The Heart of a Woman

  CHAPTER XXIV

  A HERD OF CACKLING GEESE

  When at ten o'clock the next morning Louisa Harris entered theVictoria coroner's court accompanied by her father, the coroner andjury were just returning from the mortuary at the back of the buildingwhither they had gone, in order to look upon the dead.

  Already the small room was crowded to its utmost holding capacity.Louisa and Colonel Harris had some difficulty in making their waythrough the groups of idlers who filled every corner of the gangway.

  The air was hot and heavy with the smell of the dust of ages which hadgathered in the nooks and crannies of this dull and drabby room. Itmingled with irritating unpleasantness with the scent of opoponax orheliotrope that emanated from lace handkerchiefs, and with the pungentodours of smelling salts ostentatiously held to delicate noses.

  Louisa, matter-of-fact, commonplace Louisa looked round at theseunaccustomed surroundings with the same air of semi-indifferentinterest with which she would have viewed a second-rate local musichall, had she unaccountably drifted into one through curiosity ordesire.

  She saw a dull, drabby paper on the wall, and dull, drabby hangings tothe single window, which was set very high, close to the ceiling; thelatter once whitewashed was now covered with uneven coatings of grime.

  In the centre of the room, a long table littered at one end withpapers tied up in bundles of varying bulk, with pieces of pink tape,also a blotting pad, pen, ink, and paper--more paper--the one whitenote in the uniform harmony of drabby brown: and in among this litterthat encumbered the table a long piece of green baize covering anarrow formless something, which Louisa supposed would be revealed indue course.

  On each side of the table were half a dozen chairs of early Victoriandesign upholstered in leather that had once been green. To thesechairs a dozen men were even now making their way, each taking hisseat in solemn silence: men in overcoats and with velvet collarssomewhat worn at the back of the neck--it seemed to Louisa as if theywere dressed in some kind of uniform so alike did their clothesappear. She looked at their faces as they filed in--haggard faces,rubicund, jolly faces, faces which mirrored suspicion, faces whichrevealed obstinacy, the whole of middle class England personified inthese typical twelve men all wearing overcoats with shabby velvetcollars, who were to decide to-day how and when Philip de Mountford,heir presumptive to the Earl of Radclyffe, had been done to death.

  Louisa and her father were able at last to reach the fore-front of thecrowd, where chairs had been reserved for them immediately facing thetable, at the farther end of which the coroner already sat. Louisarecognized Mr. Humphreys, one of Mr. Dobson's clerks, who did his bestto make her and Colonel Harris comfortable. Farther on sat Mr.Davies, who had been Philip de Mountford's solicitor when he had firstdesired an interview with Lord Radclyffe. Louisa knew him bysight--Luke had on one occasion pointed him out to her.

  Luke and Mr. Dobson were even now making their way to the same groupof seats. They had--like the jury and the coroner--been in themortuary to have a last look at the murdered man. Louisa thought thatLuke looked years older than he had done yesterday. She saw himstanding for a moment right against the dull, drabby background of thecourt room wall; and it seemed as if something of that drabbiness haddescended upon his soul. Youth seemed to have gone out of him. Heappeared to be looking out onto a dreary world through windowsobscured by grime.

  There was a look not so much of dejection as of absolute hopelessnessin the face. No fear, or anxiety--only a renunciation. But this wasonly for one moment; the next he had caught sight of her, and the lookof blank dejection in his eyes suddenly gave place to one of acute andintolerable pain. The face which usually was so calm and placid in itsimpassive mask of high-bred indifference was almost distorted by anexpression of agony which obviously had been quite beyond control.

  The whole thing was of course a mere flash, less than a quarter of asecond perhaps in duration, and already Luke was just as he had alwaysbeen: a correct, well-born English gentleman, perfect in manner,perfect in attitude and bearing, under whatever circumstances Fatemight choose to place him.

  Mr. Dobson spoke to him, and he at once followed his friend andsolicitor across the body of the court room to the row of reservedchairs in front of the crowd.

  A whisper went round the room, and Louisa with cool indifferenceturned to greet those among the crowd whom she had recognized asacquaintances and friends. Some were sitting, others standing backagainst the walls in the rear. Lady Ducies was there, excited andover-dressed, with a large hat that obstructed the view of amasculine-looking woman who sat immediately behind her, and who seemedquite prepared to do battle against the obstruction.

  Farther on sat the Countess of Flintshire, novelist and playwright,eager and serious, note-book in hand and a frown between her brows,denoting thought and concentration of purpose. She bowed gravely toLouisa, and contrived to attract Luke's attention, so that he turnedtoward her, and she was able to note carefully in indelible pencil ina tiny note-book that a murderer about to meet his just fate maybestow an infinity of care on the niceties of his own toilet.

  (N. B. The next play written by the Countess of Flintshire, betterknown to the playgoing public as Maria Annunziata, had an assassin forits principal hero. But the play found no favour with actor-managers,and though it subsequently enjoyed some popularity in the provinces,it was never performed on the London stage.)

