The Secret Life of Miss Mary Bennet, Katherine Cowley [books successful people read .TXT] 📗

the investigation into Mr. Holloway’s death. He was a stern man, and, based on his terse greeting and the manner of conversation, did not appear to be friends with either Lady Trafford or Mr. Withrow. Lady Trafford seemed to find him amusing, while Mr. Withrow responded to his remarks with a touch of defensiveness.

“Do not blame Colonel Coates’s incompetence on me. I did everything in my power to encourage him to leave the body where it was, and to contact you quickly.”

“I am certain that you could have done more,” said Sir Richard Pickering. “There were injuries to his arms, and it is impossible to tell when these injuries were sustained, whether it was before his death, or during the handling of the body.”

“I did all that I could during the loading of the wagon,” said Mr. Withrow. “But I had no justification for accompanying the body after that point.”

Sir Richard Pickering turned to Mary. She almost shuddered, knowing that he would surely find something to criticize about her as well. She wished she could escape from the parlor, make her way up the stairs, and play the pianoforte to calm herself.

“Tell me what you noticed when you saw the body, Miss Bennet. Mr. Holloway was on his back…” He waved his hand, inviting her to elaborate.

“Actually,” said Mary timidly, “when I found Mr. Holloway, he was on his front.”

“Why on earth did you turn him over?” said Sir Richard Pickering. “No one teaches or possesses a bit of common sense these days.”

Mary’s chest rose and fell as she tried to control her breathing. His condescension was unwarranted, so she responded in a way that Elizabeth might. “Dealing with corpses is not typically considered part of a lady’s education. Besides, I did not realize at first that he was dead. His face was in the sand, and I thought he needed air.”

“I am quite impressed with the way you immediately acted in what must have been quite a difficult moment,” said Lady Trafford. “I believe the action you took was commendable.”

“Given Miss Bennet’s understanding of the situation, it is justifiable,” said the magistrate. “Now describe the body—it was on its front.” The magistrate watched her attentively, quill ready to take shorthand as she spoke.

“The feet were closest to the sea, and the water was lapping at them. His face was completely in the sand, and his arms…were limp at his side. I do not remember anything wrong with his clothing, from the back side, though he was not wearing a jacket, and he had worn one when I saw him before. I did not notice the discolouration of his skin until after I turned him over.”

“Did you see anything else nearby on the shore, anything that could have washed ashore with Mr. Holloway?”

“I walked the whole section to the east of the body and there was nothing there, except boulders and a tree. I did not walk west of the body, but I was faced that direction for several minutes, and I do not recall seeing anything at all on the sand for at least fifty or a hundred feet.”

“When you turned Mr. Holloway to his back, what did you notice? Besides the discolouration, was there anything on his body? Any objects or remnants of anything or blood?”

“There was sand on his shirt and his face. I was surprised at his missing eyes. But there was no blood really, or at least I am not sure that there was blood, and the wound in his side had discolouration.”

“Was there anything in his pockets?”

It was a peculiar question, but Mary tried to remember the body and its appearance. “I did not check, but his trousers lay flat. It did not appear that there was anything in his pockets.”

He made another note on his paper. “You reported that you saw Mr. Holloway speaking with Mr. Withrow on the eighth.”

She nodded.

“Please answer verbally, yes or no.”

“Yes, I saw them speaking.”

He turned to Mr. Withrow. “Where and when specifically did this conversation occur?”

“At about three in the afternoon, here on the estate.” Mr. Withrow gave Mary a quick glance and then continued. “In the patch of trees in front of the castle.”

“The front entrance?” asked Sir Richard Pickering.

“Yes, the north side.”

“Can you confirm Miss Bennet’s statement that he was wearing the same clothes that were then found on his dead body?”

“I believe so.”

“Why were you meeting in the forest?” asked Mary.

“A very good question, Miss Bennet,” said Sir Richard Pickering. “I myself would like to know the answer.”

Sir Pickering was not as friendly as Colonel Coates or Monsieur Corneau, but the longer this conversation lasted, the more she appreciated his thoroughness and perceptiveness.

“Mr. Holloway has always been rather theatrical,” said Mr. Withrow. “Though he had a comfortable living as a vicar, at several points he considered running away to perform on the stage in London. Sometimes he insisted on living life in a theatrical manner—staying at out-of-the-way inns, conversing with unsavory characters, trying out different accents and clothing. For him, life was always a bit of a game, a bit of a performance. He did not like to sit still; he would rather have a brief meeting in the forest than over a cup of tea in a comfortable room.”

Withrow’s description painted a very different portrait of a man who Mary knew only as a thief and a corpse.

“What did you speak about?” asked Sir Pickering.

Despite some of the unfriendliness of demeanor between them, Mr. Withrow gave the magistrate a more detailed response than he had given Colonel Coates.

“I had interest in several potential business dealings with men in Crawley, people seeking investments to develop new technological inventions in horticulture. Since Mr. Holloway knew them well and was soon coming to Worthing, I had asked him to speak with them on my behalf. Often, in a conversation, one can gather more than a letter. He had come to Castle Durrington to tell me what he had learned. I can collect my notes on the