when old Elias, dressed now but stricken - faced, led us to her parlour. She sat by the fire, staring into it as she held the maid Margaret's hand.
'Dorothy,' I said gently. 'This is Coroner Browne. He would ask you some questions, if you feel able.'
The coroner looked at the frieze above the fireplace, the carved animals peering through the branches. 'My, that is a fine thing,' he said.
Dorothy stared at it. 'A piece got broken off when we moved back here,' she said dully. 'Roger got it replaced but it was badly done.' I noticed a corner of the frieze was rather poorly executed, a slightly different colour.
'It is still fine,' Browne said, clumsily trying to put Dorothy at her ease. 'May I sit?'
Dorothy waved him to the chair where I had sat. He repeated the questions about the pro bono client, and asked about Roger's recent movements, in which nothing else unusual was revealed. I saw the coroner was not taking notes, which worried me. He did not look like a man with great powers of memory.
'Had your husband any enemies?' Browne asked.
'None. He had barristers he did not like particularly, whom he had won or lost against in court. But that is true of every barrister in London, and they do not murder their fellows in' - her voice faltered — 'this ghastly, wicked way.'
'And no question he could have done it himself?'
The bluntness of the question appalled me, but it brought out the best in Dorothy. 'No, master coroner, none at all. Anyone would tell you the idea he did this to himself is nonsensical. I wish you had had the grace to talk to others before baldly asking me if my husband might have cut his own throat.' I felt admiration for her; her spirit was returning.
Browne reddened. He rose from his chair. 'Very well,' he said stiffly. 'That will do for now. I must go to the palace, see the King's coroner.'
He bowed to us stiffly, then left. His heavy footsteps clumped slowly down the stairs.
'Old fat fustilugs!' Margaret said warmly.
Dorothy looked up at me. Her red - rimmed eyes were despairing. 'He does not seem to care,' she said. 'My poor Roger.'
'This is just one more job to him,' I said. 'But I promise you, I will be at his heels.'
'Thank you.' She laid a hand on my arm.
'And now I will go down to Roger's chambers. I will take on what work of his I can. If you wish.'
'Yes, please. Oh, and someone must write to our son. Tell Samuel.' Her eyes filled with tears again.
'Would you like me to?' I asked gently.
'I should not ask. I—'
'No. I will do all I can, Dorothy. For you. For Roger.'
Outside, to my relief , I saw Barak watching as Roger's body was loaded on to a cart, my coat wrapped round it. He looked downcast. I saw he was carrying a dark coat that I recognized. 'You found Roger's coat;'
'Yes. In the orchard. I thought it must be his, from the size.' I shivered, missing my own coat. 'Did you follow the prints;' 'As far as I could. They led through the orchard into Lincoln's Inn Fields, but the snow there was pretty well gone.' 'Was there anything in the pockets;'
'A set of house keys. The killer must have kept the key to the orchard. And his purse, he left his purse, with near two pounds in it.'
'Were there any papers; Any notes;' 'Nothing.'
'He went to meet a new client at an inn in Wych Lane last night.'
Barak looked over at the wall. 'Taken somewhere in Lincoln's Inn Fields, then. That's a hell of a way to haul a body.' He looked at me, frowning. 'What on earth is going on;'
Chapter Seven
T wo days later , on the Tuesday after Easter, Barak and I walked down to the river to catch a boat to Westminster. I had on a new coat; I had left my old coat with the coroner; stained as it was with Roger's blood, I could never wear it again. I had a busy day ahead, five poor men's pleas to be heard before the Master of Requests. I hoped I would also get a date for hearing Adam Kite's application.
The morning had a real touch of spring at last, the breeze gentle and moist. Normally that would
'Dorothy,' I said gently. 'This is Coroner Browne. He would ask you some questions, if you feel able.'
The coroner looked at the frieze above the fireplace, the carved animals peering through the branches. 'My, that is a fine thing,' he said.
Dorothy stared at it. 'A piece got broken off when we moved back here,' she said dully. 'Roger got it replaced but it was badly done.' I noticed a corner of the frieze was rather poorly executed, a slightly different colour.
'It is still fine,' Browne said, clumsily trying to put Dorothy at her ease. 'May I sit?'
Dorothy waved him to the chair where I had sat. He repeated the questions about the pro bono client, and asked about Roger's recent movements, in which nothing else unusual was revealed. I saw the coroner was not taking notes, which worried me. He did not look like a man with great powers of memory.
'Had your husband any enemies?' Browne asked.
'None. He had barristers he did not like particularly, whom he had won or lost against in court. But that is true of every barrister in London, and they do not murder their fellows in' - her voice faltered — 'this ghastly, wicked way.'
'And no question he could have done it himself?'
The bluntness of the question appalled me, but it brought out the best in Dorothy. 'No, master coroner, none at all. Anyone would tell you the idea he did this to himself is nonsensical. I wish you had had the grace to talk to others before baldly asking me if my husband might have cut his own throat.' I felt admiration for her; her spirit was returning.
Browne reddened. He rose from his chair. 'Very well,' he said stiffly. 'That will do for now. I must go to the palace, see the King's coroner.'
He bowed to us stiffly, then left. His heavy footsteps clumped slowly down the stairs.
'Old fat fustilugs!' Margaret said warmly.
Dorothy looked up at me. Her red - rimmed eyes were despairing. 'He does not seem to care,' she said. 'My poor Roger.'
'This is just one more job to him,' I said. 'But I promise you, I will be at his heels.'
'Thank you.' She laid a hand on my arm.
'And now I will go down to Roger's chambers. I will take on what work of his I can. If you wish.'
'Yes, please. Oh, and someone must write to our son. Tell Samuel.' Her eyes filled with tears again.
'Would you like me to?' I asked gently.
'I should not ask. I—'
'No. I will do all I can, Dorothy. For you. For Roger.'
Outside, to my relief , I saw Barak watching as Roger's body was loaded on to a cart, my coat wrapped round it. He looked downcast. I saw he was carrying a dark coat that I recognized. 'You found Roger's coat;'
'Yes. In the orchard. I thought it must be his, from the size.' I shivered, missing my own coat. 'Did you follow the prints;' 'As far as I could. They led through the orchard into Lincoln's Inn Fields, but the snow there was pretty well gone.' 'Was there anything in the pockets;'
'A set of house keys. The killer must have kept the key to the orchard. And his purse, he left his purse, with near two pounds in it.'
'Were there any papers; Any notes;' 'Nothing.'
'He went to meet a new client at an inn in Wych Lane last night.'
Barak looked over at the wall. 'Taken somewhere in Lincoln's Inn Fields, then. That's a hell of a way to haul a body.' He looked at me, frowning. 'What on earth is going on;'
Chapter Seven
T wo days later , on the Tuesday after Easter, Barak and I walked down to the river to catch a boat to Westminster. I had on a new coat; I had left my old coat with the coroner; stained as it was with Roger's blood, I could never wear it again. I had a busy day ahead, five poor men's pleas to be heard before the Master of Requests. I hoped I would also get a date for hearing Adam Kite's application.
The morning had a real touch of spring at last, the breeze gentle and moist. Normally that would
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