A Broken Vessel by Kate Ross Page A

merchant, very plump in the pocket, who had made a name for himself as a shrewd magistrate, severe but just. He was also renowned as a philanthropist, although he was selective in his charities. Julian wondered what could have brought him all the way from Highgate, with a gouty foot that sent spasms of pain across his face whenever he moved. Was he one of Harcourt’s patrons? If so, he showed no inclination to mingle with the others.
    There was a short recess, while a parish officer took the jury into another room to view the body. They filed back in again, much sobered, and the coroner called the first witness.
    This proved to be Margaret Muldoon, otherwise known as Wideawake Peg. She had been kept in another room, perhaps in compliance with Harcourt’s rule against the inmates of the refuge mixing with strangers. She described how she had found Mary cold and dead at about seven o’clock that morning, with the empty laudanum bottle on her night-table. The coroner found her Irish sense of drama a little overwhelming and kept her testimony as short as he could.
    Florrie Ames’s testimony was even shorter. She recounted how she had looked in briefly on Mary and tried to wake her, and how she had noticed the laudanum bottle on the night-table but thought it was only Mary’s medicine. The journalists had to be admonished for winking at her during her testimony. She stole a smile at them as she and Peg were ushered out.
    The next witness proved to be a very dignified and supercilious doctor, a prominent member of the Royal College of Physicians, who had examined Mary soon after her death. He made clear that, but for his high regard for Mr. Harcourt, he would not dream of lending his name and expertise to such a sordid proceeding. The coroner was duly awed, and treated him with great deference. No doubt about it, wealthy and powerful patrons had their uses.
    The deceased was a female between the ages of sixteen and twenty, the Great Doctor testified. She was somewhat thin, but otherwise showed no sign of ill health. He had examined her body at about ten o’clock this morning, which he understood was some three hours after she was found dead.
    Julian looked up sharply at this. Why had it taken the people at the refuge three hours to call in a doctor? And what were they doing in the meantime?
    As the Great Doctor understood it, nothing in Mary’s room had been moved since her body was discovered. She was lying on her bed, dressed in a coarse woolen nightgown, with the blanket drawn up to her shoulders. She had no wounds, and there was no sign she had suffered a seizure or sudden illness. To judge by the onset of rigor mortis and the extent and pattern of lividity, she had lain dead in that position for anywhere from six to twelve hours.
    He gave a brief description of her room. It was some ten feet square, without any window or fireplace. The only furniture was a small bedstead, a wooden chest, and a bedside table with a porcelain basin for washing. The basin was clean and empty. Beside it stood a jug half full of water, and an almost empty bottle.
    The Great Doctor took the bottle out of his medical bag and held it up. It was about six inches high, made of clear glass, with a label attached to the cork. There were traces of a ruby-coloured liquid at the bottom. The coroner scrutinized it closely, then showed it to the jury. “You see, gentlemen,” he pointed out, “the bottle was clearly labelled ‘Laudanum.’ The deceased can have been under no misapprehension about what was in it. I’m sure most of you have had occasion to take laudanum at one time or another; all the same, will you be good enough, Doctor, to explain briefly to the jury what it is?”
    “Laudanum is tincture of opium dissolved in alcohol. It’s prescribed for relieving pain caused by various ailments—toothache, rheumatism, and other more serious complaints. The average dose is twenty-five drops.”
    There was a glass beside the bottle on Mary’s