by Anne Perry
‘You can’t prove it, though,’ Daniel argued. ‘We can’t try it in court.’
Her eyebrows rose. ‘For goodness’ sake! We want to stop this long before it gets into any court! You have to go to the publisher and point out the people who will fight! And what they will do to protect themselves. This is what the publisher has to fear. Lawsuits! A fortune in damages. Put him right out of business – and onto the street!’
Blackwell looked up for the first time in nearly an hour. ‘And I have a charge against your father that I can prove is made from spite. I think the person concerned would deeply regret having this issue raised again. He was proved wrong – in fact, he made the charge to hide a particularly nasty piece of behaviour. This book takes his point of view, but a little investigation will show not only that he was wrong then, but there are other things connected to that which are not criminal, but are deeply embarrassing. The publishers would make new and very dangerous enemies.’ He smiled. ‘It will show your father as very charitable in his judgements, perhaps at a glance naïve, but on further reading of it, he gathered many favours as a result. Not always for himself, but for the service. He was either naïve, or very astute indeed. I’ve not made up my mind which.’ He gave a rather wistful smile. ‘If I were his enemy, I wouldn’t take the chance that it was the latter. I think we can make sure the publishers see it that way, too. It could unravel to become very close to treason – if we played it that way. Mr Graves is not as clever as he thinks.’ His smile grew even wider. ‘But we have a lot to do! We must lay our plans carefully. And tomorrow we must move. Much as I personally would like to see Graves swing, I know you cannot do that.’
‘I would love to!’ Daniel said fervently. ‘But I would regret it later.’
‘You would regret it immediately,’ Blackwell corrected him. ‘You’re like your father.’
Daniel was not sure for a moment whether that pleased him or not. Then he thought about it again, and was absolutely certain that it did.
Chapter Twenty
‘Yes, sir.’ Daniel stood in Marcus fford Croft’s office on the last full day they had in which to appeal Russell Graves’ case. ‘I know we’ve cut it a little fine. There were many aspects to the case.’ He saw the look on fford Croft’s face. Should he say that he had kept Kitteridge informed? That was a cheap shot. fford Croft might see it as an attempt to shift the blame.
‘I wanted to make sure the book would not be published. It would do a great deal of damage, not only to my father, and thus Special Branch in general, but also to a great many other people, sir . . .’
fford Croft sat stone-faced. He did not like being outmanoeuvred, especially by one of his own most junior men. ‘And you did not think to tell me about all this?’
Daniel raised his chin a little higher. ‘Yes, sir, I did. But I went to Mr Kitteridge for legal advice, because if it went wrong I thought it better, and fairer, that you should be able to deny any knowledge of it.’ He met fford Croft’s eyes with some trepidation. ‘You told me you promised Mr Graves your best effort to acquit him, sir. He will be acquitted, beyond any doubt at all, of murdering his wife. You will have kept your word.’
‘And publishing the book?’ fford Croft’s eyebrows went up.
‘I don’t know if you promised my father, or Special Branch, any sort of consideration, but if you did, you will have kept your word in that, too.’
‘You’re impudent, sir,’ fford Croft said a little stiffly.
‘I’m sorry, sir. I’m very new at these complicated problems.’ Daniel kept his appearance innocent with some difficulty. He could not afford to have fford Croft think him sarcastic.
fford Croft’s face very slowly relaxed, and a smile curved his lips more and more. ‘Nonsense,’ he said. ‘You are a born conniver. One day you will make an excellent lawyer. Although I imagine you will always like the wrong cases. Don’t lead Kitteridge astray, even if he wants to go! Do you understand me?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Relief eased throughout Daniel’s aching nerves. ‘I think Mr Kitteridge will always go with the law.’
‘And you won’t?’ fford Croft raised his hand. ‘No, don’t tell me, I will affect ignorance as long as I can. So, the publisher will decide against publishing Graves’ beastly book? Are you sure?’
