Best Laid Plans (A Gentleman of Misfortune, Book 2)

Chapter Twenty-Two

An inquest, it would seem, drew a crowd. Whether this was a common occurrence was a mystery. Perhaps enough people knew Ingram to be curious about who may have killed him. It may be they had heard the rumors that a gentleman was suspected and wanted to see him brought down.

There were fewer gentlemen I was acquainted with than I had suspected there would be. No one, it seemed, wanted to admit friendship with Ingram. Or did they think it would draw attention to them?

The yard of a pub served as the place to hold the inquest. Ward and I had claimed part of a bench to sit near the back of the area. Within minutes of us sitting down, all the seats were taken and people were standing around the perimeter.

"There's one thing to be grateful for," Ward said in a low voice.

"And that would be?"

"If Appleton had any serious evidence to point his finger at me, I would have been arrested before this."

Harper had said the same thing. And yet, I wasn't much reassured.

Honestly, I didn't know that much about how an inquest work. There had been one poacher caught on my father's land when I was a boy, and I'd overheard the servants talking about how the man had been hanged for his crime. I'd never heard the details of how he was tried—if he had been tried.

My ruminations were interrupted by the arrival of the judge. It took several moments for the crowd to settle down and then they got down to business.

If I wasn't so concerned for my friend, I may have been fascinated by the whole thing. I'd never been to an inquest. I had expected somber affair, and while there was some tension from some, the majority had a more jovial attitude. Besides those gathered to observe, there was the jury, most of whom looked as though they wanted to be somewhere else. Probably anywhere there was a drink.

Mr. Appleton walked in and took a seat, not in front of the crowd, but towards the side. An unfamiliar man entered, making the crowd hush.

"Who is that?" I asked Ward in a whisper in the hopes he would be more familiar with the men of Bath. The only response I received was a shrug. A glance to the slovenly man seated on my other side disabused me of the idea of asking him for enlightenment.

"Members of the jury," the man said, his deep voice ringing out above the crowd. "You have been gathered here today to determine the cause of death of Mr. Conrad Ingram. Was it an accident, the kind that could happen to anyone of us? Or by malicious design? That is the decision that awaits you all."

He paused, letting his glare linger on the jury members. After a moment, he took his seat. "Shall we call the first witness?"

For a moment, confusion flooded me. Witness? How could they be called a witness if no one had seen what happened?

A tall man in a fine black jacket stood up from where he had been seated in the front amid cheers from those who, I assume, were his friends. "Please state your name and position for the jury," the man taking the lead at the inquest.

"Jimmy –James– Marks," the young man said with dignity. He shot a glare at the audience when someone let out a laugh. "I was the footman in Mr. Ingram's household."

"And you found your employer dead, is that right?"

"Yes, Sir Roger."

Sir Roger gave a nod. "Why don't you explain to the court what happened leading up to you finding Mr. Ingram that morning."

With a nod, the former footman launched into an explanation of his evening. He detailed how he had carried messages to an inn and then to two other households. Next, he spoke about how he had served Ingram his evening meal at seven o'clock that evening.