Emma Harte - Hold The Dream Part 30

"Are they serious problems?" Alexander asked as the three of them went out into the entrance foyer to get their coats. He squeezed Paula's shoulder affectionately. "Can I be of help?"

Paula gave him a grateful smile. "Thanks, 'Sandy, it's sweet of you to offer. I've got things under control . . ." She hesitated before adding, "Dale Stevens was determined to resign as president this afternoon. I spent over an hour on the phone with him, convinced him to stay on. He has a number of enemies on the board, unmitigated troublemakers who try to tie his hands whenever they can.*' She shook her head ruefully. "What I should have said a moment ago is that he's agreed to stay on as president until the end of the year. All I've done really is buy myself a little time."

Chapter Twenty-seven.

"John Crawford has offered to explain the procedure in a coroner's court," Daisy said, looking from Edwina to Anthony. "He feels it will help us to be more relaxed about the inquest."

Anthony said, "It certainly would. Aunt Daisy." He stood up. "I'll go and fetch Bridget. I think she ought to hear what your family solicitor has to say. Excuse me, I won't be a moment."

As he left the library, Daisy rose and joined Edwina on the sofa. She took her half sister's hand in hers and squeezed it, looking deeply into her care-wom face. "Try not to worry, Edwina. In' a few hours this tragedy will be behind us. We must go on, you know, endeavor to get on with our lives as best we can."

"Yes, Daisy, and thank you for your concern. Ill be all right," Edwina murmured in a tired voice. The last few days of anxiety and strain had taken their toll, and she looked exhausted, near total collapse. The black dress she had cho-, sen to wear, stark and unrelieved by jewelry or any accent color, did nothing to enhance her appearance. It appeared to drain what bit of color she had from her face, emphasizing her pallor more than ever. She looked ill, and her age showed p.r.o.nouncedly this morning.

Grat.i.tude suddenly flickered in Edwina's silvery gray eyes as she added quietly, "I don't know what I would have done without you and Jim. Where is he, Daisy?"

"Right now he's on the phone to Paula, and I believe he has a few calls to make to people on the paper. But he'll join us as soon as he's finished. It's not really essential for him to be briefed. He knows the inner workings of a coroner's court since he used to cover inquests in his early days as a reporter."

"Oh yes, of course, he would understand about those things." Edwina shifted her glance to the clock on the mantelpiece at the other side of the handsome paneled room. "It's almost eight-thirty. We'll have to leave soon to drive into Cork. It'll take us well over an hour, perhaps an hour and a half, you know."

Detecting the nervousness and panic in Edwina's voice, Daisy said rea.s.suringly, "We've plenty of time. The inquest is set for eleven, and this session with John won't take very long. He said he could cover the important points in about ten minutes. After that we can start out, drive in at a leisurely pace. Do stay calm, my dear."

"I'm fine, really. Just a little tired. I didn't sleep very well."

"I don't think any of us did," Daisy said with a slight smile. "I'm going to have another cup of coffee. Would you like one?"

"No, thank you, Daisy." Edwina sat rigidly on the sofa, twisting her hands in her lap, her chest tight with apprehension. For four days and nights she had lived with this terrible fear for her son. She could not wait to go to the county court, to get the inquest over and done with, so that the cloud surrounding him would be lifted. Only then would she be able to relax. She would willingly give her life for Anthony. He was the only person who mattered to her, and once the inquiry into the cause of Min's death was over, she would support him in anything he wished to do, even if that meant accepting Sally Harte, of whom she did not approve. Until the day she died she would regret her pa.s.sive role in the trouble that had developed between Min and Anthony in the past few weeks. Anthony had asked her to intercede, to reason with her, insisting she could influence his estranged wife to proceed with the divorce as originally agreed. Arid perhaps she could have, but she would never know, for she had refused. Now poor Min was dead. She would still be alive if I had spoken to her, Edwina thought for the umpteenth time. The pain in her heart intensified. Her guilt soared.

Daisy brought her cup of coffee and sat down in the chair opposite. She said, "Have you decided what you want to do? Will you come to London for a few days' rest after the funeral?"

