by Anne Perry
The judge requested summations, and they were both brief. Grisewood concentrated on the broken law and the fact that Ebony had acted a lie. But for Daniel, she would have allowed her husband to be hanged.
Daniel rose to his feet. He still had all to win – or lose. He looked at Graves, at the sweat on his face. He must beat him! Not only for Ebony, but for Sarah and Arthur, and for the family of servants. Most of all to him, he must discredit him for his own father’s sake, and Narraway, and Aunt Vespasia. And of course, for Kitteridge – and for himself.
‘Gentlemen of the jury, which of you has children?’ He saw most of them nod. Some smiled. ‘When they were young, you would do anything to protect them. When they became older, did you love them any less? If a man threatened your daughter, would you not leap to defend her, and perhaps think afterwards?’ Daniel spoke softly, although his voice carried in the silence. ‘And her mother? Have you ever tried to tear a child from its mother? Have you not seen a woman labour all day to care for her child, sit up all night to nurse them when they are sick, defend them when they are criticised, rightly or even wrongly? Have you not seen her go without food, and taking her portion to her child? Of course, you have. So have I. As children, we would not survive if our parents did not defend us when we were too small and too weak to defend ourselves. Even a grown man in terror or despair, in unbearable pain, will think of his mother.’
He had said enough and he knew it.
‘Ebony Cumberford knew of the beatings, indeed she took most of them herself. But on the day Winifred turned up, and made a lie of Ebony’s marriage, the safety of her children, and the future of Sarah’s chance at a decent marriage – and more importantly, of Arthur’s continued medical treatment without which he couldn’t survive – good manners, common sense, consequences to herself vanished. She was a mother defending her children – in Arthur’s case, a crippled child who could not possibly defend himself.’ He looked at the face of each juror in turn.
‘Winifred died trying to attack Ebony,’ he continued. ‘It was an accident. She fell back on the hearthstone. No one could have attacked her from behind at that angle. She fell down on the stone; it could not have been raised up to strike her. Certainly, Ebony took advantage of the situation and disfigured her and redressed her, so she would be taken for Ebony. And yes, although she did not foresee it at the time, it would not be perceived as the accident it was, but as murder. And Russell Graves was charged with it, and found guilty.’ He shook his head. ‘Ebony did not plan that. All she planned was to escape the beatings before he finally went too far and killed her. Or one of her children. If she were dead, then who would care for Sarah and Arthur?’ Falthorne would do what he could. But Russell Graves could get rid of him with a word, and he would! Then who would look after Arthur? He is in a wheelchair, helpless to care for himself, and Sarah has not the strength to do it alone. Yes, Ebony was wrong. But which of you would do less? She is guilty of having disfigured a dead body. She is not guilty of murder. She came forward before her tormentor was hanged. She let him suffer – perhaps he was even as afraid for a few days as she was most of her life with him. But she did not let him die. I ask you to find her not guilty, certainly of killing Winifred Graves or of knowingly committing bigamy by marrying Russell Graves, only of damaging a corpse, and defending her children with all of her strength.’
The jury retired.
Daniel paced the floor in the hallway outside the courtroom. He could not bring himself to leave, even for a cup of tea or a glass of ale. Kitteridge waited with him. Seemingly, he cared just as much.
‘She’s damn good, Miriam,’ was all Kitteridge said.
‘Yes,’ Daniel agreed, his throat too tight to say more.
Time seemed to stretch endlessly, but actually it was only just over half an hour when they were called back into the courtroom.
They wouldn’t hang her, would they? They couldn’t!
Daniel could scarcely breathe.
The foreman rose to his feet. He looked nervous.
‘Have you reached a verdict?’ the judge enquired.
‘We have, my lord.’
‘How find you?’
‘With respect, my lord, we find the accused not guilty.’
Daniel was almost numb with amazement, relief, joy. The first thing he was aware of was Kitteridge hugging him. He immediately hugged him back, and found his eyes were full of tears. It was seconds before he even saw Marcus and, behind him, his father and mother, smiling.
Epilogue
The second Sunday after the trial ended, Mercy Blackwell gave an afternoon tea party. Daniel was one of the first to arrive. The only two other people already present were Marcus fford Croft, looking faintly uncomfortable, and Miriam, who was sitting beside an unnecessarily large fire, for midsummer, and smiling.
