A Rose Before Dying (19 page)

“Taller? How much taller?” the coroner
asked.

Dr. Letheby pulled at his upper lip as he
considered. “Indeed, that is an interesting point, is it not? I
have thought about this a great deal. My conclusion is that whoever
fired the shot was either a giant, or standing in a position that
placed him well above her.”

“In a building? Is it your testimony, then,
that it is most likely he stood on an upper floor of a nearby
building and shot at her through a window?”

“That does seem most likely—though not very
high up. Perhaps a first-floor window.” The doctor rubbed his upper
lip again. “There are additional supporting circumstances. The ball
did not penetrate to any great depth, and the shot left no powder
marks. This indicates a certain amount of distance between the
rifle and the unfortunate lady.”

The coroner studied him with a frown. “If she
was shot at a great distance, is it possible that it was an
accident?”

“Accident? Certainly, I suppose—”

“Thank you.” He glanced at the jury. “Have
you any questions? If not, we reserve the right to bring Dr.
Letheby before us should we need clarification at a later time. We
have viewed the unfortunate deceased. We will now have a short
recess and subsequently reconvene at my court at two P.M.”

The coroner was the first to leave. The
jurors slowly filed out behind him before dispersing into the
street in search of comfortable coffee houses or pubs where they
could find refreshment. Charles walked with Mr. Gaunt to a coffee
house a few streets away. Neither spoke until a fresh-faced serving
girl left their shepherd’s pie and ale on the scarred wooden table
in front of them.

Exhaustion honed the edge of Charles’s
hunger. The savory aroma of onions, browned meat, and potatoes
aroused a sharp pang he could not resist. He’d nearly cleaned his
plate before he glanced at Gaunt.

Mr. Gaunt was taking leisurely mouthfuls and
stopped altogether when Charles finally put his fork down. “I’m
relieved to see you. Have you any news, my lord?”

“I can tell you that it’s impossible for my
uncle to have shot Lady Banks. Particularly after Dr. Letheby’s
statement.”

“Indeed?” The ghost of a smile whispered over
his lean face.

“His foot was much worse than anyone knew. It
was amputated last night.”

Gaunt’s black brows snapped down. “Then he
won’t be joining us at the inquest, my lord?”

“No—he’s in Rye. It’s impossible for him to
travel.”

“This is indeed serious.”

Charles eyed Gaunt’s unreadable face,
uncomfortably aware that his uncle’s absence at the inquest would
look bad. But surely, no one would expect him to travel so soon
after his horrific surgery? “You heard the medical man. That shot
came from above, at a distance. Sir Edward was by her side—”

“Or so he claimed. I wish we could confirm
that. I haven’t been able to find a single witness willing to
testify to his location.”

“I’ll find one.” In fact, he was not at all
sure he could if Gaunt had already failed. No one had seen Sir
Edward and Lady Banks until after the shot, or so the servants
claimed.

Gaunt pulled out a plain gold pocket watch
and glanced at it. “I must return. The coroner may wish to question
you, particularly in the absence of your uncle. However, you may be
able to simply supply them with a written statement, if you
chose.”

He considered this. An earl didn’t have to
subject himself to questioning except by his peers, but if he were
present, he could learn the mood of the coroner and his jury.

“Has anyone mentioned Sir Edward?”

“Not yet.” Gaunt shook his head. “But once
they call Lady Banks’ servants, they will certainly mention his
presence.”

They rose and strode out into the sunshine.
The day had rapidly warmed, and Charles could feel sweat saturating
the back of his shirt as he followed Gaunt. Both men were too
engrossed in their own thoughts to do more than make desultory
comments about the crowded streets and increasingly hot weather.
Neither wanted to discuss the inquest, although Charles suspected
their reasons were most likely dissimilar.

He didn’t want to explain his theories to
Gaunt for fear they would prove less sound upon their recital than
they did in his mind. He needed some tangible proof before he
spoke.

When they returned to the inquest, the
coroner lost no time in calling the servants to testify. And as
Gaunt predicted, it was not long before one of them mentioned Sir
Edward.

Lady Banks’ personal maid, a taciturn,
brown-haired woman in her late thirties, was the first, and she
eagerly revealed that her mistress had broken off with Sir
Edward.

