‘Do you not? I am glad to hear it. I rather thought that you did.’ As if aware that the conversation had become inappropriately light, Hardcastle turned to Dr McFee, magisterial and sharp-voiced. ‘What have you given him? He looks unconscious, not asleep. Did you not know that this man could be the principal suspect in a murder inquiry and that I would want to question him?’
McFee said quietly, ‘To me, sir, he is my patient. When I first saw him he was obviously drunk, violent and becoming out of control. Later, before the draught I gave him had time to take full effect, he became incoherent with fear, calling out in terror but none of it making sense. Apparently he had a vision of bodies hanging on gibbets, their necks stretched. He was a man inhabiting a nightmare even before he slept.’
Hardcastle said, ‘Gibbets? Hardly surprising given his situation. What was the medication? I assume it was some kind of sedative.’
‘One I mix myself and have used in a number of cases. I persuaded him to take it to lessen his distress. You could have had no hope of getting sense out of him in that state.’
‘Nor in his present state. How long before you expect him to be awake and sober enough to be questioned?’
‘That is difficult to say. Sometimes after a shock the mind takes refuge in unconsciousness and sleep is deep and prolonged. Judging from the dose I administered, he should be conscious by nine tomorrow morning, possibly earlier, but I cannot be precise, I had difficulty in persuading him to take more than a few mouthfuls. With Mr Darcy’s consent I propose to stay until my patient is conscious. I have also Mrs Wickham under my care.’
‘And no doubt also sedated and unfit to be questioned?’
‘Mrs Wickham was hysterical with shock and distress. She had convinced herself that her husband was dead. I was attending a grievously disturbed woman who needed the relief of sleep. You would have got nothing out of her until she became calmer.’
‘I might have got the truth. I think you and I understand each other, Doctor. You have your responsibilities and I have mine. I am not an unreasonable man. I have no wish to disturb Mrs Wickham until the morning.’ He turned to Dr Belcher. ‘Have you any observation to make, Belcher?’
‘None, Sir Selwyn, except to say that I concur with Dr McFee’s action in administering a sedative to Wickham. He could not usefully have been questioned in the state described and, if he were later committed for trial, anything he did say might be challenged in court.’
Hardcastle turned to Darcy. ‘Then I shall return at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. Until then, Headborough Brownrigg and Petty Constable Mason will be on guard and will take possession of the key. If Wickham requires attention from Dr McFee they will call for him, otherwise no one will be admitted to this room until I return. The constables will need blankets, and some food and drink to see them through – cold meats, bread, the usual.’
Darcy said shortly, ‘Everything necessary will be attended to.’
It was then that Hardcastle seemed for the first time to take note of Wickham’s greatcoat slung over one of the chairs and the leather bag on the floor beside it. ‘Is this all the baggage there was in the chaise?’
Darcy said, ‘Apart from a trunk, a hatbox and a bag belonging to Mrs Wickham there were two other bags, one marked GW and one with Captain Denny’s name. As I was told by Pratt that the chaise had been hired to take the gentlemen on to the King’s Arms at Lambton, the bags were left in the chaise until we returned with Captain Denny’s body, when they were brought into the house.’
Hardcastle said, ‘They will, of course, need to be handed over. I will confiscate all the bags except those of Mrs Wickham. In the meantime, let us see what he had on his person.’
He took the heavy greatcoat in his hands and shook it vigorously. Three dried leaves caught in one of the capes fluttered to the floor and Darcy saw that there were a few adhering to the sleeves. Hardcastle handed the coat to Mason and himself dug his hands into the pockets. From the left-hand pocket he drew out the usual minor possessions which a traveller might be expected to carry: a pencil, a small notebook but with no entries, two handkerchiefs, a flask which Hardcastle, after unscrewing the top, said had contained whisky. The right-hand pocket yielded a more interesting object, a leather notecase. Opening it Hardcastle drew out a wad of notes, carefully folded, and counted them.
‘Thirty pounds precisely. In notes, obviously new, or at least recently issued. I’ll give you a receipt for them, Darcy, until we can discover their legal owner. I’ll place the money in my safe tonight. Tomorrow morning I may get an explanation of how he came by such a sum. One possibility is that he took it from Denny’s body and, if so, we may have a motive.’
