by Anne Perry
‘I am certain! Do you think he would be prepared to hang, rather than admit that I was still alive, and he had had a part in making Winifred look like me? He does not love me enough to die for me! He does not love me at all. I don’t think he ever did. Or he wouldn’t have beaten me . . .’
‘Then who helped you?’
She stood silent.
‘Was it Falthorne, your butler?’
‘No! Do you think I would—’ She stopped abruptly.
‘Trust him? Yes, I do. But I do not think you would allow him to be blamed for something he did not do. I believe it was your daughter, Sarah, who knew how Russell Graves had beaten you, because he beat her also. I think the two of you saw your chance to escape from him, and you took it. I don’t think you thought further than that. I don’t think you foresaw Russell Graves being hanged for murdering you, or what would happen to Arthur and Sarah after that, the guilt that might hurt the rest of their lives. I think you have come forward now precisely to prevent that, no matter the cost to you. But you would have borne it all, and chance she could not help you, as absurd as that seems. I cannot blame you, Miss Cumberford, but neither can I believe you.’
She did not answer him.
He turned to the judge. ‘My lord, that is all the evidence I have to offer the court that Russell Graves is not guilty of having murdered Ebony Cumberford, whom the court believed to be Ebony Graves.’
‘Thank you, Mr Kitteridge, it is not necessary for us to retire to consider our verdict. Quite clearly, Miss Cumberford, or Mrs Graves, is alive and well. The verdict of guilty against Russell Graves is reversed. Appropriate action will be taken to that effect.’
‘Thank you, my lord.’
‘However, that is hardly the end of the matter. Charges must be made against Miss Cumberford. I think circumstances do not require that Miss Sarah . . . Cumberford . . . be charged as an accessory to the desecrating of Mrs Winifred Graves’ body. There is no proof that she did any more than assist her mother in the most tragic circumstances. No doubt she was shocked and frightened. She came forward before it was too late.’
‘Thank you, my lord,’ Kitteridge said fervently.
‘However, Ebony Cumberford will be taken into custody and held for trial on the defacement of a corpse, with the intention to portray an accident as a crime, and allow her common-law husband to be tried and sentenced for a crime that did not exist. This court is adjourned.’
Daniel waited for what he knew was inevitable. Ebony was arrested and charged. It was more lenient than he had feared it might be. Sarah was free, but she was so concerned for her mother that her own escape hardly registered with her. She looked at Daniel with terror in her eyes – and guilt.
‘You had no alternative,’ he said to her as they stood in the hallway outside the courtroom. ‘If you had left it any longer, the charge would have been murder.’
‘But what will happen to her? What will happen to us? Arthur . . . and me? We have nowhere to go, and I can’t look after him by myself.’
‘You will not be by yourself.’
‘We’re not staying with him!’ Her fear was so intense she was almost paralysed by it.
‘He is not going home,’ Daniel assured her. ‘He’s being arrested for bigamy. He won’t dare touch you now, and you will have plenty of time to work out what to do next. Anything can happen – in seven years.’
‘Everyone will know we are . . . not legitimate. We have no money or . . .’
‘First we must think of defending your mother. For tonight, you can go home and be safe.’
‘Will you defend her? We can’t pay you . . .’
‘Let me have one of Arthur’s paintings. That will be payment enough. Not his favourite – another one.’
‘He’ll be happy.’ Suddenly a smile broke through. ‘They are beautiful, aren’t they?’
Before he could answer her that they were, they were joined by Marcus fford Croft and Kitteridge.
‘Thank you, Mr Kitteridge,’ Sarah said with the utmost sincerity. ‘I know you defended my father the best way possible. Mr fford Croft, I am very grateful. I imagine my father will settle what he owes you. Perhaps you will defend him for bigamy. That is not up to me. But . . . but can Mr Pitt be permitted to defend my mother? I’m sure she would ask him to, if she were allowed.’