"Perhaps I should get away from here," Edwina began and stopped, looking at the door as Anthony came in with Bridget O'Donnell, the housekeeper at Clonloughlin.

"Mlady, Mrs. Amory," Bridget said, inclining her head, taking the chair Anthony indicated.

Daisy, always gracious, smiled at her. "As you know, Mr. Crawford is our solicitor and he came over from London to help in any way'he can. He is going to explain a few things to us, Bridget, as I'm sure Lord Dunvale has told you. However, I just want to add that there's nothing to be alarmed about."

"Oh, I'm not worried, Mrs. Amory, not at all," Bridget answered quickly, in a clipped tone that partially obscured the lilting bur, meeting Daisy's gaze unblinkingly. "It's a very simple matter, telling the truth, and that's what I aim to do.' A small smug smile flicked across her narrow pale mouth and she sat back, crossed her legs. Her red hair gleamed in the sunlight, its fiery hue contrasting markedly with her icy-cold blue eyes.

Daisy's opinion that Bridget O'Donnell was a cool customer, calculating and sure of herself, was reaffirmed. She did not particularly like this woman, whom she guessed to be about thirty-five or thereabouts, even though she did not look it.

Glancing away, Daisy turned to Anthony, but before she had a chance to say anything the door opened to admit John , Crawford, the son of Emma's solicitor of many years and now a senior partner in the firm of Crawford, Creighton, Phipps and Crawford. Of medium height and build, he was nevertheless ramrod straight and had a military bearing which combined with his forceful personality to give him an aura of presence. At forty-six he had sandy hair peppered with gray, right, informed brown eyes in a pleasant face that was oddly bland, and did nothing to reveal a razor-sharp legal brain of great brilliance.

"Good morning. Sorry to keep you waiting," he said briskly, striding forward to join them at the windowed end of the long book-filled room. Daisy offered him coffee but he declined. He remained standing behind a chair, his hands resting lightly on its back. He looked completely relaxed and untroubled, and as he always did with his clients, he endeavored to convey a feeling of supreme confidence whatever his private thoughts and opinions were.

Crawford said, "I realize this is going to be quite an ordeal for you this morning, and so I thought it might help if I gave you a rundown on the manner in which a coroner's court is conducted. Understanding something about the proceedings may lessen everyone's nervousness, I hope." His eyes swept over the four of them. "Feel free to ask any questions as I go along. Since none of you has attended an inquest before, let me first say that the coroner's court is conducted in a rather informal way. However-" He paused, looked at them keenly, and, speaking slowly, as if to give added emphasis to his words, went on, "I must stress that the informality in no way lessens its importance. It is one of the highest courts in the land, and it is ruled by the law of evidence. Any questions?" A sandy brow lifted. "All right, on to the next-"

"Excuse me, John," Daisy said, "could you please clarify what you mean by informal. I don't quite understand."

"Ah yes, of course. By informal I mean that the coroner is not wearing robes. He is dressed in a business suit. Also, the manner of speaking is less formal than other courts. The coroner chats informally with the interested parties before evidence is given on the witness stand under oath."

"Thank you, John. One other question. The coroner is usually a solicitor, a barrister, or a doctor with legal training, isn't he?"

"That is quite correct, Daisy. The coroner is not a judge, even though he is in fact making the ruling. He also has a very wide lat.i.tude in his conduct of an inquiry. If there are no other questions, I shall continue. I now come to a most important point, and it is this: The coroner will accept hearsay in this court, which is not common practice in other courts of law under British justice, where hearsay is inadmissible evidence."

Anthony leaned forward. "What does that mean?" He shook his head. "It can't mean what I think it does!" he went on to exclaim, his voice more high-pitched than normal.

"Yes, Lord Dunvale, it does. A coroner will listen to something a person has heard but does not know to be true . . . rumor, gossip, if you will."

"I see," Anthony said in a more composed voice, even though he was experiencing inner alarm at the thought of the gossip which had been rife in the village for months.

Edwina and Daisy exchanged worried glances. Neither said a word.

