Silence in Court

by Patricia Wentworth

  Nora repeated what she had said before.

  “She was very fond of her.”

  “And as far as your observation went, this affection was mutual?”

  “I am sure it was.”

  “Will you tell us how Miss Silence took the announcement that she was to benefit under Mrs. Maquisten’s will. Did she appear pleased—excited?”

  “No, she didn’t. She got very red, and she looked dreadfully embarrassed and unhappy.”

  “Did she say anything?”

  “She said, ‘Please, Cousin Honoria—’”

  “In fact, you would agree that she behaved in a modest and sensitive manner?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Hull.”

  With a final smile for Carey, Nora stepped down.

  Her place was taken by Honor King, looking like a scared albino rabbit in her unbecoming black, with a skirt dipping behind, a fur sliding off her shoulders, and her hair in wisps under a dowdy black felt hat. She took the oath in a voice which may have been audible to the clerk, but which certainly carried no farther. No one had supposed that she would make a good witness, but as her examination proceeded and she had to be asked repeatedly to speak up, Mr. Lanthony’s florid complexion was seen to deepen.

  “Will you tell us, Miss King, at what time you came home on the afternoon of Monday, November 16th.”

  Miss King’s pale lips were seen to open, but no sound emerged.

  “A little louder, if you please. I am afraid the jury cannot hear you. What time did you come home? At 5.15—is that right? Did you go up and see Mrs. Maquisten when you came in?”

  Honor was presumed to have said “Yes.”

  “And how long were you with her?… Kindly raise your voice a little. Did you say ten minutes?”

  The judge leaned forward.

  “Really, Mr. Lanthony, this witness is very inaudible. The jury must be able to hear her own words, not merely your repetition of them.”

  It was at this point that Mr. Lanthony’s colour began to deepen. He said, “Yes, m’lud,” in a respectful voice and turned a compelling eye upon the witness-box.

  “Now, Miss King, there is really no need for you to be nervous. Please do your best to be audible, and tell us how you found your aunt.”

  The words angry and excited had been heard so often in this connection that they were discernible in the witness’s murmured reply.

  “A little louder, Miss King. Will you tell us what Mrs. Maquisten said.”

  Honor’s voice came out suddenly, high and shrill.

  “She said that she had been deceived.”

  “Did she say who had deceived her?”

  “No.”

  “Was she angry with you personally?”

  “No—she was just angry.”

  “Yes—keep the voice up, Miss King. How long did you stay with her?”

  Honor clutched at her slipping fur.

  “I don’t know—a few minutes—I came away as soon as I could.”

  “Why was that?”

  “I thought she ought to rest.”

  “What did you do after that?”

  “I went up to my own room.”

  “How long were you there?”

  “Until eight o’clock.”

  “Were you alone?”

  “Ellen Bridling came up at half past seven to try on a dress she was altering for me. It was one my aunt had given me. I wanted to put it on.” The fur slipped again, was clutched again.

  “Did you put the dress on?”

  “Not then—it wasn’t ready. I came up after dinner with my cousin and put it on then.”

  “With Mrs. Hull? Did you go down with her?”

  “No—she wasn’t ready. I went down first.”

  “And did you meet anyone?”

  “Ellen Bridling was on the landing. She walked with me to the door of my aunt’s room.”

  A witness may have been coached, but evidence too obviously rehearsed is not to a jury’s taste. Mr. Lanthony began to wish that his witness had remained inaudible. With her voice at a strained, unnatural pitch, she sounded for all the world like a child reciting a lesson, and a half-witted child at that. Privately, he was of the opinion that Miss Honor King should have been drowned at birth.

  “When you entered Mrs. Maquisten’s room, whom did you find there?”

  “My aunt and Carey Silence.”

  “They were alone together?”

  “Yes.”

  “Come back to the moment when you left your room. Do the stairs go straight down to the landing where you saw Ellen Bridling?”

  “No, there is a turn.”

  “Did you see Ellen Bridling before you reached the turn?”

  “Yes, I looked over the banisters and saw her.”

  “She was on the landing whilst you were coming down the stairs?”

  “Yes.”

  “So that Miss Silence was alone with Mrs. Maquisten during the time that it took Ellen Bridling to walk along the corridor, wait on the landing whilst you came downstairs, and walk back with you to the door of Mrs. Maquisten’s room?”

  The judge leaned forward again.

  “Have we had any evidence that Ellen Bridling had been in Mrs. Maquisten’s room?”

