"Thank you, Lady Dunvale," the coroner said, sounding sympathetic. He put on his glasses, referred to the papers in front of him, looked up, removed his spectacles and surveyed those gathered before him. "Miss O'Donnell, would you give me a few more details about the particular occasion to which the Dowager Countess has just referred, please?"

"Yes, sir, indeed I will." Bridget leaned forward slightly, and in her usual clipped, precise way she confirmed Edwina's story and also the various incidents of irrationality referred to by Anthony.

Listening to her, Daisy thought that never had a better witness been heard. The woman was quite remarkable, especially in her attention to the smallest detail, and she obviously had a prodigious if not indeed a photographic memory.

"And did the deceased ever suggest to you, Miss O'Donnell, that she might do anything at all to harm herself?" The coroner steepled his fingers, peered out over them, fixing his keen eyes on the housekeeper.

Apparently Bridget O'Donnell did not have to think twice about this question. "Oh yes, sir, her ladyship did. Not once, but several times lately."

There were audible gasps in the courtroom.

Anthony, stiffening in his chair, exclaimed, "That can't be so—" He made to rise but was restrained by John Crawford, who hushed him into silence, aware of the stern eyes of the coroner.

The coroner motioned for silence in the court, and the hurried whisperings which had broken out ceased. "Please recount those incidents, Miss O'Donnell," he ordered.

"Yes, sir," she said without hesitation, but she did cast a swift glance at Anthony before continuing.

Daisy, whose eyes had not left Bridget's face, thought she saw an apology signaled to him silently, but she was not sure.

Bridget O'Donnell, directing herself to the coroner, said, "The late Countess was a changed woman in the last few weeks of her life, as his lordship mentioned. She was hysterical in my presence on numerous occasions, and privately she said to me that she had nothing to live for, that she wished she were dead. The last time she threatened to put an end to her life was about a week before her death. She drove to Clonloughlin one afternoon, but I was the only person who saw her. His lordship was out on the estate with Mr. Lamont, and the Dowager Countess was in Dublin. In any event, sir, her ladyship was very despondent,- and she repeated over and over again that she wanted to escape the misery and unhappi-ness of her life by—by dying. She cried uncontrollably that afternoon, and although I tried to calm her, give her sympathy, she was beyond help, really. At one moment, when I tried to soothe her by putting my arm around her, comforting her, she struck me across the face. The minute she had done this she seemed to come to her senses, and apologized over and over again. I made a pot of tea and we sat and talked in the kitchen for a while. It was then that her ladyship confided in me about something else. She told me that the greatest tragedy of her life was that she had not had any children." Bridget, paused, took a breath, resumed: "Lady Dunvale began to weep again, but quietly, sort of desperately, and added that she was barren, that she couldn't bear children. Again I attempted to comfort her ladyship. I told her she was a young woman, had a lot to live for, and that she could make a new life for herself. This helped to calm her, and I thought she seemed more hopeful about things when she left a little later."

Bridget sat back. She glanced down at her hands. Raising her eyes she stared at the coroner, and'enunciated in the clearest voice, "I think her ladyship did take her life, sir, because of the failure of her marriage and because she knew she could never have children."

The coroner inclined his head, brought his gaze back to the papers spread before him.

The court was deathly quiet. No one stirred and not one single whisper was heard.

Daisy, glancing around discreetly, saw'that the jurors wore thoughtful expressions and there was no doubt in her mind that everyone had been affected by Bridget O'Donnell's story. In its full context it left little to the imagination regarding the late woman's mental state, her unhappiness and despair. Stealing a quick look at Anthony, she was struck by his extreme pallor

and a pulse beating rapidly on his temple. His face was devastated.

The coroner's voice brought an end to the extraordinary stillness. Glancing at Michael Lamont, he said, "Since you are employed by Lord Dunvale to run the estate at Clon-loughlin, Mr. Lamont, you obviously came into contact with the deceased in the last few weeks. Do you have anything to add to Miss O'Donnell's comments?"

Lamont cleared his throat, said in a subdued tone, "Not really, sir. I never heard her ladyship mention suicide, and I would be inclined to agree with Lord Dunvale that she was

not the sort of woman to harm herself. However—" There was a moment's hesitation before he added, "I can attest to her ladyship's despondency... Miss O'Donnell is correct in that assertion. I spoke to Lady Dunvale about two weeks ago, and she was in a very depressed state." He cleared his throat nervously. "She had also been drinking. Quite heavily, I thought, that day. But what struck me the most was the deep, deep depression. She seemed burdened down by it. But that is all I can tell you. Lady Dunvale did not indicate why she was depressed, nor did I refer to it." Another pause, and then he finished softly, "I didn't think it was my place to intrude on her ladyship's privacy. As an employee of Lord Dunvale's, that would have been a presumption on my part."

