“There were no servants with you, Sir James?” asked the coroner.
“No, it was an informal picnic. No need to take the staff away from their duties,” James said.
There was a murmur of voices among others in the room that the coroner hushed with a glare.
“What did you do while Lord Aldrich was gone?”
“I decided to find a way to climb down the cliff face to get to Mrs. Jones, to verify she was deceased, and perhaps be able to judge how long she’d been deceased by touching her.”
“You would have the knowledge to do that?” asked the coroner incredulously.
“I spent several years with Wellington’s army during the Peninsular War. Yes, I can judge the deceased,” he said in his typical calm fashion, though his eyes were sharp as he looked back at the coroner.
The coroner coughed. “Yes, I suppose that might grant you that knowledge.”
“To continue, I removed my boots and jacket and, at the suggestion of my wife, pulled on my riding gloves to protect my fingers from the sharp rocks. I did not descend directly above Mrs. Jones. The ground there was unstable and showed signs of slippage. About ten to fifteen feet to the side, I saw what looked to be better handholds and toeholds for descending.”
“You did not repel like the magistrate did?” asked the coroner.
James shook his head. “We did not have a rope among our picnic supplies.
“I made my way over to her,” he continued. “When I was by her side, I touched the side of her neck. I was surprised to feel a light, fluttering pulse.”
“But she was dead by the time I touched her,” Dr. Patterson interjected.
James relaxed. “By then, yes. May I continue?”
“Yes, Sir James, please do,” said the coroner, his clerk beside him writing furiously.
“I spoke to her, and she reached out to grab my shirtsleeve. Her grip was surprisingly strong. She asked for water. My wife lowered down to us water I could pour onto her lips and into her mouth.”
“I thought you said you didn’t have a rope,” the magistrate protested.
“We didn’t. Lady Branstoke took one of the cart reins and tied it to the handle of a picnic basket and that way lowered a water pouch to me… After drinking the water, Mrs. Jones tried to speak. She seemed to be gathering whatever strength remained in her body. She grew agitated. She said…No…penny…roy… Stop,” he said carefully.
“No pennyroy stop?” repeated the clerk. “What does that mean?”
“The last thing she said to her killer?” Sir James suggested. “Telling whoever was there with her that she did not have any pennyroyal. I don’t know; however, simply saying those few words sapped the last of her strength. She slipped into unconsciousness. I stayed with her, afraid she was near the end, and I didn’t want her to die alone. It was about twenty minutes later that the death rattles began with its terrible breathing.”
The crowd murmured among themselves at the end of his testimony.
“Thank you, Sir James,” said the coroner. He looked at his clerk. “Next?”
“Lady Branstoke,” read the clerk from his list.
“We don’t need Lady Branstoke’s testimony,” protested the magistrate. “Her husband can speak for her.”
“I assure you, we do.” Sir James said.
“She has an uncanny way of observing things others miss,” replied the coroner. “We should hear her testimony.”
The magistrate folded his arms across his chest. “Waste of time,” he muttered, glaring at the Branstokes.
“Lady Branstoke,” began the coroner, “you are the wife of Sir James Branstoke.”
She answered affirmatively.
“And you have resided in Mertonhaugh for the past two years… Please tell us your observations.”