‘I hope so, sir. We managed to get several people whose families were implicated in it, to explain their extreme displeasure at the idea, and make it plain that these feelings might result in some very . . . costly outcomes for the publishers, should they so slander their parents, or whoever it was who was mentioned. A certain peer of the realm still carries fond memories of Lady Vespasia. Any further reference to certain people’s frailties, when it was quite unnecessary, would be similarly treated. This book would awaken a lot of . . . nasty recollections, which should be let go of.’
‘And how did you find that out, young man?’
‘A lot of detailed study, sir.’ Daniel kept his face perfectly straight.
‘And a lot of help from that scoundrel Blackwell, no doubt,’ fford Croft said wryly.
‘A little,’ Daniel admitted.
Marcus grunted. ‘Be careful who you trust, Daniel. You are very young and a good deal too idealistic.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Marcus slapped his hand on the desk. ‘Don’t “Yes, sir” me, dammit! I know there is no use warning you. I tried warning your father, and he went his own way. But while you work for fford Croft and Gibson, you’ll do as I tell you. If you don’t, you’d better be careful I don’t catch you.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Yes, sir, what? You’ll be careful?’
Daniel smiled sweetly. ‘Yes, sir.’ He stood a little straighter. ‘But we have a lot more to do, sir. Ebony Graves is to be charged later this morning. I have promised to represent her, sir, and I trust the charges will be withdrawn against Graves. With your permission, sir, Mr Kitteridge will be in court also, to be certain there is no error.’
‘I will be in court myself,’ fford Croft answered him. ‘This is a spectacle worth seeing. I dare say Miriam will, too. She will not forgive me if I leave her out of it. We will be there at eleven o’clock. Now get all your information in order and don’t disgrace us by making an ass of yourself, when you are this close to winning!’
‘No, sir, thank you.’ Daniel turned to leave, with a sigh of relief. Then a new burst of energy as he thought just how much there still was to prepare.
Daniel left fford Croft’s office and almost bumped into Blackwell, and his chest tightened until he could hardly breathe.
Blackwell’s face broke into a slow smile.
‘Tell me, tell me,’ Daniel demanded.
‘I went to see a certain publisher,’ Blackwell said, ‘and managed to persuade him that publishing a particular biography would be against his interests. Very much against them, indeed. It would make him a remarkable number of enemies in very powerful places. I’m happy to say I scared him out of his wits!’ His face was transformed by a dazzling smile. ‘Serve the bastard right!’
Daniel was almost too choked to speak. He took Roman’s hand and shook it. ‘Thank you! Thank you, Blackwell.’
The hearing of the appeal of Russell Graves against the sentence of death in the murder of his wife, Ebony Graves, began at eleven o’clock exactly. Kitteridge appeared for Russell Graves, who sat in the court looking ashen. He seemed at least ten years older than the last time Daniel had seen him.
It was not an appeal as to a matter of error in the law, but that was how it seemed at the outset.
Kitteridge looked nervous, although he could hardly fail.
‘My lord, Russell Graves has been found guilty of murdering his wife, Ebony Graves. To prove that it is incorrect in law, I would like to call one witness, if it pleases your lordships.’
There was a moment of total silence, then one of the three judges of appeal nodded very gravely. ‘You had better be certain of your facts, beyond a doubt, Mr Kitteridge. Who is your witness,
and how are they relevant to this case?’
‘My witness is Mrs Ebony Graves, my lord,’ Kitteridge said perfectly steadily.
There was a moment of blank disbelief, then gasps; someone cried out in denial. There were shouts and the sound of movement as several journalists shot to their feet and stumbled out, making for the street. Daniel turned to look back and up at the dock. Graves was paralysed with shock. He was leaning forward, as if he could not believe what Kitteridge was saying.
At last the presiding judge leaned forward. ‘I will not tolerate levity in this extremely serious matter, Mr Kitteridge. Be warned, should you fail, your client is due to be hanged very soon. And you will be severely punished if this is done in anything but the best good faith.’
‘My lord, my witness is Mrs Ebony Graves, or was so, to the best of my knowledge and belief, until earlier this year,’ Kitteridge replied.
