from her own grief and not merely in sympathy for me, 'Oh,
Alan, I'm so dreadfully sorry! Poor, poor Kathe! Such a
sweet, beautiful girl, and always kindness itself to everyone!
What a pity! What a terrible pity!'
Once more Dr Fraser was sitting on the bed, but this time
we were alone. Since the previous day the pain of my cuts
and lacerations had become less and this in itself made it
easier for me to appear calm as he sat looking down at me
from under his thick eyebrows.
'Ah ye sure, now, Mr Desland, that ye feel equal te hearin"
what Ah have te tell ye?' he began. 'Ah know ye asked for
me te come, but Ah'm afraid ye're bound to find it verra
distressin', an' if ye'd rather wait a while still, there's no
necessity for ye to be forcin' yersel'.'
'No, I'd like to hear it now,' I said. 'I can manage it.'
'Ye can?' he answered. 'Good man! Well, as ye'll understand,
a dorctor not infrequently has the task of tellin'
people distressin' things, but the untimely death of a beautiful
young girrl - a young wife - that's enough te make any
dorctor wish he hadnae such a duty te perform. Ye must
believe, Mr Desland, that Ah feel for ye verra sincerely. This
is no' just a routine matter te me. Ah can assure ye.'
He paused, seeming to be considering his next words. At
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length, looking at me directly, he said, 'Ah must ask ye - did
ye know, now, that yere wife was pregnant?'
I had not been expecting the question. After a few
moments I answered, 'We both felt fairly sure.'
'Ay - about six or seven weeks. She'd no' had a test, then,
or any medical examination?'
'No. She didn't want to. I think she - well, it was more to
her - to her fancy, I suppose you'd say - to wait until she
was in no doubt herself.'
'Ay - sometimes they prefer that. It's a great pity, but
ye're no' te blame for lett'n' her go her own gait in a matter
o' that sort. How long had ye been married?'
'A little over six weeks."
'Ye'd not been livin' together before that?'
'Oh, no! No, Doctor Fraser! We'd met only three weeks
before our marriage!'
'Had she been married before?'
'No.'
'Ah see. Well, now, Ah'm sorry te have t'ask ye this, Mr
Desland, but did ye know that she'd already borne a child?'
Panic rose in me. What I knew, I knew. But what did he
know? Had they already been making some sort of investigation?
What was he leading up to, in his deliberate, Scotch
way? With an effort I forced myself to reply as steadily as
I could.
'I - yes, I knew. That's to say, it -' In spite of all I could
do, my voice broke. 'That child - it died - some time before
we were married. That's all I know. Do you mind telling me
how you know?'
Clearly, he had not perceived my alarm.
'Well, d'ye see, she had an episiotomy scar. With a firrst
baby, ye know, an incision sometimes has te be made at the
mouth of the vagina, te facilitate the birrth. So we know
that a child, living or dead, she had surely had.'
He paused, and now it was I who misunderstood his
motive. You'll get nothing out of me, I thought desperately:
you'll get nothing out of me. But he was only considering
how best to continue his explanation.
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'It may be,' he said at last, 'it may be that yon firrst confinement
of yere puir wife's wasnae very skilfully attended.
D'ye think that's pawssible, now?'
'It's possible.'
'Ay, well; so at that time she might have picked up - Ah
fear she probably did - what we call a tubal infection; that's
te say, one affecting the Fallopian tubes: and if it isnae
cleared up, that can lead te an ectopic pregnancy - a
fertilized ovum that's no' in the uterus, but in the Fallopian
tube. D'ye follow?'
I nodded.
'Such a pregnancy starts by appearing normal. The girrl
misses a period and so on. But if it's no' diagnosed airly,
it's verra dangerous. At six, or seven, or eight weeks it's likely
te rupture. Sexual intercourse, for example, could well bring
it on. Pain's rare before the rupture, but once that takes
place there's both pain and shock.'
Seeing my distress, he took my hands in his, though
lightly, because of the wounds and bandages.
