seeking some support. “Why should not these hoofprints and their damning marks belong to some other person?”
“Because I knew Mr. Sidmouth to make a practise of having his blacksmith etch those initials on his mounts’ shoes.”
“I see,” Mr. Carpenter said, and sat back in his chair. That he had been apprised of this intelligence well before the proceedings, by the efficient Mr. Dobbin, I little doubted; and that his behaviour on the occasion was intended for effect, I perfecdy understood. The fellow had surely missed his calling—he should better have trod the boards of Drury Lane, in the guise of Falstaff. I expected him to call Sidmouth without delay, and end the sad business; but Mr. Carpenter was nothing if not thorough. The coroner had set aside the afternoon for the canvassing of Percival Fielding's death; and he was not about to quit his glorious stage so well before dinner. He now bade Mr. Crawford stand down, and called Mr. William Dagliesh in his stead.
Poor Dagliesh took his place at his employer the coroner's right hand, and was sworn, and looked everywhere but in the eyes of his friend at the back of the room; but his moment of martyrdom was brief. The surgeon's assistant stated what Mr. Carpenter already knew—that the Captain had been dead some hours by the time they were called to examine the body; that Fielding had lost a quantity of blood, from the wound in his heart; and that he had witnessed Mr. Carpenter extract a ball from the wound itself, which he should judge to be a simple lead one such as was commonly used in a gentleman's pistol.
“And could you state the approximate hour of the Captain's death?”
“From the condition of the body, I believe we agreed that he had died sometime during the evening before.”
“But you cannot state when?”
“I cannot.”
“Have you anything further?”
Mr. Dagliesh hesitated, and looked finally to Sidmouth; and as if emboldened by the sight of his friend, assumed a sterner countenance. “I should simply like to add, sir, that I may vouch for the behaviour of Mr. Geoffrey Sidmouth,” he said, in a voice so strengthened by his purpose it seemed to fill the room. “I believe him incapable of the despicable actions that the presence of his horse's hoofprints might suggest; and moreover, I will freely admit that I was in his company the entirety of the night in question, and parted with him only at dawn, when Captain Fielding's death had already been effected many hours.”
Mr. Carpenter studied his assistant's face when the speech was done, his own expression unfathomable. “You are on intimate terms with Mr. Sidmouth, Mr. Dagliesh?” he enquired.
I am.
“The safeguarding of his person, then, is a near concern of yours?”
“Would I call myself friend, were it otherwise?”
“And have you another witness who might vouch for the gendeman's whereabouts?”
“Is not my word enough?” Mr. Dagliesh cried, his face reddening with indignation. I closed my eyes upon the sight, remembering my own poor hopes of sincerity and goodness two winters past, when Isobel's life hung in the balance.
The coroner smiled. “For myself, perhaps,” he said, “but I fear the jury might demand a greater proof. Could you delineate for us all your movements on the night in question?”
Mr. Dagliesh blushed, if possible more hody, and his eyes shifted again to his friend. I turned, and surveyed Mr. Sidmouth's countenance. I read there what I can only take to have been a warning.
“Honour forbids it,” the surgeon's assistant finally replied, “but I may assure you, sir, that our activities were such as should not disgrace a gendeman.”
A low ripple of laughter greeted this unfortunate attempt, and I saw a knowing glance pass between two members of the jury. I adjudged Mr. Dagliesh's effort to have hurt, rather than aided, his friend. His words should be dismissed, as the desperate fabrication of a moment, and Mr. Sidmouth's fate be sealed. But from the look that had passed between the two, I should rather say that Dagliesh was forbidden to speak to his friend's defence, than that he lacked the means.
Mr. Carpenter released his unfortunate junior, and Dagliesh fled with relief and a dignity somewhat impaired. As he hastened down the aisle, he cast upon me a look so beseeching as to be eloquent in its silence. I felt he begged, then, for the indulgence of being believed, however little he might reveal as proof of his assertions; and for my part, I certainly unshed to grant his