"Thank you, Mr. Lamont." The coroner swiveled in his seat, focused his attention on the police sergeant. "Sergeant McNamara, can you shed any light on the-disposition and mental state of Lady Dunvale?"

"Well, your honor, I'm afraid that I can't be telling you anything I've observed personally," McNamara began, rubbing his chin and shaking his head "somewhat mournfully. "I haven't had the occasion to speak to her ladyship in the past few weeks. Mind you, your honor, I knew she'd been visiting Clonloughlin House. Oh yes, that she had. I'd seen her little red car going through the village. And there has been talk in the village about her very weird behavior from time to time in recent weeks, which sort

of confirms the things Miss O'Donnell and Lord Dunvale have said about her stability not being what it usually was."

"Have you formed any opinion about the cause of death?" the coroner asked.

"Well now, your honor, I've had several opinions," McNamara said, straightening up a trifle importantly. "At first I believed her ladyship's death was an accident. Then later I must admit I" thought of suicide. I've also wondered if foul play was involved, since her ladyship did die in mysterious circumstances." McNamara pulled out a notebook, opened it.

"You will be able to elaborate on your findings from the witness stand a little later in the proceedings. Sergeant McNamara,"

the coroner said.

"Yes, sir," the police sergeant replied, closing the notebook with a slap.

The coroner sat back, clasped his hands together, and directed his next words to the entire court. He said, "It is the duty

and burden of this court to establish the manner, cause, and circumstance of the death of Minerva Gwendolyn Standish, the Countess of Dunvale. After hearing the evidence, the court must decide if death was of natural or unnatural causes, whether it was an accident, suicide, or a homicide committed by persons known or unknown."

Anthony was now called to the stand and was asked to recall, to the best of his ability, the events of the previous Saturday. Speaking quietly, Anthony told the court: "Late that afternoon my mother telephoned me from the Dower House. She had seen my wife's car entering the grounds and driving up to the main house. In view of the distressing scenes between my wife and myself in the preceding weeks, I decided to leave Clonloughlin House. I thought that once she realized I was not at home my wife would leave, that we would therefore avoid any further unpleasantness and disturbances. I drove out to the lake in my Land-Rover. I had not been there very long when I saw my wife's red Austin mini approaching in the distance. I was standing under a tree near the lake and I went back to the Land-Rover, intending to drive away. It would not start, the battery seemed to be dead, so I set out to walk back to Clonloughlin House, taking the long way around the estate to avoid my wife. I spoke to my mother on the telephone once I got home, and she arrived to have dinner with me a little later. Around nine-thirty I walked my mother back to the Dower House, returned home, and spent several hours working on the estate account books in the library. I then went to bed. I did not know my wife had remained on the estate at Clonloughlin until I was awakened the following morning by Mr. Lamont, who told me he had found my wife's"—Anthony's voice trembled as he finished—"my wife's body in the lake." He stopped again, took a deep breath, 'and his eyes were moist and despairing when he said with overwhelming sadness, "I should have waited at the lake—spoken to my wife. She might still be alive if I had."

After thanking Anthony, the coroner asked Bridget O'Don-nell to be sworn in, to give her testimony. He commenced to -question her about her activities on the day of the death.

"No, sir, I did not see Lady Dunvale's car that afternoon, nor did I know his lordship had left the house," Bridget said. "1 was making dinner in the kitchen. Later on, 1 served his lordship and the Dowager Countess, and after dinner I worked

between the kitchen and the dining room for half an hour, clearing up." She then spoke about her migraine, told how she had walked past the library around eleven o'clock on her way upstairs to get her pills, had noticed the Earl at his desk in the library, and had seen him again around midnight when she had retired for the night.

"I was up very early on Sunday morning, sir," Bridget O'Donnell continued. "After drinking a cup of tea in the kitchen, I drove to Waterford to attend first mass with my sister. I stayed in Waterford for, lunch, and in the middle of the afternoon I returned to Clonloughlih village to see my mother. It was only then that I learned of her ladyship's death, and naturally I drove back to the estate, where I was interviewed by Sergeant McNamara."