  “M’lud, the matter is not in dispute. Ellen Bridling will be called.”

  “Is that agreeable to the defence, Mr. Vane?”

  “Yes, m’lud.”

  The judge leaned back again, his eyes very bright and black.

  Mr. Lanthony continued.

  “Will you describe what happened in Mrs. Maquisten’s room.”

  Carey was forewarned. She took hold of herself and wouldn’t look back. It wasn’t so hard this time. Honor’s voice, mechanical and without inflection, deprived her words of their power to call up the past. The words were just words.

  When she had testified that the glass containing the sleeping-draught was more than half full at the time that Carey brought it in, that she had herself under the eyes of her three cousins added two lumps of sugar, some coffee, and a little milk, and had afterwards seen Mrs. Maquisten put in a dash of brandy and drain the glass, Mr. Lanthony had finished with her.

  He sat down thankfully, and Hugo Vane got up.

  “Just a moment, Miss King—I won’t keep you. When you went into Mrs. Maquisten’s room after dinner and found Miss Silence there, just what were their relative positions? Where, for instance, was Mrs. Maquisten?”

  Honor caught at her fur.

  “She was in her chair.”

  This was a lesson she hadn’t learned. Her voice wavered.

  “And where was this chair of hers?”

  “By the fire.”

  “Was she facing the door as you came in?”

  “Yes.”

  “And where was Miss Silence?”

  “Standing beside her.”

  “Close beside her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was she touching her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you describe what Mrs. Maquisten was doing.”

  Honor’s voice sank to a murmur. Only the word “hand” emerged.

  “Please try to keep your voice up, Miss King. I am afraid I must ask you to repeat that. What was Mrs. Maquisten doing?”

  “She was holding Carey’s hand.”

  There was a sound in the court, as if everyone there had moved a little. No one of these movements would have been audible by itself, but all together they made up a vague composite sound. Jeff Stewart took hold of the edge of the bench on which he was sitting and gripped it so hard that the mark was still across his palm half an hour later. Mr. Mordaunt looked at him and nodded, and the iron band about his heart gave way, to let him draw his breath.

  From the dock Carey looked across to Honor King. There was colour in her cheeks—quick, bright colour. Her pulses drummed, because neither she, nor Mr. Mordaunt, nor anyone else had been sure what Honor would say—they hadn’t been sure. But the words had bee
n spoken now, and nobody could take them back—“She was holding Carey’s hand.” She looked across at Honor and thanked her with her eyes. But Honor’s eyes were down, her face pale and reluctant, her figure sagging, the fur sliding from her shoulders.

  Hugo Vane went on cheerfully.

  “Was Mrs. Maquisten speaking?”

  “Yes.”

  “Could you hear what she said?”

  “No.”

  “Was she looking at Miss Silence?”

  “Yes.”

  “In what way—with what expression?”

  The fur slipped again. Honor clutched at it.

  “Come, Miss King—I want an answer. Mrs. Maquisten was looking at Miss Silence, and I want to know how she was looking at her. Perhaps I can help you. Was the look an affectionate one?”

  The pale lips moved. A faint sound came from them.

  Hugo Vane beamed.

  “Just a little louder, Miss King. I should like the jury to hear that ‘Yes.’ Mrs. Maquisten was looking affectionately at Miss Silence when you came in, and holding her hand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you, Miss King.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Dennis Harland limped up into the witness-box. He leaned on a stick, but no longer used a crutch. Carey, watching him, thought he looked stronger. She wondered if he would look at her, but he kept his eyes away.

  He was taken by Mr. Lanthony through his interview with Honoria Maquisten on the afternoon of November 16th. He had returned to the house at six and spent half an hour with his aunt. She was angry when he came in, but not with him. She did not say with whom she was angry. She told him she had had a letter which upset her very much. She did not tell him who the letter was from.

  “What did she tell you about the contents of this letter, Mr. Harland?”

  “She said, ‘I’ve had a letter that has upset me very much. You’ll know more about it tomorrow. But if anyone thinks they can deceive me, and blind me, and act a part and get away with it, they are very much mistaken, and so I mean to show them.’”

  “Did you understand Mrs. Maquisten to use the words ‘they’ and ‘them’ in a plural sense?”

  “No. She began the sentence with ‘anyone.’ I think she said ‘they’ and ‘them’ to avoid saying ‘he’ or ‘she.’ At least that’s how I took it. She just wasn’t giving anything away.”

  “What else did she say, Mr. Harland?”