John Crawford, aware of their uneasiness, cleared his throat, continued, "Let me qualify hearsay more fully, as it applies in the coroner's court. In this instance, hearsay might be words spoken by the deceased, immediately prior to his or her death, to a member of the family, a friend, a doctor, or a solicitor. A witness might say that the deceased has threatened to commit suicide on one or numerous occasions. Or may venture the opinion that said deceased was depressed. The coroner will take note of these points. Perhaps another example would be useful. A good ill.u.s.tration: Based on the evidence he has gathered, a policeman could pa.s.s the opinion to the coroner, that he believes the deceased has committed suicide. Or then again, a policeman might say his findings lead him to believe that death was accidental. The coroner does take such opinions into account. I would also like to stress that hearsay of this nature does have a bearing on the case and indeed on the rest of the questions posed by the coroner."

"Do the police question any of the witnesses?" Anthony asked.

"No, no. Never. That is not permissible in a coroner's court. Only the coroner is empowered to ask the questions." Crawford swung around as the door opened. . Michael Lamont, the estate manager at Clonloughlin, entered swiftly, closed the door behind him. Tall and heavy-set, he had a shock of dark curly hair and a merry weather-beaten face that matched a jovial manner. As he hurried across the floor he apologized profusely.

Anthony said quickly, "I'll fill you in later, Michael. John's been explaining the procedure ... the way in which an inquest is conducted."

Nodding his understanding, Lamont sat down next to Ed-wina on the sofa, acknowledged the other women with a quick smile. He said, "I did attend an inquest once before, so I'm vaguely aware of the form."

"Good, good," Crawford exclaimed, with a brief nod. "I shall get on with this as quickly as possible. There may or may not be a jury of six or eight people. Either way, the coroner imposes his will; if necessary talks the jury around to his way of thinking and what he feels is right. But it is the coroner who decides and p.r.o.nounces the verdict-of misadventure, suicide, accidental death, natural causes, or-" He paused, added quietly, "-or murder."

There was a deathly silence as this word hung in the air.

It was Anthony who broke it. "What if the coroner is uncertain? What if he can't decide whether it was suicide, an accident, or murder?"

"Ah yes, well, in that instance the coroner would have to leave an open verdict. . . He might p.r.o.nounce that a person or persons unknown could be responsible for the death of the deceased and that they could be brought to justice at a later date."

Edwina, watching her son intently, gasped and turned ashen; Michael Lamont reached out and took her hand, whispered something to her.

Crawford glanced at them, then brought his attention back to Anthony. "The pathologist's report, the findings of his autopsy, usually clarify cause of death, and without any question of doubt."

"I understand," Anthony said in a low voice.

Crawford announced, "I've covered the most important points, I believe. I would like to add that I am most confident that the inquest will progress in a normal, routine manner." His eyes rested on Michael Lamont. "You will probably be the first witness, since you were the one who found Lady Dunvale's" body. The Clonloughlin police sergeant will give evidence after you. Then we will hear medical testimony- from the local doctor who did the initial examination and from the pathologist who conducted the second examination and performed the autopsy. Does anyone need further clarification on any specific point?"

"Yes," Anthony said. "Just a couple. I presume I shall be questioned. But what about my mother? And Bridget?"

"1 see no reason for the Dowager Countess to be called to the witness stand, since she really cannot contribute anything. You will have to give evidence, and, most probably, so will Miss O'Donnell. It's very likely that the coroner will chat to all of you in an informal way, before the main witnesses are called, as'I explained earlier. Nothing to worry about." Crawford glanced at his watch. "I suggest we leave here in the next ten minutes or so." Turning to Daisy, who had risen, he asked, "Where's Jim? Perhaps you ought to let him know we're going to leave shortly to drive into Cork."

"Yes," Daisy said. "I'll tell him right away. I've got to go upstairs for my things."

Fifteen minutes later the small group left Clonloughlin House.

Eclwina, Anthony, Bridget O'Donnell, and Michael Lament traveled in the first car, with Michael at the wheel.