The next person to take the witness stand was the estate manager. Michael Lamont also said that he had not seen Lady Dunvale on Saturday afternoon, and explained his movements the following morning. "I too was up and about quite early last Sunday. I was driving to my office at Clonloughlin House to retrieve some papers I had left there, which I needed to work on that day. I saw his lordship's Land-Rover parked near the lake, and I got out to investigate." Lamont swallowed. "I thought Lord Dunvale was in the vicinity. When I realized he wasn't, I turned around to go back into, my jeep. It was then that I saw her ladyship's car at the far side of the lake. Before I reached the Austin mini I saw a body floating in the lake." Lamont suddenly looked discomfited, and he bit his underlip, appeared upset. Gaining control of himself almost immediately, he went on, "I jumped out of the jeep for.a closer look. The body, or rather a piece of clothing, had caught on a large log near the edge of the lake. I saw at once that it was Lady Dunvale in the lake. I went immediately to Clonloughlin House to inform the Earl."

"And after you informed Lord Dunvale, you telephoned the police presumably?" '

"That is correct, sir, and Sergeant McNamara arrived promptly, and we, that is Lord Dunvale and myself, accompanied the sergeant to the lake."

The coroner now called on Sergeant McNamara to report his findings. After confirming the details of Lament's story, McNamara launched into a recital of the 'investigation he had conducted on the Sunday morning after the discovery of the body.

"Mr. Lamont and I retrieved the body, his lordship being too distressed by far to help. I then removed the decedent to Doctor Brennan's surgery in the village, for examination and to establish possible time of death. From there I put through a phone call to forensic in Cork, knowing there would have to be an autopsy, and to arrange for immediate transportation of the body to the forensic laboratory in Cork. I went back to Clonloughlin House, where I took a statement from his lordship, the Dowager Countess, and Mr. Lamont. I then searched the area around the lake, also Lady Dunvale's Austin. There was a silver hip flask, empty, but smelling of whiskey, in the glove compartment. Her handbag was on the seat and its contents did not look as if they had been tampered with. There was a considerable amount of money in the wallet. In the afternoon I thought I'd better return to the estate. You see your honor, it was like this... I was baffled... and about several things. Doctor Brennan had told me he believed death had occurred around eleven-thirty at night. I couldn't help wondering what her ladyship had been doing out at the lake alone for five hours or more. There was something else odd. I couldn't imagine how anybody could accidentally fall into the lake. There is no high ground, in fact the land is rather flat, and to get into Clonloughlin Lake a person would have to walk or wade into it. It was during this second search that I found an empty whiskey bottle thrown into a clump of bushes. Now that got me to thinking, it did indeed, your honor, sir. I asked meself if death had really been accidental, as everyone was thinking. The-more I pondered, the more I came around to thinking it could have been suicide, perhaps, even murder." Sergeant McNavnara nodded to himself. "Yes, I must admit I did wonder if her ladyship had been the victim of foul play."

"Foul play by whom, Sergeant McNamara?" The coroner stared intently at the police officer, his face more dolorous than ever.

"By persons unknown, your honor. A tramp, a stray gypsy, perhaps a stranger in the parts, up to no good, who her ladyship might have surprised out there in that lonely, deserted spot. But there were no signs of any kind of struggle, or a scuffle. No trampled bushes, no marks in the grass near the lake, marks like a body being dragged would cause, for instance. No, no, nothing like that at all, your honor. The mini was carefully parked, and, as I said, her handbag was

lying there on the seat." McNamara rubbed the side of his large red nose. "Nor am I suggesting that Lord Dunvale had anything to do with his wife's death. Miss O'Donnell's statement that he was in the library at the time the decedent drowned removes any suspicion about his lordship. I had to interrogate him a second time on Sunday afternoon, mind you, your honor. That was in my line of duty." McNamara gave Anthony a careful look, as if to exonerate himself in his eyes. "Anyway, it's those five or six hours. What her ladyship was doing out there during that long, period remains the greatest mystery to me, your honor."

The coroner pondered, said thoughtfully, "Of course, Sergeant McNamara,'Lady Dunvale could have left the grounds of Clonloughlin House, driven back to Waterford, and returned to.Clonloughlin later, on the evening in question, perhaps hoping to speak to the Earl at that time."

"Oh yes, your honor, that is true. Very true, indeed it is. But she didn't. I made inquiries in the village, sure and I did, and not one solitary soul saw her during those mysterious five hours. And she would have had to drive through the village to get to the main road leading to Waterford."

Daisy, who had been holding herself very still, hardly dared to breathe. She looked worriedly at John Crawford, who gave her a reassuring smile. But she guessed he was as concerned as she was at this moment. Drat Sergeant McNamara, she thought.