Darcy opened his mouth to protest but, deciding that he would only make matters worse, said nothing.
Hardcastle said, ‘And now I propose to view the body. I take it that the corpse is under guard?’
Darcy said, ‘Not under guard. Captain Denny’s body is in the gunroom, the door of which is locked. The table there seemed convenient. I have in my possession the keys both to the room and to the cupboard containing the weapons and ammunition; it hardly seemed necessary to arrange any additional safeguards. We can go there now. If you have no objection, I would like Dr McFee to accompany us. You may feel a second opinion on the state of the body would be an advantage.’
After a moment’s hesitation, Hardcastle said, ‘I can see no objection. You yourself will doubtless wish to be present and I shall need Dr Belcher and Headborough Brownrigg but no others will be necessary. Let us not make a public spectacle of the dead. We shall, of course, need plenty of candles.’
Darcy said, ‘I had foreseen that. Extra candles have been placed in the gunroom ready to be lit. I think you will find that the light is as adequate as it can be at night.’
Hardcastle said, ‘I need someone to watch with Mason while Brownrigg is away. Stoughton would seem an appropriate choice. Can you call him back, Darcy?’
Stoughton, as if expecting the summons, was waiting close to the door. He entered the room and stood silently next to Mason. Picking up their candles, Hardcastle and the party left, and Darcy heard the key being turned in the lock behind them.
The house was so quiet that it could have been deserted. Mrs Reynolds had ordered any servants still preparing food for the morrow to go to their beds and of the staff only she, Stoughton and Belton remained on duty. Mrs Reynolds was waiting in the hall beside a table which held a group of new candles in high silver candlesticks. Four had been lit and the flames, burning steadily, seemed to emphasise rather than illuminate the surrounding darkness of the great entrance hall.
Mrs Reynolds said, ‘There may be more than needed, but I thought you might want additional light.’
Each man took up and lit a fresh candle. Hardcastle said, ‘Leave the others where they are at present. The constable will fetch them if necessary.’ He turned to Darcy. ‘You said you have the key to the gunroom and that you have already provided an adequate number of candles?’
‘There are fourteen already there, Sir Selwyn. I took them in myself with Stoughton. Apart from that visit no one has entered the gunroom since Captain Denny’s body was placed there.’
‘So let us get started. The sooner the body is examined the better.’
Darcy was relieved that Hardcastle had accepted his right to be one of the party. Denny had been brought to Pemberley and it was fitting that the master of the house should be there when his body was viewed although he could think of no way in which he could be of particular use. He led the candlelit procession towards the rear of the house and, taking two keys on a ring from his pocket, used the larger to unlock the door to the gunroom. It was surprisingly large with pictures of old shooting parties and their spoils and a shelf with the bright leather spines of records going back at least a century, a mahogany desk and chair and a locked cupboard containing the guns and ammunition. The narrow table had obviously been moved out from the wall and was now in the middle of the room with t
he body covered by a clean sheet.
Before setting off to inform Sir Selwyn of Denny’s death, Darcy had instructed Stoughton to provide candlesticks of equal size and the best tall wax candles, an extravagance which he guessed would be the cause of some muttering between Stoughton and Mrs Reynolds. These were candles normally reserved for the dining room. Together he and Stoughton had set them up in two rows on the desktop, taper to hand. Now he lit them and as the taper found each candle-tip the room brightened, suffusing the watching faces with a warm glow and softening even Hardcastle’s strong bony features into gentleness, while each trail of smoke rose like incense, its transitory sweetness lost in the smell of beeswax. It seemed to Darcy that the desktop with its glittering rows of light had become an over-decorated altar, the sparsely furnished and functional gunroom a chapel, and that the five of them were secretly engaged in the obsequies of some alien but exacting religion.
As they stood like inappropriately clad acolytes round the body, Hardcastle folded back the sheet. The right eye was blackened with blood which had been smeared over a large part of the face, but the left eye was wide open, the pupil turned upward so that Darcy, standing behind Denny’s head, felt that it was fixed on him, not with the blankness of death, but holding in its sticky gaze a lifetime of reproach.