Jim Fairley drove the second car, and followed closely behind. He was accompanied by Daisy and John Crawford. No one spoke for the first ten minutes or so. Finally, Jim said, "Explaining the formalities was a good idea, John." He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Crawford, who sat next . to him on the front seat, swung his eyes back to the road, went on to remark, "I'm sure it helped my aunt. She's a bundle of nerves. Anthony seems calm enough, though. Rather self-contained, totally in control. But he looks dreadful. This ghastly mess has aged him quite a lot."

"Yes," Crawford said laconically. He rolled down the window, peered over his shoulder at Daisy, said, "Do you mind if I smoke?"

"No, not at all." Daisy leaned forward, resting her hand on the back of the front seat, and addressed Jim: "How was Paula?"

"She's fine and sends her love." Jim's grip on the steering wheel tightened as he wondered whether to repeat Paula's final comments, which she had voiced with such anxiety he himself had become alarmed. Uncertain of what to do, he remarked, "She kept insisting we phone her immediately the inquest is over, as if we wouldn't have done that anyway."

"She'll be anxious to get in touch with Mother at once,'' Daisy murmured. She settled back in the corner, smoothed the skirt of her understated and restrained dark gray suit, thinking of Emma sitting in suspense at their sheep station in Australia, worrying about 'the outcome and about her grandson Anthony. The fact that her mother was under such strain worried Daisy. After all, she was eighty. Rea.s.suring herself that Emma Harte was invincible, was really taking this in her stride, as she kept insisting when she telephoned, Daisy attempted to relax. Eventually she said, "Have you decided what you're going to do, Jim?"

"Yes. I'll stay on here for the funeral tomorrow. I think they'll appreciate the support, and it's the least I can do. I'll fly back on Sat.u.r.day. I hope to persuade Anthony to come with me. He has to get away from this place for a while."

"Of course," Daisy said. "And I'm sure he'll want to see Sally." She turned to John Crawford. "I a.s.sume the inquest will be over in a couple of hours . . . David has arranged for his friend's private jet to be at Cork Airport at noon, waiting for us. You will be coming back to London with me, won't you, John?"

"Yes, thanks a lot. I appreciate the ride. And, yes, all being well, we should be through in a couple of hours. I just hope we don't have to recess for lunch. In the event that this happens, the inquest will unfortunately drag on into the afternoon."

Jim said, "You don't have any reason to believe it won:t be routine, do you?"

"No, not really," Crawford replied, but there was a strange hesitancy in his voice.

Jim picked this up at once. "You don't sound as confident as you did last night, John. Is there something Daisy and I ought to know?"

'No, no, of course not," Crawford murmured.

This response did nothing to convince Jim. He decided to plunge in, confide Emily's worries, which Paula had relayed to him during their phone conversation earlier. He said, "Paula's a bit anxious. Emily's raised something . . . Apparently she woke Paula during the night and told her that ever since Sunday she has been concerned about those five or six hours Min spent at the lake, after she arrived in the afternoon and before she died late at night. Emily thinks-"

"I don't understand why those hours are important," Daisy interjected.

John Crawford pondered for a second, elected to be honest, and swung around in the front seat to face Daisy. "I must now confess that I myself have been troubled about the selfsame thing, my dear. And if / find that elapse of time strange-not to mention young Emily-don't you think an experienced coroner will ask himself what the deceased was doing for that extraordinary length of time?"

"Yes." Daisy frowned. "But why do those hours matter anyway? Look, maybe she went away and came back again."

"Or maybe she was never at Clonloughlin in the afternoon," Crawford said softly. "That possibility might easily occur to the coroner, as it has to me, and probably to young Emily too. Don't you see, Daisy, those unexplained hours raise questions ... in regard to Lord Dunvale s story about the time his wife arrived, a story which, I might add, is only corroborated by his mother."

"You mean the coroner could think Anthony is lying-that Min came there late at night." Daisy caught her breath. "Oh good Lord, yes, I see what you mean! The coroner might jump to the conclusion that Anthony was also at the lake late at night-" She broke off and began to tremble, feeling suddenly nervous for the first time since her arrival in Ireland.

