Part 27 (1/2)
Rathbone looked around again as the sergeant left and the police surgeon was called. Monk sat lost in gloom. He looked about as miserable and angry as Rathbone felt. There was a certain companions.h.i.+p in their silence. Neither of them had the slightest desire to try to express his thoughts in words. It was a vague comfort for Rathbone to know that he was not alone in his struggle to find meaning in this, in his profound unhappi-ness and sense of having been helpless and inadequate all the way along.
The police surgeon gave evidence as to his surprise at discovering the deceased was a woman and not a man as she had at first appeared. But she was in every physical way quite normal-indeed, dressed appropriately she would have been a handsome woman, even beautiful, in her own way. He said it quietly and with great sadness.
There was a hush in the room as he spoke. Someone coughed. Someone else stifled a nervous giggle and was instantly glared at. People seemed to be both embarra.s.sed and moved by a deep sense of loss and the finality of death.
”And the cause of Miss Melville's death?” the coroner asked.
”Belladonna poisoning, sir,” the surgeon answered without hesitation.
”Can you be certain of that?”
”Absolutely. I found traces of belladonna in the deceased's internal organs. And on examination of the body, every sign led me to consider it as a probable cause of death.”
”What were the signs?”
”Widely dilated pupils, exceedingly dry skin, great dryness in the mouth, redness in the face. On examination of the body in autopsy I also found retention of urine and, of course, failure of the heart consistent with the effects of belladonna.” There was an uncomfortable s.h.i.+fting in the court as people imagined the distress and the fear; the immediate physicality of it made it so much more real.
”The symptoms before death include increased heart rate,” the doctor continued. ”Very loud, audible even at a distance from the patient. Often the patient becomes aggressive, disoriented and suffers hallucinations. The police informed me they found one or two items knocked over, consistent with blurred vision.”
Rathbone sat rigidly, his shoulders hunched, his fists tight. His mind was drenched with misery as he thought of Keelin Melville frightened, half blinded, knowing she was dying, hearing her own heart pound until it burst.
”Yes ... yes. I do not argue with your conclusion, Doctor.” The coroner shook his head, his voice cutting across Rathbone's thoughts. ”If you found belladonna within the body then that is sufficient. How long before death would it have been consumed? I take it it was consumed? It was not injected, or absorbed through the skin, or breathed in?”
”No sir, it was swallowed. Death can take anything from a tew hours to a few days, depending on the dose.”
”And this dose?”
There was complete silence in the courtroom. Rathbone did not look around, but he could imagine everyone waiting. Why? To know what piece of evidence, what revelation or event had finally been more than Melville could take? Did they need the moment of decision?
”A heavy dose,” the doctor replied, pursing his lips. ”Sometime during the afternoon.”
”Are you sure? Could it not have been after Miss Melville returned home?”
”No. It doesn't work that quickly.”
”Or in the morning, before she came to court?”
Rathbone found he could hear his own pulse beating. Could it have been that early? Was it over Wolff's disgrace? Perhaps there had even been a quarrel with him?
”No sir,” the doctor said with certainty. There was not even a shadow of doubt in his face or his voice. ”If she had taken that much before she came to court in the morning, she would have been showing unmistakable symptoms by midday at the latest. No one could have mistaken it. She would have been dead by the afternoon.”
”Are you quite sure about that?” the coroner persisted, his face wrinkled with concern.
”Quite,” the doctor a.s.sured him.
”Can you tell us whether the belladonna was taken in liquid or powder form, or a tablet? Or if it was taken with food?”
”I cannot tell you whether it was liquid or powder, but it was not taken with food. There was very little food in the stomach. The poison probably acted as effectively as it did for that reason.”
”How might one obtain belladonna?”
The doctor shrugged.
”The plant grows wild in all manner of places. Anyone could obtain it. All parts of it are poisonous. Various medical powders can be made from it for the treatment of several conditions.” He shrugged very slightly. ”Even for enhancing the beauty of the eyes. It enlarges the pupils. Hence the name- 'beautiful woman'-belladonna.”
