31 Bond Street Read Online Free PDF

coroner got up and strutted across the room. He placed a scroll on the jury table. It was the marriage certificate, stamped into evidence by the sheriff ’s office, which passed from hand-to-hand among the jurors.
    “Sir, did you conduct a marriage between a man calling himself Dr. Harvey Burdell and a woman named Mrs. Emma Cunningham, two weeks ago, on January the fourteenth?” asked Connery, pointing to the scroll.
    “That is my name on the certificate,” replied the Reverend.
    Next, Connery presented him with a daguerreotype of Harvey Burdell, a formal portrait in silver and black tones, taken at a photography studio downtown. “Do you recognize this man as the man who came before you to be married?”
    Reverend Marvine held the picture close to his face, removed his spectacles, and examined it ponderously. “I believe I recall this face, but then again, I am not sure. A great many couples come tomy home to be married. But I do recall the ceremony. It took place in my parlor. It only took a few minutes. The woman described herself as a widow.”
    “Did she now? Could it be possible that she arrived at your home with an imposter, or a man impersonating Harvey Burdell?” Connery asked, suddenly raising his voice.
    The coal shifted in the fireplace, causing the flame to flare. The Reverend recoiled. “I would not know, sir. I never question the identity of the people who come to be married; it is not my business.” He studied the daguerreotype again. “Now that I think of it, I wonder if perhaps the man who came had hair that was falsely applied. He whispered to me that the marriage should not be published in the newspapers.”
    “Is that so!” Connery exclaimed. “False whiskers?”
    “The woman on the other hand, seemed eager and very fetching, and she was younger than the man.”
    “The marriage is a fake,” someone whispered, and a ripple began to echo through the crowd.
    “Silence!” bellowed Connery. “Could you describe the woman’s attire?”
    “She wore a cloak, I believe, and a blue dress, or maybe grey. Oh I remember now, it was not a dress at all, it was a suit with black buttons!” The Reverend beamed with satisfaction as the room erupted in laughter.
    “Bring her in!” Connery shouted to officers waiting outside the parlor door. Two police matrons ushered Emma Cunningham to the entrance of the parlor as a hush fell over the room. She stood just under the parlor doorway, framed by the carved moldings that rose up to the high ceiling. Her image was reflected in the tilted pier mirror, making it possible for those in the back of the room to see. She was wearing a dark dress, expertly tailored. Her hands were clasped nervously before her. Her hair was swept up with twists,and her skin was porcelain, with high color in her lips and cheeks. Her eyes were green, darkly ringed by lashes and set at a tilt. She stood perfectly still while all faces were transfixed upon her. She had an unexpected allure, a curious blend of features not often found in the drawing rooms of New York—a beauty, thought Clinton, by any standard.
    She leaned to the officer at her side to whisper a question but was cut off by the booming voice of the Coroner. “Quiet!” Connery ordered. “You may not speak! You are here to be looked at, Madame, not to speak. We will interview you before this jury at a later time, and you may speak then.” Mrs. Cunningham stood before him quietly blinking back tears. “Take a look at her,” the Coroner said to the Reverend. “Study her features, for we will send her away so she does not hear the testimony.” He waved at the officer to take her away again, and they departed into the hall and up the stairs.
    At her departure, the room erupted into excited whispers, and Connery rushed over to the table to bang the gavel, which had the effect of creating more confusion. “Is that the woman who came to you to be married?” he demanded.
    The Reverend began to stutter in confusion.