The Testimony of the Hanged Man (Lizzie Martin 5) by Granger Ann

relation, thought as much! Then what’s his death to you, eh?’
    ‘That,’ I said sternly, ‘is my business.’
    ‘Is it, now? Well, keeping and protection of the records is my business. We have to be sure they won’t be misused. I am not convinced you are doing anything but waste my time – that is, if you don’t have some nefarious purpose in mind?’ His features creased into the pantomime sneer of one who has just uncovered a dastardly plot.
    ‘ Nefarious . . .  What kind of nefarious purpose could I possibly have?’ I gasped.
    He leaned forward again. ‘Impersonation!’ he hissed.
    ‘How,’ I snapped, ‘am I to impersonate an elderly gentleman, let alone one who died sixteen years ago?’
    ‘You could be acting for someone else. Or it might have to do with a will. I can’t help you – not unless you bring me the deceased person’s name and his address at Putney. Now, madam, you are causing a disturbance and I must ask you to leave.’
    Watched by everyone in the room, I made a dignified exit.
    ‘Hullo!’ said my kindly porter. ‘That didn’t take you long! Get what you wanted?’
    ‘No,’ I said shortly. Then, not wishing to be rude to someone who had been nothing but polite to me, I added, ‘The clerk wasn’t very helpful.’
    He eyed me thoughtfully. ‘What was the problem, then?’
    ‘I don’t know the deceased man’s name,’ I explained. ‘I know when he died and where: at Putney. But I don’t know the exact address.’
    ‘Putney, eh?’ said the porter with a frown. ‘You say you know when the gentleman passed on?’ He pointed a finger heavenwards.
    I felt a glimmer of hope and told him, even though the doorman was probably no more than bored and curious. ‘In eighteen fifty-two, on the fifteenth of June.’ For good measure, I added, ‘I believe there was a summer storm at Putney on that day.’
    He nodded slowly. ‘Your best bet,’ he informed me, ‘is parish records. Putney . . . that’ll be St Mary’s church.’
    Seeing my surprise at his omniscience, he added, ‘I know Putney. My wife was in service at Putney when she was a girl. Lots of toffs have houses in Putney, you know. There’s people of quality has died in Putney. Some of ’em died in duels on Putney Heath in my old father’s day. They don’t allow that now. Of course, them – the gentlemen what blew one another’s heads off with a set of duelling pistols – they would have driven out to Putney for the occasion; and their dead bodies would have been put in their carriages to be driven back again and buried in town.
    ‘But if they live and die in Putney, folk are buried in Putney. St Mary’s church’s register of burials, that’s where the gentleman will be found. Not the date he died, but the date they buried him and that won’t be more than a week later, not if he died in June. In June it’s starting to warm up and you say there had been thunderstorms? You can’t have a corpse lying about the house in thundery weather. It’d go off in no time. Yes, parish records, that’s where you’ll find it all written up. Then, when you know he’s there, why, you will be able to see his grave and his headstone, especially if he only died back in eighteen fifty-two. That will give you the exact date he passed, more than likely. Headstones, that’s what I tell people like yourself who come here seeking their forebears. If you want to know about the late lamented, then go and find his headstone. It’ll tell you all about him, and the names of his wife and his children into the bargain, more often than not. Marvellous thing is a headstone.’
    His powers of deduction left me speechless for a moment. Even Ben would have been impressed. They should employ the porter upstairs at the inquiry desk, and the plump clerk with the curls down here minding the door.
    ‘Your wife wouldn’t know a house at Putney, on the heath, an old house . . . with a running fox weathervane?’ I asked in a burst of