Chapter Nineteen
MRS. BRIGHT WAS SURPRISINGLY YOUNG for her position, and belied her name by her sombre, authoritative manner, which a dowager might have envied. Murdoch imagined she would be most intimidating to her young charges.
Crabtree swore her in and she gave her testimony. “I was walking along Gerrard Street going toward Jarvis. The time was exactly a quarter past one o’clock. I was on my way to visit my sister-in-law, who resides on Church Street and who has recently been delivered of her first child. I noticed a man was crossing the Gardens in the direction of Chalmers Church. He was wearing a long dark coat and a dark fedora hat. He was carrying some sort of sack over his back. He looked like a tramp.”
The officious doctor raised his hand and, getting the nod from Royce, he asked, “Was this person running or walking?”
Royce frowned. “May I remind the good men of the jury that Tuesday was a miserably cold day and any sensible person would be in a hurry to get indoors. We cannot make more of this witness’s testimony than is called for.”
Moses Galt indicated he had a question.
“How can you be so certain about the time of day, Mrs. Bright?”
The matron smiled. She’d been hoping somebody would ask this. “I was due to meet my sister-in-law at one-thirty and I was delayed because I had to admit a new girl. I looked at the clock as I was leaving. It was ten past one. The home is only a few minutes walk from Jarvis Street.”
Lyons put up his hand. “You seem quite certain the man you saw was a tramp. Other than the fact that he was carrying a sack, what else was there to identify him as such?”
Mrs. Bright fidgeted with her glove, the first sign of uncertainty she had yet shown.
“The park is a favourite spot for tramps, who often go to the churches in the area to beg for money. They are quite a plague, I might add. This man had a thick black beard and he walked the way tramps do. His clothes were not good quality.”
“Did you see him enter the church?”
“Yes,” she hesitated. “Er, that is I didn’t see him open the door, if that’s what you mean, but where else would he be going?”
Lyons would have made a good lawyer, Murdoch thought, he didn’t give the woman a chance to compose herself. “You said he walked the way tramps do. How is that, may I ask, ma’am?”
“Well, they sort of shuffle.”
“You said he was hurrying.”
“He was, but he still dragged his feet.” She frowned at Lyons, obviously not used to being questioned in this way. Murdoch wondered briefly what sort of man she had married. She would have to be a widow to be employed at the home, but she wasn’t in mourning dress so the bereavement must have happened a few years ago. She had a full, smooth face with well-shaped brows, but the hardness of her expression was not attractive. He tried to be more charitable. Perhaps she was covering profound loneliness.
There appeared to be no more questions from the jury and Royce took his large gold watch from his waistcoat pocket and consulted it.
“It’s almost dinnertime and I should begin my summing up so we can –”
The Reverend Swanzey was sitting in the row behind the jurors and suddenly he jumped to his feet. “I do apologize for the late notice, Mr. Royce, but I would like to be sworn in. I believe I have some evidence to add that could be of the utmost importance.”
He had a fleck of saliva at the corner of his mouth and he actually swayed a little so that Murdoch was afraid he might collapse. He could feel Dr. Ogden shift beside him, so she too was at the ready.
“Good gracious, sir. Why didn’t you tell the constable earlier so he could put you on my list?”
Swanzey gulped and Murdoch saw his prominent Adam’s apple move up and down.
“I beg your pardon. I realize that was remiss of me, but frankly, the frightful events drove it completely from my mind. However, after hearing Mrs. Bright’s testimony, I think perhaps it might be significant.”
“Very well. Swear him in, constable, if you please.”
Swanzey went through the ritual, seeming nervous and on edge. He sat down in the witness chair.
“Give your statement, Mr. Swanzey, and do speak up,” Royce said. “The previous witness set an excellent example.”
“Yes, sir.” Swanzey took a deep breath and when he spoke his voice was loud and resonant. There would be no difficulty hearing him at the back of the room. “It is my habit to take an afternoon constitutional as often as the demands of my work permit. I find it is an opportunity for inner contemplation and even in the most inclement weather I do so. However, on Tuesday, I decided that the raw afternoon was too much even for me and after a short walk around the Gardens I went into the greenhouse. The greenery is so soothing to the eye at this time of year.” He paused and looked about the room. Murdoch could feel how intently the spectators were listening to him. Swanzey was demonstrating the skill and pacing of a good preacher.