The judge’s temper was clearly frayed. ‘I don’t know what you mean. You had better proceed, but if you are acting in anything but the best possible faith, not only will your client pay for it with his life, you will pay for it with your career.’
‘Yes, my lord. I call Ebony Graves to the stand.’
There was utter silence as Ebony appeared. She was dressed in dark grey, even though it was a bright May morning. She looked sober, but not bowed. She walked with her head high and her black hair gleaming in the courtroom lights. Her expression was composed, and at a glance you would have thought she was without nerves. But Daniel could see the stiffness of her shoulders, and the hand nearest to him was clenched, knuckles white.
She took the witness stand and was asked to swear to her name.
‘You are Ebony Graves?’ Kitteridge asked.
‘No,’ she said very quietly. ‘I thought I was, but I discovered at the beginning of March this year that I am not. Our marriage was bigamous, all twenty years of it. And therefore, both my children are illegitimate. I am still Ebony Cumberford, as I was born.’ She was having difficulty controlling her emotions, and it showed in her face and a very slight unsteadiness in her voice.
‘But until then, you thought you were Ebony Graves?’ Kitteridge asked.
‘Yes.’
‘There was no one else by that name, to your knowledge?’
‘No.’
‘How did you discover this situation that you are in? Do I call you Miss Cumberford?’
‘I suppose you do. I have no other name – now.’
‘How did you discover your situation?’ Kitteridge repeated.
‘A woman came to visit me, at my home – or I believed it was my home. She introduced herself as Winifred Graves. Only when she was inside, upstairs.’
‘Upstairs?’ Kitteridge interrupted.
‘Yes, sir. I have a private sitting room upstairs, for family guests. It is less formal.’
‘I see. Please go on.’
‘At first I assumed she must be my sister-in-law. My husband had not spoken of his family; I knew that he had a sister.’ She drew a deep, shaky breath. ‘Only when we had been speaking some little while, and I had mentioned to her my two children, Sarah and Arthur, did she laugh and say it was a pity for them.’
‘What was she referring to?’
‘It was then she told me Graves was her married name. She was not my sister-in-law, she was my husband’s first and only wife. He had married her nearly thirty years ago, and the marriage had never been dissolved. She was still Mrs Russell Graves. And now that he had inherited a title, and considerable lands and money, she had decided to take her share of it – which, as far as I was concerned, was all of it. I, and my children, would be out in the street.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Kitteridge said with deep feeling. He waited a moment before continuing.
Daniel knew Kitteridge was tense. Not only did he want to win this case, as he wanted to win all cases, but his sympathies were very much with Ebony. Graves had been his client, and he had seen enough of him to dislike him heartily. She was, technically speaking, not his client: he sought her information in order to clear Graves.
‘That must have been a dreadful shock to you,’ Kitteridge resumed. ‘What did you do?’
‘I argued with her,’ Ebony replied. ‘I don’t remember exactly what I said. I told her I had two children, and the result would be to make them illegitimate. I have not the means to care for them without my . . . as I thought, husband. I appealed to her mercy . . .’ She stopped. The memory was clearly humiliating.
Kitteridge did not help her.
Daniel felt his body knotting tightly. He knew why Kitteridge was silent, but he also knew that had he intervened, it would have been wrong. Did the judge see her distress, and know that she had tried, and failed?
‘She laughed at me,’ Ebony said, lifting her head and staring straight back at Kitteridge. ‘She said she had had her years of being beaten and humiliated by him, and she was owed what she would get out of it now. Either she would tell everyone she was his legal wife, and she could prove it – I never doubted her – or he could pay her off every month for her silence and I could stay . . . and be abused by him, and pretend I didn’t know the truth: I was a kept woman, a mistress and not a wife. And – and my children had no claims on him for inheritance – or help of any sort. I . . .’ She stopped.
‘Is that important to you – inheritance – Mrs . . . Miss Cumberford?’
