The fate of Fenella

by Unknown

The first editions of the newspapers gave conflicting reports of the count’s death.

For a time the public did not understand whether the count had been murdered in his bed by burglars, whether he was the victim of Nihilistic vengeance, or whether he had committed suicide; but on the morning following the tragedy they were regaled with all the strange story and much more besides.

The confession of Lady Francis Onslow was a text upon which everybody had a sermon to preach. But it was speedily a point of comment that the marks upon the throat of the dead man suggested a more powerful grip than that of Fenella. There was something in the condition of the body which puzzled the experts. This was no ordinary murder, everybody agreed; nor indeed was it, as we know.

At the inquest the medical testimony showed that death might have been caused either by strangulation or by the various stabbings that disfigured the body.

It seemed to the experts that the man had been done to death by some person far more powerful than the prisoner. The marks on the throat were almost as strong, and the bruises and depression of the windpipe as great, as would be caused by hanging. The man had been gripped by a powerful hand, while the stabs had been given with a force that had left the impression of the handle upon the flesh. The witnesses were few, but they were sufficient to show that a murder had been committed, though the jury and the public had evidently grave doubts about the criminality of the prisoner, Lady Francis Onslow.

One of the jurors had asked a pointed question as to the possibility of the deceased having committed suicide. This was, however, only a kindly suggestion in the direction of Lady Francis Onslow’s innocence. The count had been killed by other hands than his own. There was no doubt about that.

What irritated the public in regard to the first day’s inquiry was that, while there were hints at scandal, nothing came out that might be called piquant.

Of course, there was the fact that the count was in Lady Onslow’s bedroom at midnight; but none of the details that led up to this piece of audacity—if it were audacity—were disclosed.

The coroner, in a mild rebuke administered to the foreman of the jury, said the court was assembled to inquire into the death of Count de Mürger, but it was not a court of social investigation; it was not an inquisition charged with a mission to unravel scandal or to exploit the life and manners of a section of Her Majesty’s subjects. While he would take any evidence that bore upon the case, however painful that evidence might be to the private feelings or public reputation of even the highest in the land, he would not allow that court to be unduly inquisitorial in matters that could only satisfy the prurient and licentious taste of that wretched section of the public which found its chief amusement in French novels and the scandals of Vanity Fair.

Poor coroner! he lived to regret those words. Even some of the very best newspapers condemned them; and the worst called for the coroner’s instant dismissal, as a panderer to the aristocracy and unfit to preside over a court of any kind.