A Broken Vessel by Kate Ross Page B

night-table, the Great Doctor said. It contained traces of laudanum, water, and a substance he believed to be Summerson’s Strengthening Elixir, a cordial Mary had been taking.
    What exactly was this cordial? the coroner asked. The Great Doctor explained that it was a concoction of sugar syrup, herbs, and a dash of spirits, designed to raise a weak patient. It was very popular, he believed, and was sold at shops all over London. It had a distinctive label, with a sun in the corner, shedding healing rays. He had no personal knowledge of why Mary was taking it, since she had never been his patient. He was told she had not been seriously ill, but merely weak and in low spirits—perhaps a debilitating effect of the depraved life she had led before she came to the refuge.
    Here the coroner cautioned the jury that there was no evidence as yet regarding Mary’s past life, so they could not draw conclusions about it. The Great Doctor stifled a yawn and looked at his watch.
    The coroner asked him if he had an opinion about the cause of death. The Great Doctor cleared his throat. “In my view, death resulted from respiratory failure brought on by the deceased’s deliberate ingestion of an overdose of laudanum.”
    “How can you be certain it was deliberate?”
    “At Mr. Harcourt’s request, I boiled down a small amount of the laudanum left in the bottle, to determine how high a concentration of opium it contained. Most druggists have their own preparations, and the amount of opium they use may vary. This was not a strong preparation. A female of Mary’s age, in moderately good health, would have had to take an exceedingly large dose to end her life. No young woman of even minimal intelligence would swallow such a dose by mistake.”
    “Habitual opium-eaters are often reckless in the amount they take,” the coroner suggested.
    “This young woman was not a habitual opium-eater. Had she been, she would have needed constant doses of the drug. Deprivation would bring on severe physical symptoms—chills, aches, vomiting. I have been assured that she, like the other inmates of the refuge, was watched carefully, and her room frequently searched. There is no evidence that she was secretly taking opium in any form. Therefore I conclude she was not accustomed to opium, and that she knowingly took an excessive dose on this occasion, with fatal intent.”
    The coroner thanked the Great Doctor and dismissed him. The reporters wrote furiously in little notebooks. The jury exchanged grave looks.
    Mrs. Fiske was called next. She sat down stiffly in the witness’s seat. She was Mrs. Matthew Fiske—Christian name, Ellen. She was a member of the Reclamation Society, and one of the three matrons in charge of the refuge. The other two were Mrs. Jessop—she pointed to a stout, red-faced woman seated beside Harcourt—and Miss Nettleton, a thin, fluttery woman on Harcourt’s other side.
    The three matrons took turns on duty at the refuge, Mrs. Fiske explained. Mrs. Jessop presided on Mondays and Thursdays, Miss Nettleton on Wednesdays and Saturdays, and Mrs. Fiske on Tuesdays and Fridays. They each took every third Sunday. The matron on duty was responsible for keeping the refuge running smoothly: dealing with tradespeople, answering enquiries about the Reclamation Society’s work, and maintaining adequate stocks of food, coal, candles, and such things. In addition, the presiding matron kept her eye on the inmates, and made sure they attended to their work and their prayers. If there were any serious infractions of discipline, she reported them to Mr. Harcourt. He visited the refuge at least once a day, and always held services there on Sundays.
    Yesterday, following her usual practice, Mrs. Fiske relieved Mrs. Jessop in the morning and remained at the refuge all day. In the evening, the inmates had their supper in the refectory as usual. They finished at about half past eight. Then they went upstairs to the chapel for prayers and Bible