Evidence was called, and questions asked. Harriet spoke of finding the body on her morning walk, her inspiration to fetch Crowther as well as the squire, and her sending to Hugh-and of Hugh’s resolution that the body was not that of his brother. That gentleman had shifted in his chair a full quarter turn to look at her as she spoke. His expression was still sullen.
Harriet’s short narrative was received respectfully. The foreman of the jury thanked her on behalf of them all for her actions and courtesy in coming to speak with them. Crowther watched her as she spoke and noted an uncharacteristic shrinking in her demeanor, a tendency to look up at the coroner and foreman from under her long eyelashes, hiding the green flash of her eyes, a mute appeal to the gentlemen to treat her kindly. They responded happily and there was an air of manly solicitude almost palpable in the air when she took her seat again. Only Hugh and Wicksteed did not, it seemed, take a proprietorial delight in looking at her.
As she sat down, Harriet shot Crowther a look of apology. He found he was impressed by the performance and could see the advantages and cover a little feminine reticence in such a company might give her, but he fancied she hated being anything other than what she naturally was, and pitied her that it was necessary. He wondered if women would ever be able to be themselves if they fell into such tricks, but having never known the dangers to which a frank woman might expose herself, he was disinclined to judge. His ruminations were broken by the sound of the coroner calling his name.
Crowther was also listened to with respect, though he failed to win any affection from the room. He spoke of the wound, the likely time of the death and his investigations to try the soundness of the body’s lower limbs. He had to be stopped from time to time to convert his naturally Latinate, scholarly language into something more easily digestible to the jury, and when he reported Hugh’s remark that Alexander had had a bad leg due to a youthful injury, he was a little surprised to hear corroborating shouts from some of the men in the room of, “True, true!” and, “He did indeed, since he was seven!” and, “His horse tripped in the warren on Blackamore Hill!” and, in a deep bass from somewhere near the door, “Landed on him!” It was as if the village had agreed to be a chorus to the court, and Crowther had an uncomfortable sense of fellow feeling with the players at Drury Lane.
It seemed from the tone of questions and responses that the general opinion in the room was that of Lady Thornleigh: that this stranger had come among them looking for a reward for finding the ring and had been destroyed by some business that had followed him from town. Therefore it was not surprising that when the coroner called Joshua Cartwright forward, he did so with the air of a magician summoning a particularly large and impressive rabbit from under his shirt.
Joshua did have something of a rabbity air when he spoke, and had to be encouraged by the crowd to speak up from time to time. He agreed that the body was that of a man he knew, Carter Brook, whom he had asked on Hugh’s behalf to try and discover any trace of his elder brother, Viscount Hardew.
The room was amazed, and the whispering rose and fell like a passing shower of rain. Some questions were asked as to Brook’s family and situation, and Joshua shared with the jury, with the room at large at least, that to the best of his knowledge Brook had no family. He then engaged, as if by way of apology for bringing such a character into the neighborhood, to write to Brook’s landlady and let her know of what had passed, and inform her that she was free to dispose of the dead man’s belongings and rent the room again. The coroner agreed this was sensible, and offered Cartwright the opportunity to copy down his conclusions at the end of the day’s business, and include any passages he thought fitting in the correspondence.
The chorus expressed satisfaction in a series of grunts and nods which spread from the observers to the jury and back again, reinforced like the ripples present on a small pond. More and more people were looking, and looking for longer, at the back of Hugh’s head, however, and there was a general sigh of relief when he kicked back his chair and stood up. He addressed himself purely to the coroner, but Crowther could tell by the flushed profile he presented that he was deeply aware of all the other eyes in the room.
“I wanted to know where my brother was, and assure him, whatever his situation, that I would be glad to know him again.” The room grumbled in an accepting sort of way. “Good, good,” said the bass from the doorway. “There’s our good captain,” said another. The coroner looked seriously at the watchers and they quietened down. Crowther kept his eyes on Hugh, seeing a flick of pain cross his face at hearing his military title spoken aloud.
“Carter Brook wrote to me, saying he had information to give and that it was convenient for him to deliver it in person. I asked him to bring some proof of my brother, as I have been disappointed by false trails in the past.”
Whatever Hugh’s misdemeanors, it seemed the village were still disposed to approve of him, as again the anonymous voices in the crowd chorused, “True, true,” and, “Cruel thing, cruel thing to lose a brother.” One thin voice lost among the jackets to the rear piped up. “But a bloody careless thing to lose a son.” Hugh flushed a deeper red, though still did not turn, and Michaels swung his massive head toward the last speaker.
“I’ve told you before to keep your mouth shut when you aren’t drinking, Baker.” There was a general laugh. “And mind your damn language, there’s a lady present.”
General agreement.
The coroner waited, dignity personified, till the room was attentive again and motioned for Hugh to continue.
“I could not meet Brook at the time arranged, as Young Thorpe wanted to see me, and we talked for a while about the changes he is planning to introduce on the land he rents from me.” The crowd groaned and laughed, and Crowther noticed a young man shrinking into the side wall as if he wished to become a thing immaterial and pass through it, blushing and looking at his feet.
Harriet leaned over to Crowther and whispered, “He’s a bright boy, and his head is full of how to make improvements to the soil. But he has no idea when his conversation becomes tiresome. I think some of his ideas have increased my income by ten pounds a year, but I avoid him unless I am feeling particularly patient.”
Hugh waited for the noise to subside.
“So I was the best part of an hour late to meet with Brook.”
“You got off lightly!” came a voice from the back, and Young Thorpe looked very hard done by.
The coroner turned to the crowd. “May I remind you, gentlemen, we are discussing a murder?”
There was some shuffling of feet and a little solemnity returned to the room. The coroner addressed Hugh again. “I would like to know, sir, why you did not invite this man to wait on you at your house.”
Hugh looked a little embarrassed, and Crowther noticed Wicksteed’s unblinking stare fixed on his back.
“I was afraid the information he might have would be delicate. That it might require some careful handling.” Hugh cleared his throat. “Much as I trust my household, I did not wish to draw attention to my search, nor to what I might learn before I had had time to consider the implications.” It was interesting that there were no murmurs of approval or doubt in the room at this point, just a steady quiet that suggested judgment could go either way.
“And when you reached the place where you were due to meet …?”
“There was no one there. I waited as long as I could, smoked a cigar, then went home. Next thing I knew, I was brought word a body had been found.”
The coroner and jury all looked very grave. Hugh glanced about him as if planning to sit down. The coroner held up his hand.
“Just one more thing, sir. Was the ring Brook brought with him very valuable?”
Hugh looked a little surprised. “I can’t say, sir. It is gold and heavy enough, I suppose. I have it here.” He felt in his pocket and tossed it across to the foreman of the jury. That man plucked it out of the air and he and his fellows bent over and peered at it with great intensity.