“She is much improved since yesterday,” Liza said, sitting next to her mother. “I hope to visit her tomorrow, as well.”
Mrs. Renaldi frowned, turning to Byron. “Will there be time with the inquest?”
“It’s tomorrow?” Mira asked, taking up one of the deep, armless chairs. “I thought it wouldn’t be scheduled until laterthis week.”
“The county coroner happened to finish up another case and is in town still,” Byron said. “We received the message a little while ago. As it is only the preliminary investigative inquest, it should only take an hour. However, that entirely depends on how much evidence the police have to bring forward.”
“Must we all go?” Liza asked.
“I’m afraid we’re all witnesses, before or after Mr. Treadway’s death,” Byron said.
“This is all a bad omen,” Aunt Eleanor said, wringing her hands. “A very bad omen.”
February 11, 1889: Morning
The coroner, a Mr. W. J. Englishof Bathampton, was a short, bespectacled gentleman with graying sandy hair and a round face. He sat on a stool much too tall for him at a table near the front of the guildhall. Another man sat next to him with pen and paper, waiting to record the proceedings. An additional table was set up perpendicular to theirs, near a tall south-facing window. A few clerks had set up thirty-odd chairs in rows along the back wall, most of which were occupied, whether by those directly related to the incident of Silas Treadway or by those whose curiosity brought them snooping.
Mira sat in the front row as a principal witness in the discovery of the corpse. Byron, Mr. Risewell, Dr. Turpin, and Inspector Rutledge shared the row with her. The rest of the party-goers from Wynmar Park took up the better part of two rows behind.
Mr. English removed his pocket watch, consulted the time, and cleared his throat. A police constable standing near the front table gave a low whistle and shouted, “Hear ye, hear ye. The Inquest held the Eleventh of February, in the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and eighty-nine, shall come to order. Mr. W. J. English, coroner, presiding over reception ofevidence.”
The guildhall quieted down and Mr. English adjusted his spectacles. “Very good, Bronson. Now, as the police have deemed the case as likely being an accidental death, we shall proceed without a jury. First, I should like to acquaint all here with the particulars of the death.”
He gave a short summary of the events leading up to the discovery of the body and all persons involved before calling Mr. Risewell to witness.
Mr. Risewell took his position at the table beneath the window and adjusted his cravat.
“Now, Mr. Risewell, how long have you been leasing Wynmar Park from the Estfields?” Mr. English asked.
“We’ve leased it for three of the last four winters. This year we came in November. I believe it was November the fifteenth.”
“Would you say you are well acquainted with the landscape?”
“Yes, sir. Very well acquainted.”
“Would you describe the area where the deceased was found?”
Mr. Risewell sat back in his chair. “We call it the West Ledge, as it’s to the west of the property. Mr. Treadway was found at the base of the drop-off, near a path that runs along the front of it and back to either side of the house. The path splits off at the northern side to head across the pasture to a wooded area. The ledge is quite steep, and thirty or so feet from the house.”
“How tall is the ledge by your estimate?”
“Oh, about fifteen feet, sir.”
The coroner gestured for his clerk to take a note. “About where is the West Ledge in relation to the ballroom?”
“The ballroom is at the center of the house, but there are several hallways attached to it, one of which leads to a side door to the west.”
“And how long had Mr. Treadway been staying with your family?”
“Since the middle of December. He and Mr. Corbet came the same week, so I’m not certain who came on which day. We’ve made a grand hunting party up to now.”
“Do you have any notion as to why Mr. Treadway left the ballroom during your soiree?”
“It was rather hot. I heard that he left for some air, poor man. Not sure why he wandered so far. Maybe he saw something.”
“Saw something?” The coroner stopped writing and looked at him over his spectacles.
“Never met someone with better vision. Could spot a rabbit or sparrow in the dark of the thicket. Any kind of movement.”