‘Come in, Daniel! Come in,’ Blackwell invited expansively. ‘We are celebrating!’
Daniel felt a stir of anxiety. What had Blackwell been up to? ‘Really? What, in particular?’ The instant he said it, he regretted asking. He would probably be much happier not to know.
‘Everything.’ Blackwell smiled. ‘Graves has been sentenced to seven years for bigamy. I think the judge took a dislike to him. Very natural, after Miss fford Croft’s exposure of his wretched character. We shall take great delight in missing him, for a long time. But fortunately, since he is not dead, we do not need to be anxious as to who inherits his property, particularly his house.’
‘Houses,’ Mercy corrected him. ‘Tea, Daniel?’
‘Thank you,’ he accepted.
She poured him a cup, and cut a large slice of Madeira cake and put it on a plate for him. It was one of his favourites. She did not need to ask.
Daniel turned to Marcus fford Croft. ‘Will Ebony be able to live there? She is not his wife, nor does she wish to be.’
‘No, but Arthur is his son,’ Marcus fford Croft replied. ‘And he is more than willing that his mother and sister should live with him. And, of course, the full family staff. We are expecting them any minute. The purple chair should be comfortable for Arthur.’
‘How will he . . .?’ Daniel began.
‘Don’t fuss!’ Blackwell waved away the question. ‘Falthorne will carry him. It’s good he should see the outside world, for a change.’
‘And when Graves comes out?’
‘For heaven’s sake! We’ve got at least six years to settle that. Maybe all seven. Anything could happen. We’ll have to see that it does.’
There was a knock on the door and Blackwell went to open it. He came back triumphantly, leading Falthorne, who was carrying Arthur in his arms, followed by Ebony Graves and, behind her, Sarah.
Greetings were exchanged and Arthur settled comfortably and was provided with a nearby small table, and hot tea and slices of cake, and a tray of jam tarts.
Daniel went over to speak to Miriam, who seemed to be absorbed in watching the fire burn. Did she feel so alone here, away from her work and both its fascination and its safety? He could think of a dozen things he wanted to say to her, yet none of them came to his lips.
‘Is the Madeira cake good?’ she said with a wry smile. ‘Mercy made it especially for you.’
He looked at her plate and saw that she had none. ‘I’m sorry! How inconsiderate of me. Take mine.’ He offered it to her. ‘I’ll get some more.’
‘No, thank you. I’ve already had a jam tart. They are my weakness.’
‘Would you like another?’ Now that they had nothing to talk about, he had lost his ease in speaking to her. It had seemed so effortless before.
‘Later, perhaps,’ she answered. ‘Sarah looks a lot better, doesn’t she?’
He turned to look, and found Sarah looking back at him, her face filled with gratitude. Arthur, too, turned towards him and smiled, then gazed back at the room and the multitude of pictures, ornaments, and mementoes that filled it.
Kitteridge was the last to arrive. He came in as angular as usual, seeming all legs and
elbows and wearing a most flamboyant necktie. Mercy made him welcome and offered him tea and fruitcake, which he accepted warmly, and narrowly missed spilling it over Sarah. He apologised profusely, and she assured him that it was perfectly all right. It was not his fault at all.
A slight flush spread up Kitteridge’s cheeks.
Daniel looked away, conscious of staring. It seemed the only thing left to worry about was Graves’ manuscript, but that mattered more to him than he dared tell anyone else. They all looked so relieved, he felt selfish to darken the party with his own fears.
Miriam reached forward and gave the fire another dig with the poker, and it seemed to gain new energy.
‘Are you cold?’ he said incredulously.
‘Oh, no, thank you.’ She hesitated a moment. ‘Are you still worried about the manuscript, Daniel?’
‘Yes . . .’ he admitted.
She gave a sweet, gentle smile. ‘Don’t be,’ she said, and gave the fire another sharp prod. ‘It will never see the light of day, I promise you.’
‘How can you be so sure?’ he pressed.
‘Daniel, would you reach into the coal scuttle?’
He lifted the lid and his fingers touched a thin pile of paper. He pulled out the last pages of the manuscript. With a flood of relief, he passed them to her. And silently, she fed them to the fire.