  Louisa looked on all these people with eyes that dwelt with strangepersistency on trivial details: the Countess of Flintshire'snote-book, Lady Ducies' hat, the masculine attire of the militantsuffragette in the rear--all these minor details impressed themselvesupon her memory. In after years she could always recall the vision ofthe court room, with its drabby background to a sea of ridiculousfaces.

  For they all seemed ridiculous to her--all these people--in theirobvious eager agitation: they had pushed one another and jostled andfought their way into this small, stuffy room, the elegant ladies withtheir scent bottles, the men about town with their silk hats andsilver-topped canes: they were all ready to endure acute physicaldiscomfort for the sake of witnessing the harrowing sight of one oftheir own kind being pilloried before the mob: it was just a pinch ofspice added to the savourless condiment of every-day life. Then therewere the others: those who had come just out of idle curiosity to heara few unpleasant details, or to read a few unwholesome pages in thebook of life of people who lived in a different world to their own.

  Ridiculous they seemed, all of them! Louisa felt a sudden desire tolaugh aloud, as she realized how very like a theatre the place was,with its boxes, its stalls, and its galleries. But in this case thosewho usually sat in stalls or boxes, displaying starched shirt-fronts,bare shoulders, and bad manners, they were the actors now made to moveor dance or sing, to squirm or to suffer for the delectation of pitand gallery.

  On the left a group of young men with keen young faces, all turnedtoward Luke and toward Louisa and her father. Note-books protruded outof great-coat pockets, fountain pens and indelible pencils snuggledclose to hand. Lucky the lightning artist who could sketch for thebenefit of his journalistic patrons a rough outline of the gentlemanwith more than one foot in the dock. Close by, a couple of boys inblue uniform, with wallet at the side and smart pill-box cap on thehead, stood ready to take messages, fractions of news, hurried reportsto less-favoured mortals whose duty or desire kept them away from thisscene of poignant interest.

  Louisa saw them all, as in a vivid dream. Never afterward could shebelieve that it had all been reality: the coroner, the jury, the groupof journalists, the idle, whispering, pushing crowd, the loud murmurswhich now and again reached her ear:

  "Oh! you may take it from me that to-morrow he'll stand in the dock."

  "Such brazen indifference I've never seen."

  "And they've actually found the dagger with which he murdered thewretched man."

  "Brrr! it makes me feel quite creepy."

  "Yes, he was at your At Home, dear, wasn't he? a week ago."
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  "Oh! one had to ask him for form's sake, you know."

  "Poor Lord Radclyffe, what a terrible blow for him."

  "They say he'll never recover his speech or the use of his limbs."

  "Silence there!"

  The cackling herd of geese stopped its whisperings, astonished atbeing thus reproved. Louisa again felt that irrepressible desire tolaugh, they were so funny, she thought, so irresponsible! these peoplewho had come to gape at Luke.

  Now they were silent and orderly at the bidding of authority. An oldwoman, with black bonnet and rusty jacket, was munching sandwiches ina corner seat: a young man at the farther end of the room wassharpening a lead-pencil.

  By the door through which a brief while ago coroner and jury, alsoLuke and Mr. Dobson had filed out--the door which apparently gave inthe direction of the mortuary--a small group in shabby clothes hadjust entered the court room, escorted by one of the ushers. The lattermade his way to the coroner's table and whispered to that gentlemansomewhat animatedly. Louisa could not catch what he said, but she sawthat the coroner suddenly lost his morose air of habitual ennui, andappeared keen and greatly interested in what he heard.

  He gave certain instructions to the usher, who beckoned to the groupin the shabby clothes. They advanced with timid, anxious gait, a worldof unspoken apologies in their eyes as they surveyed the brilliantcompany through which they had to pass. The feathers on Lady Ducies'hat attracted the attention of one of them--a young girl with roundblack eyes and highly decorated headgear: she nudged her companion andpointed to the gargantuan hat and both the girls giggled almosthysterically.

  The man in front led the way. He was pale and cadaverous looking withscanty hair and drooping moustache: in shape he was very like abeetle, with limbs markedly bowed and held away from his stoopingbody. There were five of them altogether, three women and two men.Louisa was interested in them, vaguely wondering who they were.

  That they were personages of importance in this case was apparent fromthe fact that the usher was bringing some chairs for the women andplacing them close to those on which sat the solicitors, and Luke andLouisa herself. The men were made to stand close by and remained justwhere they had been told to stay, tweed cap in hand, miserablyconscious of the many pairs of eyes that were fixed upon them.

  "Who are these people, do you know?"

  Lady Ducies was leaning forward and had contrived to catch Luke's ear.

  He turned round very politely.

  "How do you do, Mr. de Mountford," she continued in her shrill treble,which she took no trouble to subdue, "you hadn't seen me, had you?"

  "No, Lady Ducies," he replied, "I had not."

  "I don't wonder," she commented placidly, "you must feel so anxious.Who are these common people over there, do you know?"

  "No, I do not."

  "Some of your late cousin's former associates perhaps?" suggested LadyFlintshire, "Maria Annunziata," who sat close by.

  "My dear, how can you suggest such a thing," retorted the other, "theyare so common."

  "Silence there!"

  And once more the cackling geese were still.