'Now when yere puir wife was brought in, d'ye see, they
had no inkling of any o' this. They were thinkin' o' rape
and foul play and Gawd knows what. It's not for me te be
criticizin' ma own colleagues, Mr Desland, though sometimes
Ah could find it in ma heart te do so. But that's just between
ourselves. It wasnae till Ah was called to see her the night
before last that anyone formed an idea of such a diagnosis.
She died an hour or so after that, puir lass, but ye can believe
me when Ah tell ye that in any case it's verra doubtful
whether she could have been saved. The post-mortem confirmed
that it was a severe case from the start. At least we
were able te keep her out of pain.'
'I see,' I said. And then, still aloud, 'So even here, there's
a rational explanation.'
'There's always that.' He could not have understood me,
but nothing in his face or voice showed it.
'Yes. But - things aren't always what they seem, are they?'
He looked puzzled for a moment, but then answered, 'Indeed
they are nawt. Ye're a brave man, Mr Desland, but
Ah'm glad ye have yere mother here with ye. Ye've heard
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me out most courageously, but the grief an' shock are gawn'
te catch up with ye and press ye hard, an' Ah'm glad te
think ye'll have her by to help ye, for Ah'm afraid that that's
no' quite all there is te the business.'
'What do you mean, Doctor Fraser?'
'Well, knowing all Ah do of the case, Ah wish ye could
have been spared the business of an inquest, but that's no'
pawssible, for an inquest there has te be. Neither the police
nor the coroner himself are gawn' t' budge on that. In the
firrst place, d'ye see, yere wife was brought here as an
emergency: no dorctor had been treatin' her. But secondly,
settin' aside the medical aspect, ye'll understand, Mr Desland
- an' Ah'm no' makin' any sort o' pairsonal comment there
were unusual circumstances attachin' to the whole sad
business, and into those circumstances the coroner has a
duty to inquire. That's no' my affair, but he'll be askin' ye te
tell him what took place - as no doubtye can.'
I said nothing and he went on, 'Well, Ah wasnae gawn'
te say more now - an' so Ah've already told those concerned
- if Ah'd formed the opinion that ye seemed in no fit state te
hear it; but since ye do not, Ah'll go on te tell ye that they're
naturally anxious te get the weary business over as soon as
may be. And Ah dare say that since it has te be done, ye
wouldnae disagree wi' that.'
I shook my head.
'To-morrow's Friday; and what Ah've been authorized te
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ask ye is this: would ye rather it took place to-morrow, or
would ye prefer te wait until next week? Ah think masel'
that ye're fit te go through with it to-morrow - it'll no' be a
lawng business - always provided that you yerself agree. But
if ye do not, or if ye want more time, Ah'm prepared te
support ye medically an' recommend that it should be held
over.'
'It's very good of you, Dr Fraser, but I agree with you.
Waiting would make no difference to me. I'll telephone my
solicitor, and if he can come down in time, then I think it
would be best to hold it to-morrow.'
'Ah'll look in on ye agen about half-past eleven, and if
ye're still o' the same mind, Ah'll tell the coroner that that's
363
yere feelin' in the matter. Ah know him, o' course. He's a
decent fellow, and Ah'm sure he'll no' be out te cause ye
more distress than can be helped.'
He nodded, unsmilingly but kindly, and stood up to go. At
the door he turned and said,
'Ah'll just be addin' a word of thanks on ma own account,
Mr Desland. Ma task could well have been a great deal
harder than ye've made it. So Gawd bless ye, now.'
And what am I to say to the coroner, Kathe? 0 Kathe, for
both our sakes be with me; only help me, tell me what I
must say! Take ye no thought how or what thing ye shall
answer, for the Holy Ghost shall teach you in the same
hour what ye ought to say.
But what happened, Mr Desland? What happened? Why
did you leave her? Why was she alone when she was found
naked and out of her mind? Why?
'Alan, darling,' said my mother, coming in, 'that kind
Sister says it's all right for me to use the electric ring outside.
