Andrew Pepper - The Revenge of Captain Paine

Once some semblance of calm had returned to the proceedings and everyone had returned to their seats, Bellows turned on Bolter, who had pacified his dog and recovered the leash, and spluttered, ‘Get that ugly stinking creature out of my sight this instant.’

‘But if I tie him up downstairs someone’ll bilk him for certain. This here is a rum burgher.’

‘ Get that beast out of here now,’ Bellows yelled, his face turning a violent shade of crimson.

Interrupting, Pyke said they could probably do without Bolter’s testimony. After all, he added, was a man like Bolter really the best person to comment on the deceased’s state of mind?

That drew some chuckles from the jurors and the blood rose in Bolter’s neck. He yanked on the leash and the dog growled and, this time, bared its teeth.

As Bolter trudged disconsolately out of the room, with his mastiff, he gave Pyke a sour grimace. Even Bellows, who had calmed down considerably, appeared sorry that he was going.

Pyke had won the first skirmish but Bellows was in no mood to concede the battle to him.

As Bellows went on to explain, Morris had last been seen alive, on the viewing promenade, by a pot-boy from the Crown and Anchor tavern in Camden Town, who had been charged with clearing-up duties, just after midnight. The caretaker of the Colosseum stood up and testified that he had ‘personally’ toured the platform at half-past midnight and hadn’t seen Morris, or anyone else, there. He told the jurors that when he had locked the building up at half-past one, Morris was nowhere to be seen. He had discovered Morris’s body only the following morning, when he’d opened up the building. The caretaker explained that he didn’t know exactly when Morris had fallen to his death, and Bellows speculated that Morris must have hidden himself in the building and jumped later, when no one was around.

‘If, indeed, he jumped,’ Pyke interjected, ‘rather than was pushed. As far as I’m aware, the jurors haven’t yet reached their verdict.’

Bellows muttered an apology and tried to assure the jurors that he hadn’t intended to influence them.

‘Placing a pistol to their heads might have been more subtle,’ Pyke replied.

Bellows chose to ignore that comment.

Day, the coroner, had then posed the question that had been at the forefront of everyone’s mind. Was it likely or even possible that Morris had been of a suicidal frame of mind?

On this note, Bellows tried to convince the jurors that, by all accounts, Morris had been upset about something.

‘But the one person who might have upheld this claim has now left this meeting,’ Pyke said, ‘so clearly this assertion should be struck from the record.’

‘Morris was as drunk as a sailor. I hope you don’t dispute that,’ Bellows retorted bitterly.

‘And that’s supposed to confirm his suicidal state of mind? If that were so, every man and woman downstairs enjoying a drink might very soon be expected to throw themselves into the Thames.’

That drew a further ripple of nervous laughter.

Pyke didn’t doubt that Morris was both severely drunk and perhaps deeply troubled by something that had happened to him. But he didn’t believe Morris was suicidal. In his experience, men like Morris killed themselves for two reasons: acute money worries or intolerable inner turmoil, neither of which seemed to apply to Morris. Still, he couldn’t help but think about the large sum of money Morris had borrowed from Blackwood’s and about his inebriated rant to Bolter: if true, what had Morris meant when he’d described himself as a ‘dirty monster’?

The last witness to give evidence was Bellows himself. Apparently he had spoken to Marguerite Morris — ‘the deceased’s wife’ — to break the news to her, and he proceeded to offer a description of their conversation. He explained that, for obvious reasons, she had been too upset to attend the inquest in person but that she had talked openly and freely with him. The jurors were told that, on the night of the ball, Marguerite had argued with Morris about his drunkenness — this much chimed with what she’d told Pyke — and had left the Colosseum at half-past ten. Servants at Cranborne Park confirmed that Marguerite had arrived back there just before midnight. The chief magistrate went on to point out that Marguerite had clearly loved her husband very much and said that she had described him as a virtuous, good-natured man who was nonetheless prone to bouts of depression and secretiveness. To his credit, Bellows didn’t claim Marguerite had described her husband as suicidal but he also said she hadn’t ruled it out as a cause of death.

All in all, he made a very convincing witness.

Drawing the inquest to a close, Daniel Day asked whether anyone else had something to add that might have a bearing on the jury’s decision.

Pyke coughed. ‘What happened to Morris’s watch?’ He waved the piece of paper that listed the items retrieved from the dead body. The watch hadn’t been listed. ‘I saw it in his pocket a few hours before he died. The watch must have been worth hundreds. Its case was encrusted with diamonds. It was a family heirloom. He was never without it.’

Bellows looked at Day and the Colosseum’s caretaker. ‘Did either of you come across a gold watch?’

Day just shrugged but the caretaker rose to his feet and stammered, ‘I hope you ain’t accusing me of bilking it, sir.’

Bellows told him to calm down and that no one was accusing him of anything. He shot Pyke an angry stare. ‘An antique watch has gone missing,’ Bellows added, this time to the jurors, ‘but I don’t think we need to concern ourselves about it. You have sufficient evidence to reach a verdict on the cause of death.’

‘Why are you so concerned to rule Morris’s death as a suicide, Bellows?’ This time Pyke stood up, to directly confront him. ‘What is it that you’re trying to prove or trying to hide?’

‘Your belligerent tone and sharp tongue will land you in serious trouble, if you’re not careful.’

‘I still don’t understand why you’re even here in the first place.’ Pyke pointed at his chest. ‘Morris’s death has got nothing to do with you or your office.’

‘You’ve flouted my authority once and, to my intense dismay, seem to have gotten away with it. Do it again and I’ll see you’re locked up for a year without trial. Don’t think I can’t do it, either.’

‘I think you’re a fraud and a liar and I also think you’ve unfairly used your office to sway the outcome of this meeting.’

Bellows sprang to his feet and gesticulated angrily. ‘Someone arrest this man.’ Of course, there were none of his officers, and no policemen, in the room, and no one reacted to his demand. When he realised that he’d made himself seem vaguely ridiculous, he went an even deeper shade of crimson and ordered the jury to arrive at a verdict without further delay.

It took them just a few minutes to reach their decision. It was unanimously agreed that Morris had committed suicide by jumping to his death on the second night of November from the Colosseum’s viewing promenade. His voice still trembling from Pyke’s insult, Bellows then congratulated them for their eminently sensible verdict.

If that had been the end of it, the meeting would have been deeply depressing, but as the jurors stood up and stretched their legs, the door was flung open and a panting, red-faced Abraham Gore stumbled into the room and muttered, ‘Am I too late? Please tell me I’m not too late.’

‘What do you want?’ Bellows muttered, clearly recognising Gore and not relishing the intrusion, even though the meeting had, for him, reached a favourable conclusion.

‘I’m here to throw my shilling’s worth into the pot. I knew the deceased, Edward James Morris, for more than thirty years,’ Gore spluttered at the jurors, still recovering from ascending the stairs too rapidly, ‘and I can lay my hands on my heart and swear to you that he would never, ever have taken his own life.’