“It was as I was making a turn of the building when I encountered a tramp. I did not think much of it because it is not unusual for wanderers to go inside the greenhouses where they have some protection from the elements. However, this man, I now see exactly fitted the description of the man seen by our estimable matron hurrying toward the church.” There was a murmuring from the spectators. “He was of middle age, tall, and broad-shouldered with long, grizzled hair and beard. His coat, albeit ragged, was dark, and he was wearing a soft-brimmed black hat. He also had a sack of some sort, although when I met up with him, he was not carrying it but rather had set it at his feet.” He paused again.
“Did you speak to the man?” Royce asked.
“I merely bid him good afternoon. He was a rather sullen fellow and didn’t give me much of an answer. As I said, I would have thought no more about him except that I now realize he had a watch in his hand, which he had been in the process of winding when I came across him.”
“Was it a silver watch?” one of the jurors called out.
“I wouldn’t swear to that, but I did remark to myself that such a fellow had a watch at all.”
“Did you notice if there was blood on him?” Lyons asked.
“No, I did not. It was quite gloomy inside and he wore dark clothes.”
Royce leaned toward the pastor. “Mr. Swanzey, I want you to consider your answer to my next question very carefully. If you do not know, say so. I don’t want any exaggeration or twisting of the facts because you think it will suit us … Now then. What time of day was it when you encountered this tramp?”
Swanzey’s Adam’s apple bobbed vigorously. “I left my lodgings on Gerrard Street shortly after three, as is my wont to do. I walked around the park as I said, then I went into the greenhouse where I walked some more. I met the man on my third perambulation, so he must have entered after I did.” He hesitated, biting on his lower lip. “I would estimate the time was approximately a quarter to four o’clock or shortly thereafter. I decided to resume my walk and I bid the fellow good day and left. As far as I know, he remained in the greenhouse. I myself proceeded across the park toward Sherbourne Street. It was later that I returned to the church and saw a crowd of people had gathered. Then, alas, I was told the sad news.”
He swallowed hard and Murdoch thought for a moment he was going to burst into tears, but he clamped his teeth and remained in control.
Royce looked over at Murdoch. “Detective, you have heard Mrs. Bright’s and Reverend Swanzey’s testimony. It is not a leap of credibility to assume the two men are one and the same. The man could easily have escaped to the greenhouse from the church after the attack on the pastor. I assume you will be doing everything in your power to find the wretch.”
“Yes, sir, of course.”
As far as Murdoch was concerned the evidence was not conclusive, but there was no point in going into that now. Certainly, the tramp needed to be found.
There were no more witnesses or questions and Royce’s summation was short. He then withdrew to the rear room and Crabtree directed the jurors to the adjoining room for their deliberations. One of two people in the audience stood up and stretched, but mostly they just sat quietly, the weeping women were comforted but all the voices were low and respectful.
It was hardly more than fifteen minutes later when the jurors returned and filed back to their seats. Royce took his seat and Crabtree took a roll call again.
“Mr. Chamberlin, have you and the jury agreed on your verdict?”
“We have, sir.”
“As foreman, will you please address this court and state what conclusion the jury has reached.”
The elderly man stood up, adjusted his pince-nez, and, holding his notes in front of him, said, “We the jury here gathered today declare that on the third day of March, 1896, between the hours of three and half past three o’clock, in the offices of Chalmers Presbyterian Church, a person or persons to the jurors aforesaid unknown, did feloniously murder the Reverend Charles Edmund Howard.”
This verdict was not a surprise to anybody and there was no reaction from the spectators.
“All of you must come forward and sign beside your seal that you agree with this verdict,” said Royce.
When that was done and they all sat down again, Royce addressed them once more.
“Gentlemen, hearken to your verdict as delivered by you. You find that Charles Edmund Howard was murdered by person or persons unknown, so say you all. The body can now be buried.”
It was Crabtree’s turn. “Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! You good men of Toronto who have been empanelled and sworn of the jury to inquire for our Sovereign Lady, the Queen, touching the death of Charles Edmund Howard and who have returned your verdict, may now depart hence and take your ease. God save the Queen.”
Royce gathered his papers together. “Thank you, gentlemen. You are invited to join me in a small repast at the Crown’s expense.” He banged the gavel. “I hereby declare this court adjourned.”
The reporters made as fast an exit as they could. Murdoch stood up, ready to let the crowd leave ahead of him. Two rows back, a skinny arm emerged from a heavy raccoon coat and waved at him. As the wearer of the coat was also wearing a matching fur cap, Murdoch hadn’t recognized him. Then he saw it was Mr. Hicks. Next to him was a woman who was so muffled in a woollen shawl, he hadn’t recognized her either. It was Josie Tugwell. He nodded at her, but she didn’t acknowledge him.