Page 16 of Death at Fournier Downs
Fournier’s icy glare finally cut toward the coroner. “None. I do not care for whatever it is you are insinuating.”
Wilkes held up a hand, palm forward. “No disrespect is intended, Your Grace, I am simply reviewing all facts and possibilities, as my duty requires.”
“The fact is,” Hugh said, risking a reprimand from the coroner, “the only reason you were summoned, Dr. Wilkes, is because the duchess petitioned Lord Webber for an inquest. He was ready to forgo the cost of a coroner and certify the death as accidental.”
Webber glared at Hugh, his fleshy chin cutting into the starched points of his collar, but it would take more than a county magistrate to cow him.
“Her Grace’s testimony casts serious doubt onto the theories of death by accident or misadventure,” Hugh went on.
“Officer Marsden, I am in agreement, however I will ask you to allow me to conduct this inquest as I see fit,” Wilkes said.
Hugh nodded in assent, unsurprised and undeterred by the set down. If anything, it gave him hope.
“Now, if we can—” Wilkes began.
“May we view the body as a whole?” the duke interrupted.
The request was met with more uncomfortable foot shuffling. The gathered men exchanged curious glances as the duke held his chin high. The man hardly looked as if he’d like to see the body as a whole; in fact, his coloring was a little peaky.
Wilkes only hesitated a moment. “Yes, of course. That is only proper for an inquest.” He then retracted the length of the sheet covering the countess. She wore a simple cap-sleeved chemise, which reached to just below the knee.
“Is this really necessary?” Lord Edgerton asked, looking away from the body. “It is unseemly.”
“Death is often such,” Wilkes replied, brushing off the baron with admirable restraint. Hugh wasn’t sure he could have been so tactful. “Your Grace, did you have a particular question in mind?”
Fournier cast a quick glance toward the countess’s bared arms. Bruises discolored the length of the left arm, while the right only had a few around the wrist, along with some scratches.
“How to you find the bruising, Dr. Wilkes? Consistent with a fall into the quarry?” the duke asked.
Hugh clamped down on his inner cheek to keep a grin from forming. The duchess had whispered something into the duke’s ear upon leaving the storeroom. She’d put him up to this.
“Yes, I was coming to that,” Wilkes said, taking a prolonged look at the duke. Then, “Observe the scratches and the bruises around her right wrist.”
Hugh did, and then realized why Audrey had wanted them pointed out during the inquest.
“They aren’t consistent with a fall from the quarry,” Hugh said.
“Correct,” Wilkes said, with another blasé glance at Hugh. “They appear to have been inflicted very soonbeforedeath.”
“Those scratches,” one of the farmers said, speaking up for the first time. “Are they from some scrub brush? Thorns?”
“Possibly,” Wilkes replied. But then, he placed his own fingers along the four gouged lines on her wrist and demonstrated what Hugh thought: that they were more in line with a person’s fingernails.
By all accounts, it looked as if someone had grabbed the countess’s wrist, and in the struggle, left behind evidence.
The jurors glanced toward the magistrate. Conflict darkened his expression. His acquaintance with the earl was well known, and Hugh knew he was not the only man standing here wondering if Lord Webber had obscured some pertinent knowledge.
“I suppose it would be in order for me to raise some questions with Bainbury,” he muttered after a few moments.
“Very good. I will join you,” Wilkes replied. He brought the sheet higher, covering the body. “I do not believe we have enough information at this point to conclusively determine the cause of death. Are we in agreement? Please make your opinions known.”
Nods and murmurs of assent followed, though Lord Edgerton grumbled, “What now? Are we to meet again another day? The poor woman requires a burial.”
“She will receive one, my lord, in due time. Thank you for attending gentlemen.” Wilkes took a small bow toward the grouping of men, dismissing them. He then said, “Your Grace, Officer Marsden, might I have a word?”
Hugh anticipated a scathing reprimand from the coroner—for a simple, unobtrusive observer, he had been rather loquacious.
Wilkes waited until the room cleared before relaxing his shoulders somewhat. After a protracted moment, he said, “Your Grace, I do not believe your wife is a murderess.”
