Sweet Awakening

by Marjorie Farrell

“Yes, my lord.”

  “Please tell the court in what capacity.”

  “I am Lady Rainsborough’s abigail.”

  “What do you remember of the morning of the murder.”

  “I object,” said Andrew.

  “I beg your pardon, Mr. More,” said the coroner. “The morning that Lord Rainsborough was found dead.”

  “I was asleep like all the other servants, my lord. I woke up sudden like.”

  “What woke you?”

  “I couldn’t say, my lord. But I heard Mr. Peters go by, and I followed him downstairs.”

  “Did you go into the library with him?”

  “He went in first, and I stayed by the door. But then he called me in.”

  “And what did you see?”

  Liza’s voice, which had been flat and still as a pond on a windless day, became higher and an expression of fear rippled over her face, as though someone had dropped a small pebble in the pond. “The first thing I saw was Lady Rainsborough.”

  “And what was she doing?”

  “Just what the constable said.”

  “We want to hear it from you, Miss Stone.” The coroner prompted respectfully.

  “Well, she was standing there, her dress all bloody, holding the poker in front of her.”

  “How did she hold the poker.”

  “Like he said, she had it lifted up like she was going to hit someone. Then I looked over and saw him.”

  “Who?”

  “Lord Rainsborough. He was lying there ... it was a terrible sight.” Her voice rose a little again as she remembered what her late employer had looked like.

  “Was there anyone else in the room?”

  “Just Peters.”

  “Did it look like there had been an intruder?’

  “An intruder, my lord?”

  “A housebreaker.”

  “No, no, my lord. The windows was still closed and locked.”

  “So before you arrived, Lord and Lady Rainsborough would seem to have been the only ones in the library?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Why doesn’t Andrew object,” whispered Giles to Sabrina. “How could she know if anyone else was there?”

  “I don’t think Andrew wants to distract the jury with any other possibilities. After all, Clare herself is willing to admit she killed Justin.”

  “That is all, Miss Stone,” the coroner was saying, and thinking she was finished, Liza started to get up.

  “A moment of your time, Miss Stone,” said Andrew, smiling his most charming smile, first at her and then at the jury, as if to say: “We all understand how much you wish this was over, but let me lead you through a few more details.”

  Liza sat back down and flushed with embarrassment. She knew about cross-examination, but had forgotten.

  “My God, the woman is actually blushing,” said Giles. “I didn’t think she had any blood in her veins. Trust Andrew to throw her off balance.”

  Andrew moved closer to the witness stand and said, with great sympathy, “I know this has been very difficult for you, Miss Stone, but I only have a few more questions. You have already said that you saw Lady Rainsborough first and noticed that her dress was all bloodstained.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did you notice anything else about her?”

  Liza had been listening to the other witnesses and didn’t see the sense of hemming and hawing, only to be led down the garden path, as it were.

  “Yes, sir. Like the others have said, her face was red and her lip swollen.”

  “And her neck?”

  “Had red marks on it.”

  “Would you call them finger marks?”

  “The marks could very well have come from fingers, yes, sir.”

  “You are Lady Rainsborough’s personal maid, Miss Stone?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And a lady’s maid has almost as much intimate knowledge of her mistress as her husband does, isn’t that so?”

  “I am not sure what you mean, Mr. More.”

  “Oh, nothing scandalous, I assure you. I only mean that you help your mistress dress and undress. You prepare her for her bath.”

  “That is what an abigail does, Mr. More.”

  “So a lady’s maid must be trustworthy and loyal, Miss Stone.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Loyal to whom?”

  Liza answered without hesitation: “Why, to her employer, Mr. More.”

  “And in this case, that was?”

  “Lord Rainsborough.”

  “So your loyalties, were, in reality, with your master and not your mistress?”

  Liza looked a little taken aback. “Well, now, I wouldn’t exactly say that.”

  “Tell me, who interviewed you for your position, Miss Stone?”

  “Lord Rainsborough, sir.”

  “And then of course, Lady Rainsborough would have met with you?”

  Liza hesitated for a minute. “No, sir.”

  “You mean, you were hired without meeting the lady you were to serve? And she never had a chance to approve or disapprove her husband’s choice?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Didn’t you think that a bit odd, Miss Stone?”

  “Not really, sir. Lord Rainsborough explained that Lady Rainsborough trusted his judgment completely.”

  “I see. So your first loyalty was indeed to the man you worked for, not to the woman.”

  There is nothing she can say but yes, thought Giles. Good work, Andrew.

  “Yes, Mr. More,” Liza replied in a low voice.

  “Could you repeat that so all the court can hear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That must have been a difficult position to be in, then, Miss Stone,” said Andrew smiling sympathetically.

  “I am not sure what you mean, sir.”

  “To work so closely with Lady Rainsborough. To come to know her well, better than you knew her husband, I suspect. To have developed sympathy for her. And yet to be completely dependent upon Lord Rainsborough’s goodwill.”

  “It was a little difficult,” said Liza, her voice softening as she responded to the attention and understanding Andrew was giving her.