”Thank you.” The coroner nodded. ”I have no more to ask you, except whether you can tell us if there is any evidence to show whether the deceased took this by her own hand or not.”
”I have no way of knowing. That is a police matter. I can only say I know of no way in which it could be accidental.”
The coroner pursed his lips, nodding again slowly. He dismissed the doctor with thanks and sipped a gla.s.s of cold water before calling Rathbone to the stand. Even when he sat back facing the court again, it was obvious he was disturbed more than usual by the details and the reality of death.
”Sir Oliver,” he began slowly, ”you were Keelin Melville's counsel during the case for breach of promise brought by Barton Lambert on behalf of his daughter, Miss Zillah Lambert.” It was made as a statement, but he waited as if for a reply.
”Yes sir. I was,” Rathbone agreed.
”When did you become aware that Miss Melville was indeed a woman, and not a man, Sir Oliver?”
”After her death, at the same time as we all did,” Rathbone answered. He could feel the eyes of everyone in the small public gallery upon him and the heat burned up his cheeks at the realization that they must think him a fool. It was not his reputation that bothered him, but the fear that they were right.
”You have no confidence towards your client now, except that of the truth,” the coroner said quietly. ”What reason did Melville give you for breaking her betrothal to Miss Lambert?”
”She swore that she had never intended to become betrothed to her,” Rathbone answered, looking directly at the coroner and avoiding catching the eye of anyone else in the room. ”She said it had happened by misunderstanding, which I had difficulty in believing at the time, but now it seems very readily explainable. I think she was genuinely very fond of Miss Lambert, in a manner of friends.h.i.+p, as one woman may be to another. She must have been extremely lonely.” He found it difficult to say, and was not even sure if he wanted to expose such private grief to the stare of others. He doubted himself even as he spoke. ”Isaac Wolff was the only person she could trust. Perhaps with Miss Lambert she was able to come closer to the pretty and feminine things she would like to have been able to share in herself but knew she never could. She might have allowed her guard to slip, and without being aware of it have given the wrong impression.”
There was a soft murmur from the public section. He did not turn to look, although he could imagine Zillah's face. It might be some comfort to her that the deceit was not meant.
The coroner nodded, still watching Rathbone, waiting for him to go on.
”She was horrified when she knew,” he resumed, remembering with painful vividness the look in her eyes. It had been close to panic. He had been impatient with it then.
”But she did not explain?” The coroner's face also was touched with deep sadness.
”No.”
”I presume you asked?”
”Of course. I pleaded with her to tell me, in total confidence, if she knew anything to Miss Lambert's discredit or if there was anything in her own life which prevented her marrying...”
He heard the faint rustle in the courtroom, but no one laughed.
”She told me there was not.” He took a breath. ”I did not accept her word. I employed an agent of enquiry to research into both Miss Lambert's past and hers. He found nothing.” He owed Monk something better than a bare statement. ”If there had been longer, I daresay he would have learned the truth, but events overtook us. It appeared Melville's affair with Mr. Wolff was reason enough. Of course, we now know it was ... a love between man and woman, not illegal, not abnormal.” He had nearly said ”not scandalous,” but perhaps since they were not married, there would be those who would consider it so. ”Such as is usual enough,” he said instead.
”What was her frame of mind, as far as you could judge, when Mr. Sacheverall brought Isaac Wolff to the stand and accused him of a h.o.m.os.e.xual relations.h.i.+p with Melville?” There was a chill in the coroner's voice, and he did not look towards where Sacheverall was sitting.
”She was deeply distressed,” Rathbone answered truthfully. ”Very deeply. But she denied it to me.”
”Did you believe her?”
”I... I don't know. I neither believed nor disbelieved. I was concerned with trying to rescue what I could from the situation. I hoped I might persuade Miss Lambert to settle for a small amount of damages, so at least Melville might not be financially ruined, as well as socially and professionally.” He found the words difficult to say. They still hurt. The failure was deep and twisting inside him.