"Thank you, Sergeant McNamara." The coroner nodded his dismissal and called the village doctor, Patrick Brennan, to give evidence.

Doctor Brennan's testimony was brief: "I examined the body of the deceased late on Sunday morning, after receiving a telephone call from Sergeant McNamara and the arrival of said body at my surgery. Ijsaw at once that rigor mortis was present throughout the entire body. I established death to be in the proximity of eleven-thirty to midnight."

"Were there any visible marks on the-body of the deceased?" the coroner asked.

"Nothing other than a diagonal bruise on the decedent's left cheek, which could have been caused by the log mentioned by

Mr. Lamont."

The coroner thanked the doctor and summoned the Cork pathologist, Doctor Stephen Kenmarr.

Daisy moved to the edge of her seat, scrutinizing the pathologist intently. His would be the most crucial testimony, as she and the rest of the family were aware. She felt the tension of the Dunvales and Jim enveloping her as though this were a palpable thing. The court was deathly quiet once again, so quiet, in fact, Daisy could hear her own heart thudding.

Doctor Stephen Kenmarr was as pecise a witness as Bridget O'Donnell had been. He got straight.to the point.

"I concur with Doctor Brennan's theory about the abrasion on the deceased's left cheek. It could have been caused by an object in the lake, which the decedent struck when entering the water, most probably the aforementioned log. On Lady Dunvale's left cheek and cheekbone was an area of ecchymo-sis, that is, a dark bruise, reddish blue in color. I determined that it was fresh, and not old, because of its color. For the benefit of the laymen present, a bruise changes color in stages, goes from reddish blue or dark purple to brown, then paler brown, lightens to a yellowish green and yellow in its last healing stages. Therefore, because of its dark color, I knew the abrasion was recent. I found no traumatic wounds to the skull or other injuries to the head area of the body. There were no outward, visible marks on any area of the body, no sign of a struggle, or any evidence to suggest that the deceased had been attacked physically in a violent manner or killed prior to the body entering the water. After the external examination I performed an autopsy on the decedent."

Kenmarr paused, peered at his sheaf of notes. He said, "I discovered that the deceased's bloodstream contained a large amount of alcohol and barbiturates. The lungs held a quantity of water. I therefore concluded that death was by drowning due to the excessive amount of water taken into the lungs. Death occurred at approximately eleven-forty in the evening."

"Thank you, Doctor Kenmarr," the coroner said. He slipped on his glasses and looked down at the papers before him. After a few minutes he settled back in his chair and, turning. to his right, he addressed the six jurors.

"From testimony we have heard in this court today we must all be fully and most sadly cognizant of the fact that the deceased was a troubled woman who was under severe mental strain, whose normal stable disposition had been affected by acute depression, owing to the failure of her marriage and her inability to bear children." He leaned forward. "I put great store in the testimony of Miss Bridget O'Donnell, a clear, coherent, and unemotional witness, who was perhaps far more able to see the deceased-in an objective light than her husband. Miss O'Donnell was most convincing, and I trust her judgment when she says that the decedent was, only days before her death, in a frame of mind that could induce her to do harm to herself. We have heard the testimony of Doctor Kenmarr, the pathologist. He has told us there were no signs of a struggle, nor any visible marks on the body, other than the abrasion, which he has explained was recent, and most probably caused by the log. We have heard his toxicology report, his findings of alcohol and barbiturates in the bloodstream. The excessive amount of water in the lungs proved conclusively to Dr. Kenmarr that death was by drowning."

The coroner's direct gaze rested for a split second on each juror. He resumed: "Sergeant McNamara has drawn our attention to the curious elapse of time between the deceased's arrival at the Jake and her death some five hours later. Sergeant McNamara referred to them as mysterious hours— but are they, really? Let us now try to reconstruct those crucial hours when the deceased was alone at the lake—and we must presume she did remain there, since no one saw her leave the grounds of Clonloughlin House or pass through the village. Let us also consider the deceased herself—a troubled, depressed woman who was in a state of irrationality, that irrationality obviously inflamed by alcohol. She may well have been drinking before her arrival, but undoubtedly she consumed a large quantity of alcohol after she arrived. It was found in her bloodstream, and Sergeant McNamara testified ~ that he not only discovered an empty flask smelling of whiskey, but an empty whiskey bottle thrown into the bushes. We have the deceased sitting at the lake, drinking, possibly hoping, indeed perhaps expecting, her husband to return to the lake within a short span of time. Let us not forget that his Land-Rover was parked on the other side of the water and was quite visible to her. Is it not then within the realm of possibility that she did indeed remain there? That she hoped to discuss her problems with him, to find some surcease from her pain? Let me propose the following to you: Hours pass... It grows dark... As she continues to linger, could not the alcohol have blurred her sense of time? Or even rendered her unconscious. Then again, could it not have induced in her the conviction that her husband would indeed come back