‘I will not defend your father,’ fford Croft replied. ‘I have discharged my duty to him, and I think it very likely he would prefer his defence to rest with someone else . . . who . . . who can wholeheartedly represent him. My firm would gladly represent your mother. Mr Kitteridge is my best litigator, and he is at your mother’s disposal. I will send him to her as soon as it is possible. We must get the matter concluded as satisfactorily as we can.’
Daniel knew it was intrusive, and perhaps he was asking for something he had no right to, but the case was not over yet. Not only must Ebony be defended, but it must be done in such a way that the final blow must go to Russell Graves’ reputation. The trial must accomplish his ruin, so that when he was tried for bigamy he would receive the maximum sentence, and he would no longer be believed in the repetition of his lies about anyone else, particularly about Sir Thomas Pitt. If Kitteridge failed to save Ebony, the legal charge against her was grave and the evidence powerful. Graves himself might well be permitted to testify. He would be desperate for vengeance. This judge had been gentle with her. He could not rely on another being so.
‘Sir, may I take this case? Please . . .’ Daniel glanced at Kitteridge and knew he understood. He did not wish to offend him. He found, to his surprise, that he actually cared about his feelings. But Kitteridge relied on the law, which was against Ebony. This was a case where the jury must be made to care for Ebony and seek reasons to acquit her, or at least find a way to lessen the charge.
Marcus looked startled.
‘Mr Kitteridge would . . . assist me . . . and make sure I honour the law, sir,’ Daniel pleaded.
Kitteridge’s eyes widened. The thought of being assistant to anyone was abrasive, to say the least, but to Daniel Pitt, who was a total beginner, clearly appalled him.
Marcus looked from one to the other of them. ‘Kitteridge?’ he said hesitantly.
‘This once!’ Kitteridge granted with obvious difficulty. ‘It will never happen again!’
‘Thank you,’ Daniel said very soberly.
Marcus nodded, and turned to walk away.
‘I’ll even second you, if it’s possible,’ Kitteridge said under his breath.
Chapter Twenty-One
Sitting at his desk almost a week later, facing the reality of the trial, Daniel did not feel nearly so certain of himself. He should have been less arrogant, and let Kitteridge do it. What had made him think that he knew better? Trials were about law, not emotion, and certainly not justice. His professor at university had told him often enough, ‘You go to court for the law, not for justice.’
It was too late now. He would be facing a lawyer named Grisewood, an agreeable-faced, fleshy man of roughly forty, whom nobody seemed to know much about. He was not a Londoner, but came from somewhere in the Midlands, and was beginning to make a name for himself.
Kitteridge interrupted his thoughts. ‘I’ve got all the witnesses you asked for.’
‘Oh, thank you . . .’ Daniel did not want to ask Kitteridge’s advice, but he was overwhelmed with the idea of what he had asked for, and been given. ‘Can you think of anyone I’ve missed?’
Kitteridge raised his eyebrows. ‘If I had, I’d have told you. Do you think I want to see you shot down? I think Graves is a total bastard, and I’d see him hanged with pleasure, if I thought it was even remotely legal, but it isn’t. You can’t hang a man for being a swine.’
Daniel said nothing. He didn’t really want to hang Graves. If he imagined it, the reality of it, a gallows, a rope, the drop beneath, and a person’s life gone in minutes – where there had been a human being alive, thinking, feeling, and there was now just a corpse – it was horrifyin
g. What if you had made a mistake anywhere? At any point along the line? Even if you hadn’t, that kind of judgement was too big to make. And yet he had been willing enough to think of it.
Perhaps he thought too much. It could make a person impotent to act. Sarah and Arthur were both relying on him to act. And he had given his word. Why? Because he couldn’t bear to see them so afraid. He wanted them to feel safe. Now he must make good his promise.
‘Pitt?’ Kitteridge said firmly.
‘What?’ Daniel looked at him.
‘Don’t underestimate Grisewood,’ he warned. ‘He’s known for letting his opponent think he’s won, and then pulling something extra out of his back pocket.’