“She told him she loved another,” the maid
said with obvious relish. She glanced around the room. When her
gaze alighted on Charles, the corners of her thin lips creased in
the brief spasm of a malicious smile. “She didn’t want that old
cripple, and she told him so!”

“Have you reason to believe this had
something to do with her demise?”

“Indeed, my lord. It’s my belief he were
angry at being overthrown. I do believe he’s the one as murdered my
mistress!”

The coroner frowned. “Did you see anything to
give you this idea?”

“He were there, bending over her when we
arrived. Her blood was on his hands!”

“And a weapon? Did you see a weapon?”

“No—he hid that, didn’t he? Before we arrived
to help her—though we was too late.”

“So all you saw was Sir Edward leaning over
her?”

“He killed her!”

“Thank you, Miss Caldwell. Is Sir Edward
present?”

Charles rose and stepped forward. “I beg your
pardon, I am Sir Edward’s nephew, Charles Vance, the Earl of
Castlemoor. My uncle is seriously ill and has undergone surgery to
amputate a limb. It is my opinion that he was incapable of shooting
Lady Banks due to the necrotic condition of his limb at the time.
He could not have shot her from any distance and then run to her
body before her servants arrived. It would have been physically
impossible.”

The magistrate leaned forward to examine
Charles. “And are you also a medical man, Lord Castlemoor?”

“No, I am not. However—”

“Then I beg your pardon, but I fail to see
how you are competent to make such an evaluation of his condition,
my lord.”

“Dr. Humphrey of Rye can provide you with
more details—the medical details you require. He recommended Sir
Edward amputate his crushed limb weeks ago and performed the
surgery last night.” Charles focused on the magistrate and coroner,
willing them to accept the truth of his words. “And there is
more.”

“More? Further information outside your
expertise, my lord?”

Charles felt a light flush heat his cheeks,
aware that much of what he had to relate was second-hand, at best.
Nonetheless, it had to be said. “I submit that my uncle’s infirmity
was not the only factor that supports his innocence. A note and a
rose, a ‘Lady Banks’ rose, were delivered to her home prior to her
death. Subsequently, a second note and rose were delivered to an
inquiry agency before another victim, Mr. Nivelle, was fatally
stabbed. It therefore appears these deaths are related.”

“Agreed. But I fail to see how this
exculpates your uncle, my lord,” the magistrate observed.

“We’ve received a third note and rose. This
last time, we were able to find the victim before she perished—a
Miss Baxter.”

A hushed stir whispered through the room.

“And where is this Miss Baxter now?” the
magistrate asked. “Can she identify the man who attacked her, my
lord?”

Charles shook his head. “She’s gravely ill
and remained in Rye, in the care of Dr. Humphrey. However, she
indicated that it was not a man who kidnapped her and made the
attempt on her life. It was a woman.”

This time, the noise was deafening. Several
men stamped their feet and frowned at him as they called out
disbelieving comments and questions despite the disparity between
their social positions.

“A
woman
!”

“No woman could do such things—you can’t
expect us to believe that rubbish!”

The coroner stamped three times and raised
his hand. The voices and restless movements of the jurors subsided,
although the anger in their eyes sparked a reciprocal flash in
Charles’. If they paused long enough to consider the alternatives,
they might have a chance of finding the truth. Otherwise, all was
lost.

“Do you seriously expect us to believe a
female
is responsible for these deaths? Based upon the
utterances of a sick woman—if she even exists?”

“I will send for Dr. Humphrey—”

“Indeed, my lord. It would be much
appreciated by this court. However, this information remains
hearsay and shall remain so even if the mysterious Dr. Humphrey
testifies. We must hear it from the lady involved.”

“I agree. But Dr. Humphrey can speak to my
uncle’s general physical incapacity. And he can testify that Miss
Baxter does exist and was recently rescued with assistance from my
uncle, shortly before his surgery. Finally, although I agree it
seems odd that a woman would have the skill to shoot a rifle, it is
what Miss Baxter said. We must explore this avenue before any
conclusion can be reached.”

The coroner stared at him from under lowered
brows, clearly debating the wisdom of arguing with an earl. The
seconds stretched to one minute, then two. Anger tightened his
muscles, but Charles kept his gaze firm and open. He would not
trade on the authority of his position yet if he could guide them
to the truth.