"Perhaps. But, Daisy, my dear, I do say perhaps. It would ease my mind considerably if we had a witness who saw the late Countess driving into the grounds of Clonloughlin in the afternoon, or leaving around that time.. Unfortunately, we apparently don't have such a witness." Cawford threw Daisy a sympathetic look. He had adored her for years, wanted always to protect her. "Please don't distress yourself needlessly, my dear. I haven't mentioned my worries to you before, for the simple reason I knew I would upset you if I did." Giving her a rea.s.suring and .confident smile, he finished, "The autopsy is usually the key in this type of case. It will prove conclusively how she died." Crawford gave Jim a pointed look. "I'm quite certain the pathologist will p.r.o.nounce it death by accidental drowning." As long as he had found water in her lungs, Crawford added to himself, praying that the pathologist.had done so. If he hadn't, they were in trouble, the gravest trouble imaginable. Lack of water in the deceased's lungs would prove she had died before her body entered the water. In which case, a murder charge would be leveled at somebody ... or persons unknown!

Jim, understanding that John wished to allay his mother-in-law's nervousness, said in a strong firm voice, "I agree with you wholeheartedly, John. I'm sure Min's death was accidental. Now, Daisy, stay calm and cool, as you have been all through this ordeal. Edwina will fall to pieces if she detects the slightest sign of distress in you."

Daisy said, "I'm all right. You've nothing to be concerned about. And I agree, I think we should all three of us be as positive as possible. Anthony and Edwina are going to find the inquest exceedingly trying, no matter what, so we must be supportive and cheerful."

Once again, Daisy McGill Amory settled back into the comer of the seat, and for the rest of the journey into Cork she remained silent, left the talking to Jim and John Crawford. She had her own troubling thoughts to preoccupy her.

Mr. Liam O'Connor, a local solicitor, was the coroner presiding at the judicial inquiry into the cause of death in the case of Minerva Gwendolyn Standish, the late Countess of Dunvale.

The inquest was being held in the small coroner's court within the county law courts in the city of Cork, county seat of Cork County.

A jury of six people sat to O'Connor's right. They were all local residents of the city who had been pa.s.sing the courts that morning and had been gathered together by an official of the coroner's court. This was the custom under British law in regard to inquests. Whatever their engagements planned for that day, they had had no option but to do as bidden and enter the coroner's court to be sworn in as jurors.

The coroner said, "And now, Lord Dunvale, before I hear testimony from Police Sergeant McNamara, the pathologist, and others present, perhaps you could give the court some idea of the deceased's state oT mind, prior to her tragic death. You may speak from where you are sitting. You do not have to take the stand at this moment."

Anthony said in a clear and remarkably strong voice, "My wife and I were separated and were about to divorce. In consequence of this, she had moved out of Clonloughlin House and was living in Waterford. Lately she had been in the habit of visiting Clonloughlin, and in the past month I began to realize that her disposition had changed radically. She was somewhat irrational, even quite violent both verbally and physically. I became increasingly concerned about her mental stability."

The coroner nodded. "Did the deceased ever mention suicide? Did she ever threaten to take her own life during these spells of irrationality?"

"No, she did not," Anthony replied in an even firmer tone. "Furthermore, I would like to state categorically that I do not believe my wife would kill herself, whatever her state of mind. She was not a suicidal type of person. I am convinced her death was an accident."

The coroner asked for further details about the deceased's behavior, and as Anthony answered, Daisy watched the coroner closely, listening with great attentiveness. Liam O'Connor was a small, spry man, with a deeply lined face. His expression was somewhat dour, but she noticed that he had wise and kindly eyes and a reflective manner, and these characteristics filled Daisy with a degree of relief. She was confident Liam O'Connor would brook no nonsense in his court, that he would stick to the letter of the law most scrupulously, yet she also sensed he would be eminently fair.

As the coroner continued his informal questioning of Anthony, Daisy stole'a svirrept.i.tious look at Edwina. Her tension was so acute Daisy feared she would collapse any minute. She reached for Edwina's hand, held on to it tightly, wanting to give her strength and confidence.

"Thank you, Lord Dunvale," the coroner was saying. "Lady Dunvale, I wonder if you have anything you can add pertaining to your daughter-in-law's unusual behavior immediately before her death?"

Edwina was evidently surprised to hear her name mentioned. She started in her seat and gaped, speechless, at the coroner. She began to shake.