‘Thank you. I’ll watch.’
‘I don’t like playing second chair to anyone,’ Kitteridge went on. ‘Let alone somebody as green as you are, I admit. But if I can’t make a good job of it, then I can’t make a good job of first chair either! And believe it or not, I want to win this one nearly as much as you do.’
‘I do believe it,’ Daniel smiled at him suddenly. ‘You like Sarah!’ It was not a question. He had seen Kitteridge watching her, and seen the faint blush on his cheeks when she spoke to him.
‘I’m sorry for her,’ Kitteridge said, then immediately went back to his own desk and buried himself with papers.
Daniel did not comment, but he found himself liking Kitteridge more these days than he expected to.
The trial began two days later. All the formalities were gone through, and Grisewood rose to open his case. He looked uncomfortable in his wig and gown, as if they had been made for somebody else who was an elegant shape. And yet he seemed confident enough. He strode out into the body of the court, bowed to the judge, and faced the jury.
‘Gentlemen, you are about to hear an extraordinary story about an ambitious woman, beautiful, clever, but of poor background, and ruthless self-control. I ask you not to look at her, not look at her tears or her smiles, not at the broken bones she claims to have suffered, nor those of her daughter, but at what I shall prove to you she had done to her.
‘My learned friend, for the defence, will tell you that this whole story is a series of huge accidents, with no thought of malice, only fear. No thought of material gain, only preservation for her children. No intended violence, or deceit, only circumstances beyond her control.’
He shook his head slowly. ‘I will show you a story of cunning, deceit, and ruthlessness, ending in violence, which has never been far from the heart of it.’
Daniel turned to Kitteridge. ‘What the hell is he talking about?’
Kitteridge looked puzzled. ‘No idea.’
‘The defence will try to tell you it was a sudden and unforeseen accident, gentlemen. I will show you that it was heartless and cold-blooded murder.’
It was Kitteridge who shot to his feet, while Daniel was still sitting up in shock. ‘My lord, the accused is charged with disfiguring a corpse, not murder! Perhaps our learned friend is in the wrong courtroom? I understand he’s not from around here.’
There was a murmur of laughter around the gallery.
Grisewood smiled, all teeth and no charm. ‘The law is no different in London from the rest of England, my lord. When you plan the death of any human being, and then bring it to pass, and run from the scene, that is murder, even in London.’ He looked at Kitteridge. ‘The charge has been amended. I did not apprise you of that. Perhaps you have not looked at your papers recently.’ He looked at Daniel. ‘Or your young friend has not – if he is indeed leading this case.’
With a flash of memory that was like a cold hand on his flesh, Daniel remembered Impney coming in with an envelope, still sealed, and putting it on his desk. It was handwritten, and he had taken it for a personal letter, possibly as Grisewood had intended. There was no point in arguing the issue now. It would cost time and give him nothing.
He rose to his feet quickly. ‘My lord, I did receive a handwritten note yesterday, which I’m afraid I did not open. I took it for personal correspondence. It makes no difference. The plea is still not guilty, as I will prove, in time.’
‘Very well, Mr Pitt. Do you require extra time, or are you prepared to proceed?’
‘I am prepared to proceed, my lord. The truth has not changed, nor has the evidence that proves it.’
‘Then you may address the jury, but please be brief.’
‘Thank you, my lord.’ Daniel turned to face the jurors. He had their total attention, and he thought he saw, in one or two, some trace of sympathy as well.
‘Gentlemen, this is a story of many emotions, as my learned friend has said. It starts with love on the one side, and deceit on the other. It goes forward to tolerance, and then abuse, and in shame, with a lifetime of betrayal and violence, but not by the perpetrators he suggests. It ends in terror, misjudgement, and then redemption. I shall prove it to you step by step.’
There was a murmur in the gallery, and the whisper of silk as people moved positions. No one spoke.
Grisewood called his first witness – Falthorne.
Daniel watched the butler, formally dressed in a dark suit and looking extremely ill at ease as he climbed the steps to the witness stand. He swore to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing else.
