Jane and His Lordship's Legacy by Stephanie Barron Page B

well, Mr. Watson, you may urge your panel to take their places. As coroner for Basingstoke, Steventon, and Alton, I call this inquest to order. We are convened to discover the manner of death of one Shafto French, labourer and free man of Alton, and you are each of you charged with the most solemn duty of judging whether Deceased met his end by misadventure, malice aforethought, or his own hand. Mr. Watson, will you come and be sworn?”
    Beside me Mr. Prowting sighed heavily, but not with boredom; rather, it was a settling into the familiar and the comforting, a small animal noise akin to a horse in its stable. The magistrate’s gaze was fixed on his colleague, but no hint of his thoughts could be read on his visage. I wondered, fleetingly, if I had taken the full measure of Mr. Prowting. It was possible a brain of some subtlety worked behind his country façade.
    The members of the panel, having placed their hands on Mr. Munro’s Bible, were led in single file to the adjacent room from which the coroner had entered. Here, no doubt, the mortal remains of Shafto French reposed, and must be viewed by those charged with determining how the poor man had died. I should have liked to ask Mr. Prowting whether the physician had troubled to anatomise the body, or whether consideration for the feelings of the man’s wife had prevented this excursion into Science—but I was confident the magistrate would regard such a question as grossly unsuited to the experience and sensibility of a lady. 1 I must trust to the proceedings to unfold what intelligence they would.
    An interval of perhaps ten minutes elapsed; the men returned, singly and in groups, with one poor fellow dashing out of the chamber entirely, to be sick as I supposed in Mr. Barlow’s stable yard. The coroner took no notice of this, save to await the man’s return before proceeding. When all were reassembled, Mr. Munro glanced up from his foolscap and pen, eyes roving about the room until they fell upon Mr. Prowting.
    “I should like to call Mr. William Prowting of Chawton, who holds the commission of the peace for this county, to be sworn before God and this panel.”
    Mr. Prowting rose to his feet, and made his ponderous way towards the enclosure reserved for witnesses at Munro’s right hand. He made his oath, and composed himself with an air of gravity; told the coroner and the townsfolk of Alton how he had assisted his neighbours with the disposal of some heavy articles in the cellar at approximately four o’clock the previous afternoon, and therewith, in all innocence, discovered Shafto French’s remains.
    “There was no possible entry to the cellar except through the rooms of the cottage itself?”
    Mr. Prowting affirmed that this was so—“despite the hatchway set into the cellar ceiling, a remnant of the place’s former usage as a public house.”
    “The hatch was closed at the time of the body’s discovery?”
    “Closed and barred from within. I opened the hatch myself, as I just described to you, and may attest that the dust had not been disturbed.”
    I wondered at that statement; in the dim light of my tallow candle, little could have been observed of either wooden bar or the dust that coated it. But it was not for me to say what Mr. Prowting had seen; it was not my hand that had lifted the hatch’s bar.
    “And the new tenants of Chawton Cottage opened the house only yesterday?”
    “Mrs. Austen and her daughter arrived before the gate at half past two o’clock, as I observed from my parlour window directly opposite.”
    “You paid a call upon the household soon thereafter?”
    It was a point of conjecture whether Mr. Prowting would now condescend to mention the appearance of so extraordinary a visitor as Mr. Chizzlewit, with liveried lackeys behind; but the former was a magistrate of long standing, and had been trained to observe the brevities of a public proceeding. Mr. Chizzlewit did not pertain to Shafto French; furthermore, Mr. Chizzlewit