Dr Belcher placed his hands on Denny’s face, arms and legs, then said, ‘Rigor mortis is already present in the face. As a preliminary estimate I would say he has been dead about five hours.’
Hardcastle did a brief calculation, then said, ‘That confirms what we have already surmised, that he died shortly after he left the chaise and approximately at the time the shots were heard. He was killed at about nine o’clock last evening. What about the wound?’
Dr Belcher and Dr McFee moved closer, handing their candles to Brownrigg who, placing his own candle on the desktop, raised them high as the two doctors peered closely at the dark patch of blood.
Dr Belcher said, ‘We need to wash this away before we can ascertain the depth of the blow but, before doing so, we should note the fragment of a dead leaf and the small smear of dirt both above the effusion of blood. At some point after the infliction of the wound he must have fallen on his face. Where is the water?’ He looked round as if expecting it to materialise out of the air.
Darcy put his head outside the door and instructed Mrs Reynolds to bring a bowl of water and some small towels. They were so quick in coming that Darcy thought that she must have anticipated the request and been waiting at the tap in the adjoining cloakroom. She handed the bowl and towels to Darcy without entering the room and Dr Belcher went over to his case of instruments, took out some small balls of white wool and firmly wiped the skin clean, then tossed the reddened wool into the water. He and Dr McFee in turn looked closely at the wound and again touched the skin around it.
It was Dr Belcher who finally spoke. ‘He was hit with something hard, possibly round in shape, but as the skin has been broken I can’t be specific about the shape and size of the weapon. What I am sure of is that the blow didn’t kill him. It produced a considerable effusion of blood, as head wounds often do, but the blow could not have been fatal. I don’t know whether my colleague agrees.’
Dr McFee took his time prodding the skin round the wound, and after about a minute said, ‘I agree. The wound is superficial.’
Hardcastle’s hard voice broke the silence. ‘Then turn him over.’
Denny was a heavy man, but Brownrigg, with the help of Dr McFee, turned him in one movement. Hardcastle said, ‘More light, please,’ and Darcy and Brownrigg moved over to the desk and each took one of the cluster of candles and, holding a candle in each hand, approached the body. There was silence as if no one present wished to state the obvious. Then Hardcastle said, ‘There, gentlemen, you have the cause of death.’
They saw a gash some four inches long across the base of the skull, but its full extent obscured by the matting of hair, some of which had been forced into the wound. Dr Belcher went over to his bag and, returning with what looked like a small silver knife, carefully lifted the hair away from the skull, revealing a gash about a quarter of an inch wide. The hair beneath it was stiff and matted, but it was difficult to see whether this was with blood or some exudation from the wound. Darcy made himself look closely but a mixture of horror and pity made the sickness rise in his throat. There was a sound like a low involuntary groan and he wondered whether it was he who had made it.
Both doctors bent closely over the body. Dr Belcher again took his time, then said, ‘He has been bludgeoned but there is no ragged laceration, which suggests that the weapon was heavy but smooth-edged. The wound is characteristic of severe head wounds with strands of hair, tissue and blood vessels impacted into the bone, but even if the skull has remained intact, the haemorrhaging of the blood vessels beneath the bone will have resulted in internal bleeding between the skull and the membrane covering the brain. The blow was struck with extraordinary force, either by an assailant taller than the victim or one equal in size. I would say that the attacker was right-handed and that the weapon was something like the back of an axe, that is, it was heavy but blunt. If it had been the blade of an axe or sword, the wound would have been deeper, the body almost decapitated.’
Hardcastle said, ‘So the murderer first attacked from the front, disabling his victim, then when he staggered away, blinded by blood which he instinctively tried to wipe from his eyes, the killer attacked again, this time from the rear. Could the weapon have been a large sharp-edged stone?’
Belcher said, ‘Not sharp-edged, the wound is not jagged. Certainly it could be a stone, heavy but smooth-edged, and no doubt there were some lying about in the woodland. Do not the stones and wood for repairs to the estate come down that path? Some stones could have fallen from a cart and later been kicked into the undergrowth, possibly to lie there half-concealed for years. But if it was a stone, it would need an exceptionally strong man to deliver such a blow. Much more likely the victim had fallen on his face and the stone was brought down with force while he was lying prone and helpless.’
