Traitors Gate - Anne Perry [36]
“Well now,” he said heartily, as soon as the preliminaries were completed. “Wretched business. Very sorry. Let us get it over with as soon as we may, with diligence and dispatch. Diligence and dispatch, best way to deal with the trappings of loss. Condolences to the family.” He looked around the room and saw Matthew. Pitt wondered whether he had already met him, or if he were simply skilled enough to recognize bereavement at a glance. “Shall we proceed? Good, good. Let us hear the first witness to this sorry event. Mr. Usher, send for him, if you please.”
The usher obediently called for the club steward, who was, as Pitt had surmised, the man with the less expensive coat, and whose general embarrassment was now acute. He was overwhelmed, afraid of making a mistake. His manners were self-conscious, as were his clothes and his voice. He was awed by all the majesty of the law, even at this level, and by the finality of death. He mounted the witness stand with his eyes wide and his face pale.
“No need to be afraid, my man,” the coroner said benignly. “No need at all. You didn’t do anything wrong, did you? Didn’t kill the poor creature?” He smiled.
The steward was appalled. For half a second, a blood-chilling second, he thought the coroner was serious.
“N-no sir!”
“Good,” the coroner said with satisfaction. “Then compose yourself, tell us the truth, and all will be well. Who are you and what do you do? What have you to tell us about all this. Speak up!”
“M-my name is Horace Guyler, my lord. I am a steward at the Morton Club for Gentlemen. It was me as found poor Sir Arthur. I mean, o’course we all knew where ’e was, but …”
“I take your meaning perfectly,” the coroner encouraged. “It was you who discovered he was dead. And I am not a ‘my lord.’ That is for the judges. I am merely a coroner. ‘Sir’ will do very well when you address me. Proceed. Perhaps you had better begin with Sir Arthur’s arrival at the club. What time was that? When did you first see him? What was his appearance, his manner? Answer one at a time.”
Horace Guyler was confused. He had already forgotten the first question, and the second.
“Sir Arthur’s arrival,” the coroner prompted.
“Ah. Yes sir. Well, ’e came in just after luncheon, which would be about quarter past three, sir, or thereabouts. ’e looked perfectly well to me at the time, which of course I realize now, but ’e must a’ bin awful poorly. I mean, awful distressed in ’isself, about summink.”
“You must not tell us what you realize now, Mr. Guyler, only what you observed at the time. What did Sir Arthur say to you? What did he do? What was his manner? Can you recall? It is only five days ago.”
“As far as I remember, sir, ’e simply wished me a good day, same as always. ’e were always a very courteous gentleman. Not like some. And then he went through to the green room, sat down and read a newspaper to ’isself. The Times, I think it were.”
There was a vague stirring in the room, murmurs of approval.
“Did he order anything to drink, Mr. Guyler?”
“Not straightaway, sir. About ’alf an hour later ’e ordered a large brandy. Best Napoleon brandy, ’e wanted.”
“So you took it to him?”
“Oh yes sir, o’ course I did,” Guyler admitted unhappily. “O’ course, I didn’t know that then ’e was real upset and not ’isself. ’e seemed perfectly ’isself to me. Didn’t seem upset at all. Just sat there reading ‘is paper and muttering to ’isself now and then at pieces as ’e didn’t agree with.”
“Was he angry or depressed about it?”
“No sir.” Guyler shook his head. “Just reading, like a lot o’ gentlemen. ’e took it serious, o’ course. But then gentlemen does. The more important the gentleman, the more serious ’e takes it. And Sir Arthur used to be in the Foreign Office.”
The coroner looked grave. “Any subject in particular that you are aware of?”
“No sir. I weren’t that close to ’im. I had a lot of other gentlemen to serve, sir.”
“Naturally. And Sir Arthur had only the one brandy?”
Guyler looked unhappy. “No sir. I’m afraid ’e had a