, as well. Said he’d come by to take his mother to breakfast, but when he found her at the bottom of the stairs, her body was cold to the touch. He came right to me, however, and reported the death. I can find no fault with him there.”

“What time did you arrive, Doctor?”

“About an hour ago. By that time, the rigor of death had already taken hold of her body.”

“So that she would have been dead a good many hours.”

“I suppose so, yes.”

“As long ago as last evening?”

“All right, as long ago as that, perhaps.”

“Thank you, Doctor. Come along, Jeremy. Let’s take a look inside.”

I led the way, with Sir John following, his hand grasping my shoulder. The two constables, who stood one at each side of the double door, gave us sober-faced nods as we approached, though not a word passed from their lips. One did politely bend and pull open the door that we might make entry. It so happened, however, that in the space thus presented to view, the top of the victim’s head was revealed. There was not much to be seen — a cotton dust cap with a few gray curls beneath, nothing more. But the crowd in the street, seeing no more than this, did suddenly stir and begin a general murmur. I informed Sir John of the cause and cautioned him where best to plant his foot so as not to disturb the body. In this way, we made it safely inside. I pulled the street door shut behind us, and we did both breathe a bit easier.

“What a pair they are!” exclaimed Sir John. “I believe they are competing for some prize to be awarded to the greatest booby. What twaddle they talked! Did you ever hear such, Jeremy?”

“No, I never did,” I whispered. “But if you continue to talk in that tone and at such volume, I fear they will hear you, sir.”

“Oh, I care not. Better they should know.” His jaw was set, and he thrust his lower lip out quite pugnaciously. “Well, let us get to it. The poor old thing deserves an investigation of some sort into her death. All she is likely to get, she must get from us.” He paused but a moment. “Describe the body to me.”

That I did in detail and with no little degree of care. I gave particular attention to the position of the body there at the bottom of the stairway, the dishevelment of her clothing, and the unnatural angle of the head upon its broken support, Sir John listened carefully and nodded at each new bit of information. When at last I had done, he stood quiet for what seemed a good long while, leaning upon his stick, bowed in concentration. Then, of a sudden, his head bobbed up, and he turned in my direction.

“What about her spectacles?” he asked.

“Uh, I don’t know,” said I. “What about them?”

“Has she them on?”

Her face was turned to the floor. It was necessary for me to feel round the head to be certain as to whether or not she wore them. Cold to the touch she indeed was, rigid and unyielding in every joint. So shocked was I by this that I forgot for a moment why it was I had begun feeling about her face. But only for a moment.

“She is not wearing her spectacles, sir.”

“Well. .,” said he, “then perhaps they fell off in the course of her tumble down the stairs.”

“That seems reasonable, sir.”

“Look into that, will you, lad? Check the stairway for her spectacles, and while you’re about it, give a tug to the carpet at each step along the way. “

He waited patiently as I did what he had told me. It took a bit of time to accomplish the task, there being a full twenty steps from one floor to the next; nevertheless, when I had done, I could make my report with certainty: “There are no spectacles anywhere about, and the carpet on the stairs fits just as tight as Mr. Trezavant’s breeches.”

“Careful with your similes there, Jeremy. You may get us both into trouble. But stay right where you are. I’m coming up.”

Grasping the banister firmly, he did not let it go until he had reached the top of the stairs. He knew his limitation. While armed with his walking stick, he might blaze through the streets of Westminster as fast as any man with two good eyes, but when challenged by rough ground, or a steep incline or decline, he sought and accepted whatever help might be available — if not my shoulder, then a good, solid oaken banister did quite well.

“Try the door to her apartment,” said he. “See if it is unlocked.”

“No need,” said I. “It stands half open.”

“Then, let’s inside. I should like you to continue your search for the spectacles. This is no maggot of mine, lad. I feel sure that you will find them in her apartment and probably not far from the door.” And so I did. As Sir John took a place to one side, I searched that part of the floor without result. I was about to report this to him, when a beam of the morning sun glinted sharply upon an object near the window.

“I believe I see them,” I called out in triumph, leaping to the window. And there it was indeed that her spectacles lay. They rested upon the carpet, one lens cracked and the other quite shattered. I picked them up quite carefully, cupping them in one hand so as not to allow any bits or pieces to be lost.

“I have them, sir,” said I, “but they are all cracked and broke. I’ve a clean wipe in my pocket. I’ll wrap them in it for you. “

“Cracked and broke, is it? Do you realize the significance of this discovery, Jeremy? You yourself said you were sure the Widow Paltrow could in no wise survive without her spectacles.”

“Oh, no, sir. She was most dreadfully shortsighted. She would not have dared to venture beyond her door if she were not wearing them.”

“Unless?”

I considered the question carefully. “Unless she were so frighted that she thought only of escape. And without her spectacles, fleeing in fear, she might easily have tripped, fallen, and begun that awful tumble that sent her to the bottom of the stairs with a broken neck.”