  “It must have been very difficult, indeed, when you had to help Lady Clare after one of her husband’s beatings,” continued Andrew even more sympathetically.

  “There has been no evidence of beatings introduced, Mr. More,” the coroner reminded him.

  “Excuse me,” said Andrew, turning and giving a short bow to the coroner and the jury.

  “On the night in question, Miss Stone, did you take Lady Rainsborough up to her room?” Andrew’s voice was harder now.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you helped her bathe?”

  “In the morning, Lady Sabrina came over and we both helped her, sir.”

  “You have already stated that you noticed a red and swollen face and finger marks on her throat. Did you notice anything else?”

  Liza hesitated, and then answered slowly, “There were bruises, sir.”

  “Bruises? What kind of bruises? And where?”

  “Rather large bruises, sir. Around her ribs. Her back ... her belly.”

  “And where did you think these bruises were from, Miss Stone?”

  “I don’t really know, sir.”

  “But if you were to guess, how might they have occurred?”

  “They looked as if ... perhaps they were made by the toe of a boot, sir.”

  “A gentleman’s boot, Miss Stone?”

  The abigail nodded.

  “An earl’s boot?” Andrew’s voice was very hard now.

  “I never saw him kick her, so I couldn’t say as it was Lord Rainsborough’s,” said Liza, relieved that she could tell the truth and yet not be giving the coroner and the jury any reason to favor Clare.

  “I wonder who else would have had the opportunity,” mused Andrew with pseudo-innocence. “Mr. Peters, the butler? A footman? A groom from the stable?”

/>   Liza blanched. “No, sir, of course not.”

  “It would seem that a husband had the greatest opportunity, then. Would you agree with me, Miss Stone, that in all likelihood it was Lord Rainsborough’s boots which had left these marks?”

  “Yes, sir,” Liza answered with obvious reluctance.

  “And had you ever seen Lady Rainsborough in this condition before?”

  “What relevance have past beatings in this case, Mr. More?”

  “Every relevance in a claim of self-defense, my lord. And I am grateful for your concession that there were past beatings, my lord.”

  Brilliant, Andrew, brilliant. Giles wanted to shout it aloud, but he could only turn to Sabrina and smile his exaltation. “I knew he could do it.”

  “Hush, Giles, he hasn’t done it yet,” said his sister. But Sabrina was feeling the same admiration for Andrew. And something else. She had always been equally sympathetic to Andrew’s and his family’s views. She understood his desire to be independent of their expectations, and also their repugnance for his usual clients.

  Today, however, she knew that they were wrong. Andrew More had found the one thing that his intelligence and talents were meant for, and such unity of purpose and dedication had a powerful effect on Sabrina. She found herself becoming aware of little things about Andrew she had never noticed before: the way his thick brown hair sprang back into place whenever he ran his hand through it, how expressive his face was, and how he used his voice like an instrument.

  She had always had fleeting moments of finding him attractive, but today, it was as though something coalesced inside her, and despite her ongoing sympathy for Giles and her sense of oneness with him, something had shifted so that when she looked over at her brother, she felt more separate from him and in some strange way, connected to Andrew.

  * * * *

  It was now after one, and the coroner informed the court that since the next witness would likely take them past dinnertime, he would adjourn the inquiry for two hours.

  “Thank God,” said Giles. “It is exhausting just sitting here in this heat. I can’t imagine how Clare can stand it. Come, Sabrina, let us get out of here and see if we can get a hackney to take us home for dinner.”

  “Will we have time, Giles?”

  “I think so. And we certainly will not find any eatery in this neighborhood suitable for a lady.”

  They were lucky that the coroner had called his recess a little bit earlier than usual, for it meant that the crowds had had no time to gather and they were able to find a cab quite easily. It was too hot, and both were too nervous to eat much, so Sabrina had a platter of cold meats and salad sent up from the kitchen for them as well as a large pitcher of lemonade.

  “Unless you wish for wine, Giles?” she asked.

  “No, no. I am too thirsty for anything stronger than water or lemonade.”

  They ate silently and quickly, and after a quick freshening up, were back at the court just a few minutes before the coroner reconvened.

  Andrew had had food and drink brought in for himself and Clare, and both were feeling refreshed. They had not been able to escape the heat, however, and Sabrina could see that Andrew’s hair was damp and clinging to his neck.

  “Whom do you think will be called next, Giles?”

  “The coroner is in charge, so I assume the only one left is Clare.”

  And indeed, after everyone had been reseated, the coroner called Lady Rainsborough to the stand.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Giles thought his heart would break when he saw Clare get up and walk slowly over to her place. She looked so small and frail that he wanted to rush down and shriek into the faces of the vulgar, curious audience, that she should be released immediately. She couldn’t survive this ordeal. Wasn’t it obvious? And wasn’t it also obvious that such a small, weak woman could never have killed her husband. Except, of course, she had.

  She had to give her oath twice for the coroner was unable to hear her the first time.

  “Lady Rainsborough, I realize that this will be difficult for you, but I wish to lead you through the events of the day and evening of the sixteenth. Can you tell us exactly what transpired between you and your husband.”