He gave his name, and his position in the home of Russell Graves.
‘And did you hold that position on the night Mrs Graves disappeared?’ Grisewood asked.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘In fact, you have held it for some twenty years, is that not so?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Falthorne was uncomfortable, and it was also clear that he disliked Grisewood. It might not have been apparent to everyone, but Daniel had had several encounters with him, and all but the first time, when there was great stress upon them, he had observed his manner, and he both liked and respected the man. He knew by the inflection of his voice, the rigid arms at his side, how deeply he despised Grisewood.
‘So, it was quite natural that when Mrs Graves found herself in a desperate situation, one with which she could not contend alone, she would ask your help, in the certainty that she would get it?’ Grisewood asked.
‘I hope so, sir.’
Grisewood treated Falthorne as an unwilling witness. Daniel wondered if he would say so openly. Did the jurors see the tension between them? They would judge it as loyalty, or obstruction, according to where their sympathies lay. Perhaps that would offer Daniel the chance to further expose the household dynamics?
Grisewood smiled. ‘Did she, in fact, turn to you when she found herself with the dead body of her victim, and no satisfactory explanation, indeed no legal one?’
Daniel stood up. ‘Objection, my lord. It has not been established that there was no legal explanation. In fact, we intend to show that there’s a perfectly legal explanation, and that the woman attacked Mrs Graves and, in so doing, slipped and fell.’
Grisewood was immediate. ‘It is not legal to burn a dead body until it is unrecognisable, my lord, even in London! No one can imagine that it is . . . if they can imagine any such thing at all!’
‘That has not been established either, my lord,’ Daniel replied. ‘My learned friend asked if Mrs Graves called the butler when she had a dead body . . . that is all.’
‘You are correct, Mr Pitt. Keep your questions in order, Mr Grisewood. You asked the witness if Mrs Graves called the butler when she found herself with a dead body. Mr Falthorne, you may answer.’
‘Yes, my lord,’ Falthorne said unhappily. ‘She did. She was extremely distressed, and told me—’
‘Yes, that will do, Mr Falthorne,’ Grisewood cut him off. ‘Did you see the body of Mrs Graves – the real Mrs Graves?’
‘I saw the body of a middle-aged woman. I had no idea at all, at the time, who she was,’ Falthorne replied punctiliously. He had years of training, of conducting himself, as required, and keeping his own emotions in check. Grisewood would not easily catch him off balance.
‘What you now know to have been th
e body of Mrs Graves,’ Grisewood said irritably. But he knew better than to be seen to bully a servant on the witness stand. ‘Was she burned in any way? What injuries did she have? Would you describe what you saw, please.’
‘I saw the body of a woman of middle years lying on the floor, with her head by the edge of the hearthstone, and a considerable amount of blood on the hearthstone, and on the carpet beside her.’
‘Did you ascertain that she was dead?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘How?’
‘She had no pulse, and she was not breathing. The wound on her head appeared to be quite deep, but I did not touch it.’
‘Did Miss Cumberford make any request of you regarding the body?’
‘Not at that time, sir.’
‘Then later? Don’t make me pull teeth! Did she later ask you to assist her in disguising the body with her own clothes, to make it seem as if it were she who had been murdered?’
‘No, sir, murder was never mentioned. She told me what happened, that the woman was indeed Mrs Graves, her husband’s first, and, as it turned out, only wife—’
‘I did not ask you to discuss the testimony that—’ Grisewood interrupted.
‘I beg your pardon, sir. I thought that was exactly what you did ask.’
The judge almost hid his smile, but not enough that Daniel missed it, and no doubt the jury did not, either.
‘Mr Grisewood,’ the judge began. ‘You must either make your questions more specific, excluding what you wish Mr Falthorne to omit, or put up with his fuller answers. I do not see the point of your objection. If he does not answer that on your examination, Mr Pitt will hardly fail to ask him on cross-examination. Make yourself clearer, sir.’
