Don Gutteridge - Dubious Allegiance

“No, sir. There was little wind; it was very quiet and peaceful. We would’ve heard the slightest noise.”

“Like someone thumping off into the bush?”

“Yes. But we heard nothing. It was deathly quiet.”

The coroner’s swift and baleful glance precluded any tittering at Pritchard’s unfortunate pun. The witness was excused. Percy Sedgewick was then called and sworn in by the abstemiously thin Digby Parsons. The coroner led Sedgewick through the same events attested to by Pritchard, confirming all of them. He expected to be dismissed, but MacIvor Murchison had a few more questions.

“You’ve told us, Mr. Sedgewick, that you went over to the victim in the hallway on the far side of the foyer and tried to dissuade him from taking his morning walk. Tell us why, sir.”

“Because my brother-in-law had received a death-threat the previous day at Morrisburg.”

Again, the gallery reacted and had to be silenced.

Sedgewick provided the details of the note found pinned to the seat of the carriage. He described, as delicately as he could with his limited facility for language, Brookner’s refusal to take the least precaution and his insistence on flaunting his military status by remaining in the full uniform of the Glengarry militia.

“And this was a brightly coloured, easily recognizable uniform?”

“It was. The coat was brand new, bought in-”

“So he was a bit like a deer wearing a scarlet blazer while foraging in a farmer’s wood-lot?”

The appreciative laughter was allowed to rise and fade on its own.

“I’m afraid so. And it cost him his life.”

The coroner nodded gravely, knitted his intimidating brows, and said, “Now tell this enquiry about the Scanlon brothers.”

Again, with the gallery hanging on every word, Sedgewick recounted, without gloss, Brookner’s capture of the Scanlon brothers-rebels all-and his curt treatment of their family.

“And was the Scanlon barn burned by the militia under Captain Brookner’s command?”

Sedgewick hesitated, obviously uncertain how to answer. He looked over at Adelaide, who had sat veiled and still throughout this early testimony. She bowed her head. Was it a nod or a refusal to be drawn in?

“The militia had specific orders to do so. There was a warrant out for the three Scanlon men.”

“Nonetheless, the barn got razed, and the women and children were forced to flee?”

“Yes. I. . I took them in.”

“I see.” Doctor Mac’s thick brows converged. “And was your brother pleased with this act of mercy on your part?”

Sedgewick stared at his fingers.

“You must answer truthfully, sir. I am obliged to get to the question of motive.”

“But I had no chance to harm him!”

“We’ll come to that in a moment. Please answer my original question.”

Sedgewick swallowed hard. “Randolph was furious. He always thought me soft on the rebels. I wasn’t, really. I’ve been a loyal citizen all my life. But these people, the Scanlons, were farmers like me. We suffered the same troubles. They just wanted their grievances taken seriously.”

“But such arguments carried no weight with Captain Brookner?”

“No.”

“Now, sir, tell us about the quarrel you had with the victim three nights ago in Cornwall.”

At this unexpected volley in the interrogation, the witnesses on the bench turned to stare at one of their own, Lieutenant Edwards, seated at the far end. But he was looking respectfully at the coroner.

“How do you know that?” Sedgewick gasped. A sliver of fear edged into his eyes.

“There will be corroborating testimony later on, sir, so if I were you, I would answer the question with scrupulous regard for the truth.”

“We’d both been drinkin’ a little too much that evenin’. We begun quarrellin’ over the usual things, the fact that I didn’t support the militia or agree with the barn burnin’ and all that. We were loud and very angry.”

“Did Brookner threaten you in any way?”

“I wasn’t afraid of him. He was all bluster.”

“I don’t mean physically, sir.”

Sedgewick now looked not only uncomfortable but perplexed. He paused while the coroner stared at him with unnerving patience.

“He told me that takin’ in and harbourin’ the Scanlon family could be looked on as treason.”

A curious mixture of groans and nods of approval animated the gallery.

“A serious charge, eh? And one that, if acted upon, posed a grave threat to your well-being?”

“He was all bluster! I didn’t take it seriously!” Sedgewick started to get up, stopped suddenly, then slumped back onto the witness stool.

“You are not denying, then, that you had a motive to extinguish this threat? And that such threat had been made just three days before the murder itself?”

Sedgewick’s response was barely audible, “No, I’m not.”

“Did you place a threatening note in your brother-in-law’s carriage?”

“I did not!”

“Are you now telling this inquest that, given the possibility that the man threatening to turn you in for treason might be assassinated by Miles Scanlon, the fugitive, that you went to the side hallway this morning and tried to talk him out of going for a walk in his bright green uniform?”

Sedgewick looked deeply insulted, but it was fear that gripped him and made his reply a tremulous one: “I did, sir. I love my sister dearly. I did not like or admire her husband. But she begged me to try to talk some sense into him-she’ll tell you so-and I did it for her sake, not his.”

With this heartfelt outburst, the witness was excused. The widow was now called to the stand. The suddenly hushed gallery watched her walk with dignity and purpose to the witness stool. Although she wore the familiar chiffon mourning dress, it was now unwrinkled, and the crepe scarf was folded demurely across her bosom and up and around her long, regal neck. The coroner turned a solicitous eye upon her.

“You are a woman of great courage with a severe sense of duty,” he said solemnly, “to accede to my request that you give testimony this afternoon, so soon after the shock of your husband’s death.”

“I wish not to delay these proceedings,” Adelaide said in a firm, almost mechanical tone. She had lifted the veil to reveal her tear-ravaged face, now dry-cheeked and steady with resolve. “I realize that they must take place, now or later, and I did not want to complicate the lives of those innocent persons who have travelled with me and offered me so many kindnesses. Which I have not always had the courtesy or will to acknowledge.”

“Yes, madam. We understand that this is your second bereavement in less than a week. I have just a few brief questions for you.” He turned to face the gallery. “Before I begin, however, I want to say that the reason I was probing for motive in this case is that it has occurred to me that, while Miles Scanlon is a prime suspect with motive, means, and plenty of opportunity-and may well have fired the fatal shot-it is conceivable that some other person or persons-with suitable motivation-might have conspired with Miles Scanlon to murder Captain Brookner. They might have used Scanlon as a convenient stand-in and perhaps even an unwitting scapegoat.”

This statement stirred the gallery so thoroughly that the coroner had to bang his gavel three times, shivering the water in the glasses thereon and spattering ink across his clerk’s pristine parchment. The witness showed no particular response.

“It is further conceivable that, failing an outright conspiracy, someone with sufficient motive might have found it expedient merely to let Miles Scanlon know when and where Captain Brookner might be on display, as it were.”

The spectators absorbed this astonishing but cogent theory, and added commentary among themselves in a rustle of whispers.