Shall I make some tea for us both now? And I can stay
tonight until you're asleep, they say.'
27
THEY would not be wanting to make any difficulties. The
hospital would not be wanting to make difficulties, I reflected
next morning, as I dressed and tried to eat a reasonable part
of my breakfast before Nurse Dempster could urge me to do
so. They had failed to diagnose a fatal ectopic pregnancy
for several hours after the patient had come into their hands.
The young doctor in Casualty had shown an unprofessional
lack of control, in effect calling me a liar and accusing me of
violence and rape in the hearing of others. The hospital
themselves might well believe that Kathe could have been
saved and that I, feeling the same, might mean to make
trouble for them. They were not to know that I knew that
364
nothing could have saved her and that in truth the circumstances
which appeared so fortuitous were nothing of the
kind. Nor were they to know why I, no less than they, had
every reason to want a swift and final conclusion and as few
questions as possible.
No, they would not be wanting to make difficulties. But the
coroner and the police might well be of another mind. And
what possible explanation could I give of what had passed
between Kathe and myself?
Adding to my perplexity and sense of helplessness was the
sheer physical difficulty of everything I had to do. I could
not bath properly, because of my bandaged wrist. I could not
shave my lacerated face. Several of my fingers were still
painful, so that I could scarcely button my shirt or tie my
shoe-laces. When I had finished I felt untidy and ill-turnedout.
It mattered little, I thought.
It was another dark, wet morning; cold, with sudden
squalls rattling the rain across the window-panes. Soon
after nine my mother went out to buy me a macintosh, for
my overcoat (though not our suitcases) had somehow disappeared.
Brian Lucas had arrived the evening before and we had
talked for the best part of an hour. Himself a rather diffident,
uncommunicative man, happier with conveyancing and probate
than court appearances, he was clearly acutely conscious
of the wretched nature of what had happened, and in his
wish to spare me as much as possible had in effect rested
content with emphasizing that the medical evidence would
be enough to dispose of any suggestion that I could be held
directly to blame. He had, indeed, invited me, rather hesitantly,
to tell him how Kathe and I had come to be on the
beach and what had occurred there, but when I replied, untruthfully,
that I felt no anxiety on this score and would
prefer not to have to recount it more than once - that is, to
the coroner - he seemed content to leave the matter there;
or at all events did not persist. We had never been more than
friendly acquaintances; and in the circumstances he no doubt
felt fastidious, and reluctant to press me for embarrassing
details of what he knew to have been a sexual business.
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'You're sure about that, are you?' he asked, and when I
repeated that I was, merely replied, 'Well, that's a matter
for your own decision. I'm sure you've got nothing to worry
about from a purely legal point of view.' Perhaps he thought
that, this being so, he might as well stay outside something
which he believed his client could not creditably explain.
In any case I had made but a poor fist of the consultation.
Continuously, throughout the three days which I had spent
in the hospital, I had been oppressed by a crushing sense of
grief and loss, and by the horror - the recollection - appearing
again and again before my inward eye. I could not gather
my wits or concentrate on anything, much less think about
the future. Sometimes I found that I was weeping without
being able to recall when I had begun to do so. Like everyone
overwhelmed by a deep, personal sorrow, I felt shut in
with it alone. The world had withered, shrunken and enclosed,
for I had no interest and no hope in it, and whenever
I was talking to others - even to my mother - felt between
them and myself an invisible barrier of affliction which they
could not cross, however full of sympathy they might feel.
I had never been so unhappy in my life before.
Sitting on the bed and waiting for my mother to return, I
wished I had exercised Dr Eraser's option of waiting another
three days. Had I done so, I thought, perhaps I might after
all have been able to devise some convincing explanation for
the coroner. Yet I knew that I would not. Kathe and I had
separated on the beach, and she had been found out of her
mind and mortally ill; while the police had come upon me
self-injured, in a state of incoherent distress. There was
medical evidence of an earlier childbirth. It was not certain,
but very possible, that they would infer that I knew something
which they ought to know too. Why did you leave her,
MrDesland? Why?
