Page 118 of The English Wife

“Yes,” she said. “I am quite certain.”

A little murmur of interest about the room.

“Do you know whose brooch it was?” the coroner inquired.

Janie could almost picture it pinned to a bodice, between two long ropes of pearls. It was like trying to remember the whole of a song from a handful of notes. It taunted her and then slipped away again.

“No,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“Do you know how the brooch might have arrived at that particular spot?”

“There were lanterns in the gardens,” said Janie slowly. Pleasure gardens that no one had visited, because there wasn’t much pleasure to be had in a garden in January. “Anyone might have gone down there at any point in the evening.”

Even as she spoke, Janie thought how unlikely it was that anyone would have lost such a jewel and not reported it missing. Just because the rich were rich didn’t mean they were careless with their belongings.

“Miss Van Duyvil,” said the coroner, “can you recall anything else? Anything at all that might aid us in our inquiries?”

That sensation of not being alone, the creeping feeling of being watched. No, that wasn’t something she could share without feeling foolish. She’d be seeing fairies and hobgoblins in the woods next. But there was something else.

“My brother was still alive when we found him,” said Janie, choosing her words carefully. “He … he tried to speak.”

Pens poised; notebooks out. Half-nodding heads upright again.

The coroner managed to keep his voice even and calm. “What did he say, Miss Van Duyvil? To the best of your recollection.”

George …

“It was hard to hear,” Janie said apologetically. “The river and the wind … his voice wasn’t very strong.”

“Was there anything that you could recognize?”

Feeling her mother’s eyes on her, Janie was beginning to be sorry she’d said anything, but this was a court of law, and she was under oath. “It sounded like it might be a name. It began with G.”

Mr. Lacey popped up like a jack-in-the-box. “Georgie! I told you! She killed him! You have it from Van Duyvil’s own lips, damn you!”

Banging the gavel, the coroner said heatedly, “Mr. Lacey, if you cannot control yourself or your language, I will have you removed. I would remind you that there are ladies present.”

Mr. Lacey subsided into his seat with a curl of his lip, but he looked ready to spring up again at any moment.

Gently, the coroner said, “Miss Van Duyvil, was it Georgie?”

Bay’s lips, barely moving. George …

“It might have been.” At Mr. Lacey’s look of triumph, Janie added, “It might also have been Giles.”

Mr. Lacey’s eyes narrowed on her in a way that made Janie feel the cold straight through to her chemise.

“I don’t know,” Janie said, and at least that was true. She didn’t know. “It was just too hard to hear. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, Miss Van Duyvil. You may stand down.” The coroner looked again at the window and came to a decision. “Given the inclement weather, I hereby adjourn this court until Monday. The jury will deliberate at that time.”

“No further testimony?” shouted a reporter.

“I believe,” said the coroner, shuffling his papers together, “that we have heard quite enough.”

“Or,” murmured Mr. Burke, wiggling his way to Janie’s side to offer her a hand down from the witness stand, “that he needs to get back to work and this is dragging on too long.”

Janie could feel the warmth of his gloved hand on hers, straight through the leather of her gloves. Her gloves had been purchased more for elegance than utility. “Would he really conclude the inquest without an answer?”