  Clare spoke very slowly and carefully, and in a tone barely above a whisper, so that everyone in the room had to pay careful attention.

  “My husband, Lord Rainsborough, went out to his club that afternoon, as he usually did. I was at home to visitors.”

  “Did you receive any?”

  “No, my lord. Lord Whitton called on me.” Clare hesitated. “But I told Peters to tell him I couldn’t receive him.”

  “And why was that?”

  “My husband is ... was a jealous man, my lord, especially when it came to Lord Whitton.”

  “And did he have any reason to be?”

  “Before I met Justin, my husband, there was an understanding between Lord Whitton and myself. An informal understanding. I think that Justin was never able to forget that.”

  “Did you see Lord Whitton often during your marriage, Lady Rainsborough?”

  “No, my lord. Despite the old friendship between us, I have seen Lord Whitton and his sister Lady Sabrina very little these past two years. Only when our paths cross socially, for the most part.”

  “And yet Lord Whitton called on you when your husband was away.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “I found out later that evening.”

  “I see. We will get to that later. Please continue.”

  “I sent Giles ... Lord Whitton away. My husband returned just as he was leaving and was ... upset.”

  “How do you mean, upset?”

  “He began to accuse me of an intimacy that did not exist. When he found out that I had sent Lord Whitton away without seeing him, he calmed down and apologized for his suspicions.”

  “And so you were in harmony that evening.”

  “Yes, my lord. Absolutely.”

  “What happened when you got to the Petershams’? It was the Petersham ball you attended?”

  “Yes. Justin and I danced. I danced with several friends and acquaintances.”

  “Including Lord Whitton?”

  “Yes. Then my husband went into the card room, and Lord Whitton asked if he could speak with me privately. At first, I said no. I knew if my husband saw us together, he would be angry. And I would suffer for it later.”

  “How do you mean, Lady Rainsborough?”

  “He would beat me,” Clare answered in a voice so low that all strained forward to hear her.

  “What did Lord Whitton have to say to you?”

  “He told me that my father was concerned about my health and had asked Giles to speak with me.”

  “And what did you reply?”

  “That all was well. That I needed to get back to the ballroom. But when we got back, there was Justin, looking for me. We left soon after.”

  “Did anything happen on the way home?”

  “Just the usual accusations.”

  “Which were?”

  Clare swallowed before whispering, “That I was an unfaithful wife.”

  “And were you, Lady Rainsborough?”

  “Never, my lord,” Clare responded, her voice quivering with the intensity of her emotion.

  “And when you reached home?”

  “He sent all the servants to bed and took me into the library. He kept at me, wanting me to admit to something I’d never done.”

  “Did he strike you, Lady Rainsborough?”

  “He started out as usual,” she answered in a matter-of-fact tone that went straight to Giles’s heart. “He struck my face, my mouth. He threw me down and ...”

  “And?”

  “And kicked me.”

  “And what did you do?”

  “If I curl up,” said Clare expressionlessly, “then he can’t get at my belly so easily. I let him kick me until he tires of it. It ends more quickly that way. Us
ually, the kicking is the end of it, but lately he is pulling me up and choking me. I was hoping it wasn’t one of those times.”

  “But it was?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Is that all that he did?”

  “My God, isn’t that enough for him,” said Giles in a furious whisper.

  “No, then he hit my head against the back of the mantel. Then he opened the gun case and took out one of his pistols. He drew it down my cheek. He put it to my temple and threatened to shoot me if I didn’t admit the truth. He said he would kill me and then call Lord Whitton out if I didn’t admit we were lovers.”

  “Did you really believe he meant to shoot you, Lady Rainsborough?” the coroner asked. His tone had subtly changed from cold and businesslike to involved arid curious.

  “Yes, my lord. And if he had called out Lord Whitton, he would have killed him, too, for my husband was the better shot. I ... I didn’t really care what he did to me anymore, but I couldn’t let him kill Giles. Giles was innocent of everything except being my good friend.”

  “What happened then, Lady Rainsborough?”

  “He promised that it would all end if I only admitted that Giles and I were lovers. I didn’t know what else to do. The more I protested our innocence, the worse he got. So I admitted the ‘truth’, ” said Clare with gentle irony, “and promised I would never see Giles again. Then he started to choke me again. He was going to kill me anyway and then go after Giles, despite his promise.” Clare’s eyes were wide, and it seemed as though she was looking at a scene far away, trying to make it out as she slowly described it. “I was bent over his desk. I reached behind me and felt the brass candlestick and brought it down on his head.”

  “Did that stop him from choking you?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Was your husband on the floor?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Unconscious?”

  “I ... I don’t think so. He moved, he started to get up. I saw his pistol, and I picked it up and walked into his arms and shot him.”

  The room was mesmerized, both by Clare’s quiet expressionless voice and by her story itself. When she admitted shooting her husband, a collective intake of breath was heard.

  “Was that the shot in the chest, Lady Rainsborough?”

  “I suppose so. I wasn’t aiming or thinking about it. I just wanted to stop him.”