to retrieve the Land-Rover? But finally, in the end, realizing her hopes wen- groundless, could she not have come to a most terrible and tragic decision? The decision to put an end to her life? We have been told she was unusually despondent— filled with a feeling of hopelessness about her future—and by two witnesses. It is quite conceivable to me that the decedent swallowed barbiturates at this most dreadful moment in time, either in a misguided attempt to ease her mental anguish, or perhaps to numb her senses before walking into that lake. Yes, 1 believe that the events on that evening could have progressed in exactly this way and as I have so outlined to you. There is no other feasible explanation. Medical. testimony has ruled out the possibility of foul play—homicide. Sergeant McNamara has pointed out that it would be difficult for a person to accidentally fall into the lake at Clonloughlin even if a person was in a drunken stupor, befuddled and disoriented by alcohol, because of the nature of the topography of the area. There is no high ground surrounding that particular body of water." There was a split second's pause, before the coroner finished. "And so, after giving due consideration to all of the evidence presented today, I must draw the conclusion that this is a clear case of suicide." The coroner scanned the jurors for one final time. "Are there any questions?"

The jurors turned to each other, spoke together in low tones for a few seconds, and finally a clean-cut young man addressed the coroner with the apparent approval of the others. "We are all in agreement, sir. We believe as you do and that it happened the way you say."

Straightening himself up to his full height in the chair, the coroner now addressed the entire court:

"As coroner presiding in this Coroner's Court of the County of Cork I must now pronounce a verdict that Minerva Gwendolyn Standish, the Countess of Dunvale, did die by her own hand while the balance of her mind was disturbed, and while she was under the influence of alcohol and barbiturates."

There was a moment of complete silence and then a buzz began, rippling through the court. Daisy patted Edwina's hand, leaned forward and glanced at John Crawford, who smiled very faintly and nodded. Daisy's eyes rested momentarily on Anthony, who sat as unmoving as a statue on the seat. He looked stricken, disbelieving. Daisy filled with sadness and pity for him. He had so wanted Min's death to be proved an accident.

Daisy rose and helped the weeping Edwina to her feet, escorted her out into the corridor. Bridget O'Donnell caught up with them.

"I'm sorry, your ladyship," Bridget murmured.

Edwina turned, stared at her, shook her head vehemently without speaking.

Bridget went on: "I had to say what I said about Lady Dunvale because"—there was the merest fraction of a pause before she finished sullenly—"because it was the truth.'

Daisy, observing her, thought: Oh no, it wasn't. Startled at herself, she wondered what had prompted her to assume such a thing, and instantly dismissed me curious idea that Bridget O'Donnell had been lying. But the thought was to recur often and the housekeeper's testimony would trouble Daisy for the longest time.

Edwina swayed against her, and Daisy turned her attention to her half sister. "Come, Edwina dear, sit down," she murmured with great gentleness and led her to a bench.

Bridget rushed to help. "I'll go and fetch you a drink of water, your ladyship."

"No!" Edwina exclaimed. "I don't want you to get me anything."

The sharpness of Edwina's tone seemed to stun Bridget, and she stepped back uncertainly. "But your ladyship—" she began and faltered.

Ignoring her, Edwina opened her handbag and took out a compact, patted her red nose and tear-stained face with the powder puff. Bridget continued to gape at Edwina, her icy blue eyes filling with perplexity, and then she edged nearer to the door leading into the coroner's court. When she saw Michael Lamont emerging she hurried to his side.

"Are you all right now, Edwina?" Daisy 'asked, bending over, the other woman, filled with concern.

Edwina made no response. She rose and looked Daisy full in the face. To Daisy it seemed as though an immense change had been wrought in her during the passing of only a few seconds. A veil of dignity had fallen over Edwina's face and her bearing was suddenly regal, almost imperious.

Finally she spoke, and her voice was clear, unusually strong: "I have just remembered who I am. I am Emma Harte's daughter and my son is her grandson, and therefore we are

made of sterner stuff than most people might think. It's about time I made them realize that, and I also think it's time that I stopped feeling sorry for myself."

A warm smile swept across Daisy's astonished face. She reached out and grasped Edwina's arm. "Welcome to the family," she said.