Hardcastle asked, ‘How long could he have lived with this wound?’
‘That is difficult to say. Death may have occurred within a matter of seconds but certainly could not have been long delayed.’
He turned to Dr McFee, who said, ‘I have known cases where a fall on the head has produced few symptoms other than a headache, and the patient has continued with the business of his life only to die some hours later. That could not have been the case here. The wound is too serious to be survived for more than a very short time, if at all.’
Dr Belcher lowered his head still nearer the wound. He said, ‘I shall be able to report on the damage to the brain when I have made my examination post-mortem.’
Darcy knew that Hardcastle very much disliked post-mortem examinations and although Dr Belcher invariably won when they had a dispute on the matter, he now said, ‘Will that really be necessary, Belcher? Is the cause of death not apparent to us all? What appears to have happened is an assailant made the original blow to the forehead while facing his victim. Captain Denny, blinded by blood, then tried to escape only to be dealt from the back the fatal blow. We know from the debris on his forehead that he fell face-downwards. I believe you said when you reported the crime, Darcy, that you found him on his back.’
‘We did, Sir Selwyn, and that is how he was lifted onto the stretcher. This is the first time I have seen this wound.’
Again there was silence, then Hardcastle addressed Belcher. ‘Thank you, doctor. You will, of course, undertake any further examination of the body that you feel to be necessary, I have no wish to curb the progress of scientific knowledge. We have done as much as we can here. We shall now remove the body.’ He turned to Darcy, ‘You may expect me at nine o’clock tomorrow morning when I hope to speak to George Wickham and to members of the family and household, so that alibis for the estimated time of death can be established. I am sure you will accept the nec
essity for this. As I have ordered, Headborough Brownrigg and Constable Mason will remain on duty and will be responsible for guarding Wickham. The room will be kept locked from the inside and only opened in case of necessity. At all times there will be two watchers. I would like your assurance that these instructions will be complied with.’
Darcy said, ‘Naturally they will. Is there any refreshment I can offer you or Dr Belcher before you leave?’
‘None, thank you.’ He added, as if aware that something more should be said, ‘I’m sorry that this tragedy should have occurred on your land. Inevitably it will be a cause of distress, particularly to the ladies of the family. The fact that you and Wickham were not on good terms will not make it easier to bear. As a fellow magistrate you will understand my responsibility in this matter. I shall send a message to the coroner and I hope that the inquest will be held at Lambton within the next few days. There will be a local jury. You will, of course, be required to attend with the other witnesses to the finding of the body.’
‘I shall be there, Sir Selwyn.’
Hardcastle said, ‘I shall need help with the stretcher to convey the victim to the mortuary van.’ He turned to Brownrigg. ‘Can you take over the duty of watching Wickham and send Stoughton down? And, Dr McFee, since you are here and would no doubt wish to be helpful, perhaps you could assist in conveying the body.’
Within five minutes Denny’s corpse, with some panting on Dr McFee’s part, was carried from the gunroom and placed in the mortuary van. The driver was woken from sleep, Sir Selwyn and Dr Belcher got back into the coach and Darcy and Stoughton waited at the open door until the vehicles clattered out of sight.
As Stoughton turned to go back into the house, Darcy said, ‘Hand me the keys, Stoughton. I’ll see to the locks. I want some fresh air.’
The wind had dropped now but heavy dollops of rain were falling into the pitted surface of the river under the full moon. How many times had he stood here in solitude, escaping for a few minutes from the music and chatter of the ballroom? Now, behind him, the house was silent and dark, and the beauty which had been a solace all his life could not touch his spirit. Elizabeth must be in bed, but he doubted that she was asleep. He needed the comfort of being with her but he knew that she must be exhausted, and even in his longing for her voice, her reassurance, her love, he would not wake her. But when he had entered and turned the key, then stretched to thrust back the heavy bolts, he was aware of a faint light behind him and, turning, he saw Elizabeth, candle in hand, coming down the stairs and moving into his arms.