Anatomy of Murder

4

Some minutes after Mr. Palmer left Berkeley Square, the promised invitation from Justice Pither arrived. Its tone suggested that the idea of consulting them was all his own. Mr. Gabriel Crowther watched Mrs. Westerman read the note in her turn. She was pulling on a red ringlet that framed her face, and seemed in danger of straightening it. She was not looking well, and she had told him enough of her last visit to Dr. Trevelyan’s establishment to know it had not given her any comfort. Her husband’s illness had overtaken her like a damp fog. Her lively eyes had become dull, fading from emerald to pondwater in a little more than three months, and her hair, shot through with a fire that seemed to burn when she was angry or afraid, had begun to look rusty and brittle. She was thin. If she were a horse, he would have had her shot. He resisted the temptation to tell her so.

“Do stop glowering at me like that, Crowther,” Harriet said, setting the note down and resting her head in her hands for a moment. “I am afraid you are conjecturing what my lungs would look like in a jar.”

Crowther had picked up the newspaper again and was reading a report of fears for brave Cornwallis and his gallant little army at Yorktown.

“I do not think, Mrs. Westerman, the preparation of a human lung I own could be improved upon at this time,” he remarked mildly. “So you may rest easy. I have, in fact, been regretting that the excitement of our success last week when I spoke to the Royal Society seems to have dissipated so quickly. I expected you still to be pleased. But you do not seem it.”

“Your success, I think. And being told my company is injurious to my husband’s health has not cheered me.”

“I gave your insights and investigative abilities their due. The gentlemen were properly impressed by our success in finding out the mysteries of ‘a certain great house in Suffolk.’”

Harriet raised her eyebrows. “Yes, I got the impression afterward that you must have been quite generous, since a remarkable number of men in bad wigs and stained coats took the opportunity to be introduced to me and patronize me a little while we drank tea. Their wives approached me as if they feared I would stink still of the dissecting room.” She fidgeted in her chair like a child confined to a schoolroom on a hot day. “And it seems ridiculous that on these occasions we cannot refer to Thornleigh Hall by its name. Everyone knows the story. Rachel is constantly having to hide the more hysterical pamphlets detailing the circumstances from the children.”

“Such are the conventions. And I must say you are most ungenerous in your description of my colleagues. There were mavericks and thinkers there enough to excite even your admiration, I believe.”

Harriet made no reply, and looking again at Mr. Pither’s note had to admit to a certain grudging admiration of the way Mr. Palmer had engineered the invitation to examine the body. But she put the letter down with a sigh.

“What could I possibly contribute to this matter that you could not manage better and much more properly alone, Crowther?”

Crowther realized where her thoughts had led her and gave the question some consideration. Mrs. Westerman was certainly right. It was neither her profession, nor her proper sphere to inquire into the deaths of strangers, nor to bring murderers to justice, although as the pamphlets she mentioned had recorded in great detail, she had done so in the past. He considered briefly the possibility of going alone to Justice Pither’s house, but it occurred to him-and it was not pleasant to consider it-that he would not, in fact, be of very much use to the magistrate or to Mr. Palmer without Mrs. Westerman. He had spent many years in the study of the human body, and had a particular interest in the marks and traces violence leaves on its victims, but he lacked Mrs. Westerman’s ability to power forward into other people’s lives, asking questions, conjecturing as to their motives. He had tried in his early adulthood to remove passion from his soul with study, scalpel and syringe. It had been only a partial success, but he had winnowed himself to the extent that he still needed to borrow her warmth-if she had any left to spare him. The idea that she might desert him entirely made him uneasy. He was rich, an acknowledged expert in his field, but he needed her-a woman designed by society only to run a household and amuse herself-to turn his expertise into something of practical use. It was somewhat humbling. He examined his cuffs.

“In the initial examination of the body, perhaps not a great deal, madam. But you have a certain animal intelligence that I occasionally lack. Further to that, you do not look well. You are a creature used to activity, and simply writing letters about your husband’s health is not activity enough.”

She glanced at him, and something of her old self glinted in her green eyes.

“London does not improve your manners, Crowther.”

“I do not wish them improved.”

“That is lucky.” Harriet stood and paced across the hearth rug like a dog testing the limits of its chain. “Do you think Dr. Trevelyan is in Mr. Palmer’s pay? That he forces me into an idleness I cannot bear. . Perhaps I should repair my reputation in the world and stay here still and grieving till I am summoned to Highgate again.”

Crowther considered the threateningly ornate chandelier above them. “I believe the captain would wish you to do all in your power to help his friends. And I think, Mrs. Westerman, if your husband had wished to marry a woman who would sit by his bedside weeping for more than three months at a time, he would not have married you. Or if he did wish some sort of paragon of patience, ready to play martyr, he was already an idiot before he received that blow to his head.”

Harriet was surprised into a shocked gasp. He met her gaze with an innocent smile and the gasp became a choking sort of laugh.

“Your complimentary mood continues, I see.” She folded her arms and rapped her fingers against the dull green sleeve of her dress. “And why do you wish to serve your king?”

“Mr. Palmer has flattered me; and besides, I have finished reading my paper.”

“Then let us order the carriage.”