Daisy tightened her grip on her hand, whispered, "Edwina, don't be afraid. And do answer the coroner, my dear."

Clearing her throat numerous times, Edwina finally spoke in a low voice that trembled excessively. "Min . . . my daughter-in-law, that is, was . . . was distressed in recent weeks. Yes, that is quite true." Edwina stopped abruptly, choking on the words, and tears sprang into her eyes as she thought of the dead young woman whom she had loved like a daughter. There was a long and painful hesitation before Edwina whis- Eered, "I'm afraid she was-was-drinking heavily lately. At :ast she arrived at Clonloughlin in an inebriated state numerous times over the last month. Bridget, er . . . er . . . Miss O'Donnell, my son's . . . Lord Dunvale's housekeeper-" Edwina stopped again, glanced at Bridget, then resumed; "Quite recently Miss O'Donnell had to

"Thank you, Lady Dunvale," the coroner said, sounding sympathetic. He put on his gla.s.ses, referred to the papers in front of him, looked up, removed his spectacles and surveyed those gathered before him. "Miss O'Donnell, would you give me a few more details about the particular occasion to which the Dowager Countess has just referred, please?"

"Yes, sir, indeed I will." Bridget leaned forward slightly, and in her usual clipped, precise way she confirmed Edwina's story and also the various incidents of irrationality referred to by Anthony.

Listening to her, Daisy thought that never had a better witness been heard. The woman was quite remarkable, especially in her attention to the smallest detail, and she obviously had a prodigious if not indeed a photographic memory.

"And did the deceased ever suggest to you, Miss O'Donnell, that she might do anything at all to harm herself?" The coroner steepled his fingers, peered out over them, fixing his keen eyes on the housekeeper.

Apparently Bridget O'Donnell did not have to think twice about this question. "Oh yes, sir, her ladyship did. Not once, but several times lately."

There were audible gasps in the courtroom.

Anthony, stiffening in his chair, exclaimed, "That can't be so-" He made to rise but was restrained by John Crawford, who hushed him into silence, aware of the stern eyes of the coroner.

The coroner motioned for silence in the court, and the hurried whisperings which had broken out ceased. "Please recount those incidents, Miss O'Donnell," he ordered.

"Yes, sir," she said without hesitation, but she did cast a swift glance at Anthony before continuing.

Daisy, whose eyes had not left Bridget's face, thought she saw an apology signaled to him silently, but she was not sure.

Bridget O'Donnell, directing herself to the coroner, said, "The late Countess was a changed woman in the last few weeks of her life, as his lordship mentioned. She was hysterical in my presence on numerous occasions, and privately she said to me that she had nothing to live for, that she wished she were dead. The last time she threatened to put an end to her life was about a week before her death. She drove to Clonloughlin one afternoon, but I was the only person who saw her. His lordship was out on the estate with Mr. Lamont, and the Dowager Countess was in Dublin. In any event, sir, her ladyship was very despondent,- and she repeated over and over again that she wanted to escape the misery and unhappi-ness of her life by-by dying. She cried uncontrollably that afternoon, and although I tried to calm her, give her sympathy, she was beyond help, really. At one moment, when I tried to soothe her by putting my arm around her, comforting her, she struck me across the face. The minute she had done this she seemed to come to her senses, and apologized over and over again. I made a pot of tea and we sat and talked in the kitchen for a while. It was then that her ladyship confided in me about something else. She told me that the greatest tragedy of her life was that she had not had any children." Bridget, paused, took a breath, resumed: "Lady Dunvale began to weep again, but quietly, sort of desperately, and added that she was barren, that she couldn't bear children. Again I attempted to comfort her ladyship. I told her she was a young woman, had a lot to live for, and that she could make a new life for herself. This helped to calm her, and I thought she seemed more hopeful about things when she left a little later."

Bridget sat back. She glanced down at her hands. Raising her eyes she stared at the coroner, and'enunciated in the clearest voice, "I think her ladyship did take her life, sir, because of the failure of her marriage and because she knew she could never have children."

The coroner inclined his head, brought his gaze back to the papers spread before him.