‘Yes. It is. My son, Arthur, is an invalid. He is confined to a wheelchair. His life depends upon regular medical attention. There is a treatment that might ultimately restore him to something like normality, but it is expensive. Without my husband’s providing for us, we would have no way of survival, let alone medical care. My daughter, Sarah, would have no prospect of a good marriage if she . . . she was known to be illegitimate.’
‘Not in your own society, perhaps,’ Kitteridge agreed. ‘But she might find a man who loved her for herself . . .’ His voice trailed off. That was irrelevant at this point, and he realised it. ‘Did you kill her, Mrs . . . Miss Cumberford?’
Her face was white. ‘Yes . . . I suppose I did. I did not mean to. She was very unkind in her language. She called me a whore, an adventuress, and my children bastards. I called her a few things in return. I don’t remember what, but it was equally unpleasant. She lashed out and struck me. I staggered backwards, and when I regained my balance, I slapped her back, open handed, across her face. She lost her balance and fell sideways. She struck her head on the hearth, and did not move again. I realised she was not breathing, and bleeding from her head.’
‘She was dead?’
‘Yes.’
‘But not burned?’
Her voice was barely audible. ‘No.’
‘Did you seek help? Call a maid, or the butler?’
She stiffened. ‘No.’
That was a lie, and Daniel could see it in her face, in the rigidity of her body. Did the judges see it as clearly as he did? Had Kitteridge meant to do that? Or was he unbelievably clumsy? Or worse than that, was he going to betray her by implicating Sarah, or Falthorne? He would have to! Anyone who defended her would have to. She could not have done it alone. But how far was he going to go? What more was necessary to prove that Graves was innocent?
‘Your husband did not help you in any way – I’m sorry, I mean Mr Graves – did not help you?’
She looked surprised. ‘No, of course not! If he had, he’d have known I was not dead, and would never have tolerated being accused of having killed me, let alone come within days of being hanged.’
Kitteridge looked thoughtful. ‘But Winifred Graves was as much a threat to him as to you, surely?’
She looked blank. ‘She could not make him illegitimate, or rob him of his means to live.’
Kitteridge tried to suppress a twisted smile, and did not entirely succeed. ‘No. And I presume his parting from Winifred Graves was not against his will, to put it mildly. But his marriage to you was bigamous, although you did not know it. Bigamy is a crime.’
‘I didn’t know!’ she protested.
‘Not for you, Miss Cumberford, for the person committing it, Russell Graves. It might have remained a secret if Winifred had not presented herself at your home.’
She struggled with temptation. It was visible in her face.
The judge leaned forward and was about to speak, when she finally answered.
‘He did not know anything about it. It was I who . . . who damaged her face so she would not be recognised. I dressed her in some of my clothes, and set fire to her, and—’
Kitteridge did not allow her to finish. ‘How did you that, Miss Cumberford? It must have taken great nerve, and strength.’
‘I suppose so.’
Kitteridge had to make the judge believe him. Daniel had seen his reluctance before the hearing began.
‘You dressed her in your clothes, and then put her back where she fell, so it would still look like the accident it was. How did you make her clothes and flesh burn? Clothes I can see, but flesh?’
Ebony looked so pale now that Daniel was afraid she might faint. He knew that Kitteridge noted it, too, and he felt a sharp pity for him. Not something he had thought he would ever do.
‘I . . . I took some of my son’s art supplies,’ Ebony continued in hoarse voice. ‘Linseed oil and some oiled silk that I had. It is waterproof, you know. I knew they would burn. I put down some old cotton sheet, soaked in the oil, and the silk, and set fire to them.’
‘I see. And you did all this alone?’
‘Yes.’
‘Think hard, Miss Cumberford. Not only Russell Graves’ life depends on this, but your own does also. I want to believe you, but I find it hard. Winifred was a larger woman than you are, even if not by much, and a dead weight. You managed to strip her of her own clothes and dress her in yours, then lay her back in exactly the same position, without any help at all? Please . . . tell me the truth. Are you sure Mr Graves did not help you?’
