Chapter 26

The Confession

5 November 1808, cont.

As the young man approached the coroner, Lord Harold held up his hand, as though to forestall disaster.

“Stay, Mr. Ord. Do you apprehend what you are about? The consequences of any admission — to yourself and others — must be grave.”

“Would you like me to keep silent,” the American drawled, “when suspicion of murder rests on your head? I consider myself as good a judge of conscience as any man. Mr. Crowse, I cannot swear your oath, as I am a Catholic; but I pledge to you, on this Bible I hold, that I shall speak the truth.”

“Very well.” The coroner gazed doubtfully from Lord Harold to Mr. Ord, then motioned the latter towards a chair. “State your name and your direction, my good sir — and then be seated.”

The American complied — supplying the words “student at the College of Georgetown” for occupation — and took the witness chair. The room had begun to fill once more with the curious, and I hastened to take my seat between Frank and the Bosun’s Mate — who now smelled strongly of spirits, I am sorry to say. Lord Harold, his expression set, resumed his position at the head of the room; but the valet’s chair beside him, I noted, remained empty.

“Mr. Ord, you have pled the indulgence of this inquest in hearing your evidence,” Mr. Crowse began briskly. “Pray inform the panel of any matter that you believe may bear upon the death of Flora Bastable.”

“I am happy to do so. It is merely this: that on the morning in question, I was present at the discovery of the girl’s body at Butlock Common. I was there to fulfill a challenge I had offered Lord Harold Trowbridge, and which he agreed to defend. Dr. Jarvey appeared solely as witness.”

Like a rising wind, the stir of public comment rippled through the chamber. Heads turned in excitement: an affair of honour must always draw sensation.

“Are you suggesting, sir,” Mr. Crowse said sternly, “that a duel was in contemplation?”

“I am.”

“—Though such affairs run counter to the laws of England?”

“Indeed.”

Mr. Crowse glanced soberly about the room. “I must consider whether this places the entirety of the previous testimony in question! Charges of perjury, on the part of gentlemen sworn before God and this panel, must be weighed! The matter increases in gravity, Mr. Ord. However — be so good as to describe your recollection of events.”

“I and my party—”

“You were not alone?” Crowse interrupted. “How many people were assembled at this dawn meeting, pray?”

“It is customary, in such affairs, to appoint a second — or perhaps two — to act on the challenger’s behalf.”

“You will forgive me if I profess an ignorance of the habits of hot-headed gentlemen,” the coroner returned austerely. “You were accompanied by two others, I collect, who have chosen to remain unnoticed by this panel?”

Mr. Ord inclined his head. “My party arrived at Butlock Common just as the sun was rising. Lord Harold and his party, which numbered four in all”—

Mr. Crowse expelled a sigh of annoyance—“had already arrived, in two separate conveyances. Dr. Jarvey was not yet upon the scene. As the sun rose, we observed what appeared to be a pile of discarded clothing lying in the centre of the common. We approached, and I saw to my horror that it was in fact Flora Bastable. Her position and injuries are entirely as have been described.”

“You knew the girl?” Crowse demanded in surprise.

“In the course of my stay in Southampton, I have frequently been a guest at Netley Lodge. The girl was employed there as serving-maid.”

“A position, I understand, which she lost but a few days prior to her death.”

“That is true.”

“Can you account for the maid’s dismissal, Mr. Ord?”

For the first time, the American hesitated. He was willing enough to offer frankness when the truth touched upon himself — but the direction of the coroner’s questions must surely implicate Sophia Challoner.

“I believe the maid was subject to fits,” he answered at last, “and moreover, was regarded as. . unreliable.”

“Unreliable?”

“I do not wish to speak ill of the dead, Mr. Crowse.”

“Flora Bastable has been murdered, sir. You must offer this panel what intelligence you possess.”

“Very well. Her mistress and I, in walking for exercise in the direction of Netley Abbey, on several occasions surprised Flora Bastable with a man.”

“A man?” At this, the coroner turned and stared suggestively at Lord Harold. “Can you put a name to the person she met?”

“I can, sir. He is valet to Lord Harold Trowbridge — a fellow known as Orlando.”

Frank stiffened in his chair. “Good Lord, Jane!” he exclaimed softly. “The tale is better than anything mounted in the theatre in French Street!”

“He never means that Mr. Smythe?” demanded the Bosun’s Mate.

Lord Harold half-rose from his position near the front of the room, and glanced over his shoulder. His gaze sought out the figure of his valet: but he was unlikely to find the man. Having escaped the threat of a noose on one occasion, Orlando had no taste to dance attendance upon another. He had been sent in search of refreshment a quarter-hour since; and I knew now he had seized his chance — and fled Southampton.

Much was suddenly explained: Flora’s visits to the Dolphin Inn; her recourse to the Abbey ruins after the fit of hysterics; even Orlando’s familiarity with the direction of the girl’s cottage. Had he fallen into a dalliance with the maid while standing guard upon the subterranean passage? I suppose it must be natural enough. They were both of them in positions of servitude; Flora was pretty, and Orlando, perhaps, as restless as any man of seven-and-twenty.

“It’s never true!” cried Rose Bastable hotly. She sprang from her seat and thrust an accusing finger in Mr. Ord’s direction. “You saw her dead, and now you’ll see her good name ruined! It was you as came to our cottage, knocking at the door in your fine clothes and asking to speak with Flora! Fie upon you!”

Mr. Crowse took up his gavel and struck it several times. “Pray contain yourself, Rose Bastable. You impede sworn testimony! Mr. Ord: were you on such terms with Deceased as to call at her home?”

“I did so only once,” the American replied evenly,

“on the day the girl was dismissed from her position.”

“That would have been—”

“Sunday, the thirtieth of October, six days ago.”

Mr. Crowse peered at Ord. “And why did you seek out the maid?”

“I felt some concern regarding her fate. She had left the Lodge in considerable distress. I told her that her mistress was sometimes hasty in her temper, and that matters might be improved with the passage of a few days. I then gave her a few shillings, and quitted the place. I should judge I did not remain in the cottage above a quarter-hour.”

And in that period, Orlando had been abducted and conveyed to Portsmouth by an unknown: Monsignor Fernando da Silva? I craned forward, the better to observe Mr. Ord’s face. It shone, as ever, with sincerity. Did he speak the truth? Or did he spin a subtle web designed to ensnare us all?

“Mr. Ord, do you intend to quit the vicinity of Southampton in the near future?”

“I do not, sir.”

“Very well. You may step down. The coroner calls one Orlando, valet to Lord Harold Trowbridge!”

The words fell heavily into silence. Mr. Crowse waited, his eyes roaming the room. Heads turned; speculation rose; and still the valet did not appear.

“By your leave, Mr. Crowse,” Lord Harold said quietly, “I shall go in search of my man in the public room.”

He rose and strode towards the doorway, his countenance inscrutable as ever; but I read in the steadiness of his gravity the depth of his concern. He was absent perhaps seven minutes, all told; and when he returned, he was alone.