The D'Arblay mystery

by R. Austin Freeman

At this moment I observed Miss D’Arblay standing hesitatingly in the doorway and looking into the room as if reluctant to enter. I at once rose and went to her, and as I approached she greeted me with a friendly smile and held out her hand; and I then perceived, lurking just outside, a tall, black-apparelled woman, whose face I recognized as that which I had seen at the window.

“This,” said Miss D’Arblay, presenting me, “is my friend, Miss Boler, of whom I spoke to you. This, Arabella dear, is the gentleman who was so kind to me on that dreadful day.”

I bowed deferentially, and Miss Boler recognized my existence by a majestic inclination, remarking that she remembered me. As the coroner now began his preliminary address to the jury, I hastened to find three chairs near the table, and, having inducted the ladies into two of them, took the third myself, next to Miss D’Arblay. The coroner and the jury now rose and went out to the adjacent mortuary to view the body, and during their absence I stole an occasional critical glance at my fair friend.

Marion D’Arblay was, as I have said, a strikingly handsome girl. The fact seemed now to dawn on me afresh, as a new discovery; for the harrowing circumstances of our former meeting had so preoccupied me that I had given little attention to her personality. But now, as I looked her over anxiously to see how the grievous days had dealt with her, it was with a sort of surprised admiration that I noted the beautiful, thoughtful face, the fine features, and the wealth of dark, gracefully disposed hair. I was relieved, too, to see the change that a couple of days had wrought. The wild, dazed look was gone. Though she was pale and heavy-eyed and looked tired and infinitely sad, her manner was calm, quiet and perfectly self-possessed.

“I am afraid,” said I, “that this is going to be rather a painful ordeal for you.”

“Yes,” she agreed; “it is all very dreadful. But it is a dreadful thing in any case to be bereft in a moment of the one whom one loves best in all the world. The circumstances of the loss cannot make very much difference. It is the loss itself that matters. The worst moment was when the blow fell—when we found him. This inquiry and the funeral are just the drab accompaniments that bring home the reality of what has happened.”

“Has the inspector called on you?” I asked.

“Yes,” she replied. “He had to, to get the particulars; and he was so kind and delicate that I am not in the least afraid of the examination by the coroner. Every one has been kind to me, but none so kind as you were on that terrible morning.”

I could not see that I had done anything to call for so much gratitude, and I was about to enter a modest disclaimer when the coroner and the jury returned, and the inspector approached somewhat hurriedly.

“It will be necessary,” said he, “for Miss D’Arblay to see the body—just to identify deceased; a glance will be enough. And, as you are a witness, Doctor, you had better go with her to the mortuary. I will show you the way.”