Death Called to the Bar
David Dickinson
Language: English
Pages: 288
ISBN: 1569475504
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Someone is killing eminent lawyers; Lord Francis Powerscourt is summoned to investigate discreetly.
Queen's Inn is London's youngest and most fashionable Inn of Court. During a feast on February 29, 1902, senior barrister Alexander Dauntsey collapses into his soup and dies. He has been poisoned. Soon after, his friend Woodford Stewart is shot dead, and Lord Francis Powerscourt is summoned to discreetly investigate the matter of the murdered barristers. His inquiries take him into the heart of legal London where the wills of the dead can reveal the crimes of the living. It takes him to the center of a troubled marriage where lack of children imperils everything. And it takes him to Calne, a mysterious house in the country where the glorious past is boarded up and the treasures of generations hide beneath the dustsheets.
There are many suspects: a jealous wife, a mistress fearful of being jilted, a work colleague beaten to the senior role in the Inn, and a cuckolded husband who writes books about poisons. Powerscourt himself is put in grave danger before he finally solves the mystery of Death Called to the Bar.
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the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police last time,’ said the Chief Inspector, ‘and that didn’t work. I don’t suppose you’ll have any better luck this time.’ He and Powerscourt had agreed on a policy of initial politeness but that if Somerville turned nasty, they would turn nasty back. ‘And you, Powerscourt, you’re a disgrace to your class. I shall make sure it’s known in society that you’re nothing better than a fraud and a charlatan, a man who brings ridiculous charges with no evidence at
an advocate who could be brilliant, absolutely brilliant in court, a man who could dazzle juries and judges with his eloquence. But the brilliance had another side. Brilliance often does. On the bad days your husband lost all his gifts. It was as if he mislaid them or he never had them. In court on the black times he was hopeless. Of course, there were far more good days than bad ones, but it may have meant that he never rose quite as high, his fees and refreshers were never quite as great as
mind off it all. I know it’s easy for me to say it, but you mustn’t worry. Nobody’s going to want to harm you. Lord Powerscourt is one of the best investigators in the country and that policeman is very sharp. I don’t think there’s anything to worry about.’ ‘It’s not me I’m that worried about so much, Edward,’ said Sarah, her eyes large and bright as she looked across at him. ‘Who worked very closely with Mr Dauntsey? Who worked closely with Mr Stewart? Who must know a lot of the secrets they
was due to natural causes or not. There may have to be a post-mortem before the inquest.’ ‘You don’t think there was anything unnatural about Dauntsey’s death, do you?’ said the Treasurer, consumed with anxiety about his own behaviour. The doctor had decided that he did not care for Mr Barton Somerville. And he thought the man was hiding something, probably about the circumstances of the death. ‘It’s far too early to say whether your colleague died from natural causes or not,’ he said. ‘From
see you again in a few days. But before I go – forgive me for causing yet more embarrassment but it is important. The name of the young woman with whom your husband was going to spend some time would be most useful to me, if you would be so kind. And the professional address of her husband.’ For the first time since Powerscourt had known her, Elizabeth Dauntsey blushed. ‘It might be easier all round,’ said Powerscourt, sensing her discomfiture, ‘if you wrote them down, the names and addresses, I