Traitors Gate - Anne Perry [42]
“What?” Matthew swung around, incomprehension in his eyes. Then he understood the words, if not the weight of all that was behind them. “Oh. Yes, I’m sorry. I suppose that’s exactly what they’d expect, isn’t it? Me to get so angry I lose my sense of tactics.”
“Yes,” Pitt said bluntly.
Matthew lapsed into silence.
Dr. Murray had been excused and the coroner had called a man named Danforth who was a neighbor of Arthur Desmond’s in the country, and he was saying, with some sadness, that indeed Sir Arthur had been extraordinarily absentminded lately, quite unlike his old self. Yes, unfortunately, he seemed to have lost his grasp on matters.
“Could you be more specific, sir?” the coroner suggested.
Danforth looked straight ahead of him, studiously avoiding the public benches where he might have met Matthew’s eyes. “Well sir, an instance that comes to mind was approximately three months ago,” he replied quietly. “Sir Arthur’s best bitch had whelped, and he had promised me the pick of the litter. I had been over to look at them, and fine animals they were, excellent. I chose the two I wanted and he agreed, approved of it in fact.” He bit his lip doubtfully for a moment before continuing, his eyes downcast. “We shook hands on it. Then when they were weaned I went over to collect them, only to find Arthur had gone up to London on some errand. I said I’d come back in a week, which I did, and he was off somewhere else, and all the pups had been sold to Major Bridges over in Highfield. I was very put out.” He looked at the coroner, frowning. There was a slight movement in the room, a shifting of position.
“When Sir Arthur finally came back I tackled him on the matter.” The umbrage was still apparent in his voice and in the set of his shoulders as he gripped the edge of the box. “I’d set my heart on those pups,” he went on. “But Arthur looked completely confused and told me some cock-and-bull story about having heard from me that I didn’t want them anymore, which was the exact opposite of the case. And then he went on with a lot of nonsense about Africa.” He shook his head and his lips tightened. “The terrible thing was, he obviously believed what he was saying. I’m afraid he had what I can only call an obsession. He imagined he was being persecuted by some secret society. Look, I say, sir … this is all very embarrassing.”
Danforth shifted awkwardly, clearing his throat. Two or three men in the front now nodded sympathetically.
“Arthur Desmond was a damn decent man,” Danforth said loudly. “Do we have to rake up all this unfortunate business? The poor devil accidentally took his sleeping medicine twice over, and I daresay his heart was not as strong as he thought. Can’t we call an end to this?”
The coroner hesitated only a moment, then acquiesced.
“Yes, I believe we can, Mr. Danforth. Thank you for your evidence, sir, in what must have been a painful matter for you. Indeed, for all of us.” He looked around the room as Danforth left the stand. “Are there any more witnesses? Anyone who has anything relevant to say in this matter?”
A short, broad man stood up in the front row.
“Sir, if you please, so this tragedy can be laid to rest, I and my colleagues”—he indicated the men on either side of him—“the full extent of the front row were in the Morton Club on the afternoon of Sir Arthur’s death. We can confirm everything that the steward has said, indeed everything that we have heard here today. We would like to take this opportunity to extend our deepest sympathies to Sir Matthew Desmond.” He glanced around in the general direction of the bench where Matthew sat hunched forward, his face white. “And to everyone else who held Sir Arthur in esteem, as we did ourselves. Thank you, sir.” He sat down amid murmurs of agreement. The man immediately to his right touched him on the shoulder in a gesture of approval. The one on the left nodded vigorously.
“Very well.” The coroner folded his hands. “I have heard sufficient evidence to make my verdict sad, but not in doubt. This court finds that Sir Arthur Desmond died