“To ensure fairness, may we request the
continued efforts of Mr. Gaunt to discover the truth of this female
assailant? Further, we request the presence of this Dr. Humphrey to
testify as to the condition of Sir Edward, assuming the patient
remains incapable of travel. If either patient should recover
sufficiently to travel, then they should do so and appear before
this court.” The magistrate eyed Charles as if he feared he’d
refuse.

“I shall do my utmost to ensure the presence
of all witnesses.” The tension in Charles’s shoulders eased.
Although the coroner did not intend to grant Charles a favor, he’d
done so. He’d granted him the gift of time.

The coroner waited while Charles resumed his
seat. Despite the seemingly endless parade of servants and
acquaintances, there was nothing new to learn. Those in Lady Banks’
employ were uniformly of the opinion that Sir Edward had somehow
managed to shoot both their mistress and her new beau, Mr. Nivelle.
They therefore revealed nothing more than their own
misunderstanding of the situation since, as Charles had already
told them, Mr. Nivelle had not been shot. He’d been stabbed.

Charles shifted on the hard, wooden seat,
wishing he’d escaped when he had the chance.

When they were finally released for the day,
he left, his mind churning over two things: how to identify the
woman who had kidnapped Miss Baxter; and how to obtain a few hours
of quiet to think. And of course, obtain a few hours of sleep.

Unfortunately, it didn’t appear as if the
difficulties of the day were over.

“Excuse me, my lord.” Gaunt fell in step
beside him. “Was Miss Baxter sure it was a woman?”

“She seemed sure. Certainly, it was someone
who
appeared
to be a woman.”

“Have you come to any conclusion about the
identity of this person?”

“No.” Charles’s tired mind drowned in gray
dullness, refusing to offer even a suggestion.

“We must find this mysterious creature, my
lord.”

“You don’t believe there is a woman, do you?”
Charles rubbed his face. His eyes felt as dry as parchment.
“Nonetheless, there is one, and I will endeavor to find her. Right
after I send word to Dr. Humphrey to request his presence.”

“May I offer a suggestion?”

“Of course.”

“Get some sleep. I’ll send someone to
Rye—”

“Someone?”

“I’m sorry, but the Crown has requested my
presence—”

“I’ll return to Rye, then, and retrieve the
good doctor.”

Gaunt nodded. “Perhaps you could question
Miss Baxter, again? She may remember more.”

“Perhaps.”

“If you wish, I can inform the coroner and
magistrate that you’ll return with Dr. Humphrey, my lord.”

Charles eyed him, but Gaunt’s bland
expression gave nothing away, leaving him with the aggravating
feeling that Gaunt had attempted to maneuver him for some
reason.

Well, it suited Charles. At least he wasn’t
wasting time investigating a crippled, old man.

Movement caught his eye, and he noticed the
maid, Miss Caldwell, leaving with one of the other female servants.
“Thank you, Mr. Gaunt. I’ll contact you on my return.” He brushed
past Gaunt and hurried after the maid. “Excuse me! Miss
Caldwell!”

“Yes, my lord?” She glanced at him over her
shoulder and stumbled as she missed her step. “Beggin’ your pardon,
but I must return to my duties.” She walked with determination
toward the Banks’ townhouse. Her grip tightened on the small bag
she carried. The sleeve of a worn shirt protruded from the sagging
mouth. She had not been idle during the inquest.

“I’d like to talk to you about your
observations.”

She flushed and flicked a sideways glance at
him. “Beggin’ your pardon, but I saw your uncle, my lord. I’m
sorry, but that’s all I saw.”

“Then you must have seen him limping.”

“Aye, my lord. Howsomever, I saw him bending
over her, covered with her life’s blood. As I said, my lord.”

“Did you hear the shot?”

“We heard a loud noise. We didn’t know what
it was. Not until we heard him shouting for help.”

“How soon after that noise did you arrive in
the garden?”

“A few minutes, my lord.” Her red-rimmed,
grey eyes stared at him. “Soon enough to see her last breath leave
her lips. That’s what I saw. No disrespect, my lord. You can try to
paint him as the innocent, but no matter how hard you try there’s
no denying what as happened.” She walked faster.