'O Kathe,' I whispered, my face in my hands, 'only help me!'
Time passed. I could hear, in the silence, a thrush singing
somewhere outside. At length I got up and, walking over to
/>
the window, stood watching the rain speckling the asphalt.
I was still standing there when the time came to set out.
366
Our party consisted of Lucas, my mother and myself, together
with Tony, who had once again driven down in the
early morning (it was he who had brought my clothes) and
Nurse Dempster, who joined us at the last moment, saying
that she had been instructed to come with us 'in case I
needed anything'. The hospital, I thought, were dealing with
me like thieves of mercy, but they knew what they did.
The coroner's court was at the local police station. As we
went in, two macintosh-clad men with notebooks tried to
speak to me, but Lucas, who had evidently already made
some sort of reconnaissance, led us straight down the corridor
to the courtroom, giving them no opportunity.
The place was larger than I had been expecting, and looked
like a cross between a lecture-theatre and a committee-room.
On this stormy morning it seemed dark, and cheerlessly
gloomy. The coroner's desk stood in the middle and on
either side of it, facing inwards, were three or four rows of
wooden seats like pews. In one of these, facing us as we
came in, Dr Fraser was sitting, together with a middle-aged
man whom I had not seen before. He nodded and smiled as
we crossed over and took seats between him and a little
group of policemen, among whom I recognized the officers
who had driven me to the hospital on Tuesday morning.
Whoever was in charge had evidently been waiting for all
those directly involved to take their places before letting
in the press, for now the notebook-men, together with two
or three other people who also looked like reporters, came
in and found seats on the benches opposite. A few moments
later we all rose as the coroner entered.
The coroner was spare and brisk, about fifty, with rimless
glasses, greying hair and the alert but conventional air of a
town clerk or a bank manager. Without smiling or looking
directly at anyone he said quietly, 'Please sit down,' took
his place and then sat silently for about a minute, methodically
arranging his various documents and making entries on
a printed sheet. Then he looked up and said interrogatively,
'It's rather a dark morning, but perhaps we don't quite need
the lights?' No one said anything to this and after a few
moments he went on, Ts Mr Alan Desland here?'
367
I stood up for the second time and replied, 'Yes, sir.'
'Mr Desland, I understand that it's with your agreement
that we're holding these proceedings today and that you
prefer that to a postponement until next week. Am I right?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Well, I realize that you must have been suffering a great
deal and also that this inquest is bound to cause you further
distress. I shall do everything possible to spare you and so,
I'm sure, will everyone else concerned. If at any point you feel
that you want me to adjourn the court, you've only to ask.'
All this was uttered in the courteous but perfunctory tone
of someone whose real motive is that no one shall be able
to say afterwards that every consideration was not shown or
that the proper things were not said. 'A polite stander of no
nonsense,' I thought. 'A man who will show every courtesy
consistent with not letting go of anything he's got his teeth
into. Well, perhaps that's best. Too much kindness and I
might very well collapse again, as I did with Dr Fraser.' I
said, 'Thank you, sir,' and sat down.
'Now,' said the coroner, 'may I start by asking everyone
concerned to tell me, one by one, who they are? Let's begin
with the police, shall we?'
Anxiety was closing round me like a fog, dulling my mind.
Each witness's voice, following upon the last, seemed to be
blowing the courtroom up like a balloon, tighter and tighter.
Before the end it would burst in my face, to disclose - I put
my thumb between my teeth, bit it and stared unseeingly
across the sombre room towards the reporters by the door.
A heavily-built young man in a brown suit, who had been
sitting with the police, stood up, said his name was Martin
Sims, and took the oath '... that I will speak the truth, the
whole truth and nothing but the truth'. I listened as he told
of finding Kathe wandering on the verge of the road while
driving to work on Tuesday morning, the 9th July. He was
neither fluent nor articulate and his evidence finally became