  “Well, it was all on those lines. She said she was going to alter her will—she always did if she was annoyed with any of us—and that Hood had gone away with the draft. She said she would sign it next day. She was very worked up, and I was afraid she would make herself ill, so I did my best to soothe her. Then Miss Brayle came in and said of course she wouldn’t be taking her evening off as my aunt was so upset, and there was a flare-up about that.”

  “Mrs. Maquisten wished the nurse to go?”

  “She insisted. In fact she went so far as to say that if she didn’t do as she was told she could clear out altogether.”

  “Was anything said about the sleeping-draught?”

  “Yes—Miss Brayle said my aunt should have one. She gave this as a reason for staying in. My aunt was by this time so angry that I suggested that the sleeping-draught should be left ready, and that Ellen Bridling should bring it in and give it to her when she put her to bed.”

  “Was this agreed upon?”

  “Yes. It had been done before.”

  “What happened after that?”

  “I went down to the study.”

  “Was anyone there?”

  “Miss Silence was there.”

  His voice was as cold as a March wind. She wasn’t “Carey Silence” or “my cousin.” She supposed she might be thankful that he hadn’t called her “the accused.” He hadn’t looked at her once.

  Mr. Lanthony was asking,

  “Did you repeat to Miss Silence what had just taken place in Mrs. Maquisten’s room?”

  “Yes.”

  “All of it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you tell her that Mrs. Maquisten was to have a sleeping-draught?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you describe the method by which that sleeping-draught was prepared?”

  There was a pause.

  Dennis Harland said, “Yes.”

  “Will you describe the method now.”

  “My aunt couldn’t swallow a tabloid. When she took one she had it dissolved and mixed with coffee.”

  “Did you describe this method to Miss Silence?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you tell her that the draught with this dissolved tabloid was to be left for Ellen Bridling to administer?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you inform Miss Silence that Mrs. Maquisten had not told you who was to be cut out of her will?”

  “Yes. She said she hadn’t told her either.”

  “How long were you and Miss Silence together?”

  “Until half past seven, when we went up to dress for dinner.”

  “What time was dinner?”

  “It was late because we waited for my cousin Nora Hull. We sat down as soon as she came in, a little after eight.”

  “‘We’ being yourself, Miss Silence, Miss King, and Mrs. Hull?”

  “Yes.”

  Mr. Lanthony took him through the conversation at the dinner table.

  “So when you rose from the table Miss Silence had been given to understand that Mrs. Maquisten had not named the person with whom she was angry?”

  “Yes.”

  He was asked about the order in which they went upstairs, and repeated what Nora had said.

  “Who were in Mrs. Maquisten’s room when you got there?”

  “Miss Silence and Honor King.”

  “Will you describe what happened after that.”

  “My cousin Nora Hull joined us. Molly brought in the coffee and went away. I asked my aunt if she was going to scold us, and she said, ‘No—not tonight.’ Nora Hull asked her if she would have coffee. She said, ‘I’m to take some wretched sleeping-draught, I believe, but there’s no reason why I shouldn’t have a decent cup of coffee as well.’ Honor King asked if it wouldn’t keep her awake, and she said that was her affair. She said she would take the sleeping-draught first—Magda had left it all ready. She told us to ring for Ellen. But when Ellen Bridling came she was in one of her cranky moods—she’s a privileged old servant—and she tried to persuade my aunt not to take the draught. She wanted her to have a hop pillow instead. In the end she refused point-blank to get the stuff, and suggested that Nora or Miss Silence should do so.”

  “Did she refuse abruptly?”

  “Very abruptly. She said, ‘I’m not giving you any sleeping-draughts neither tonight nor any other night. What’s the nurse for, if it isn’t to give sleeping-draughts and suchlike? It isn’t what I was engaged for!’ Then she went out of the room, and my aunt told Miss Silence to get the sleeping-draught from the bathroom shelf.”

  Carey sat there with her hands in her lap and tried not to listen, but every time he said “Miss Silence” it was like an open accusation. Nora Hull—Honor King—even Magda Brayle had her Christian name from him, but for Carey for whom his voice had been so warm and friendly, for Carey whom he had kissed, there was only that estranged “Miss Silence.” She tried not to listen, not to be made to go through that scene again. But she couldn’t escape. She couldn’t close her ears to Dennis’s voice, not warm and friendly now, but cold and strange. Once again she saw herself come in with the medicine-glass in her hand. She saw Honor add the milk, the sugar, the coffee. She saw Honoria Maquisten put in the brandy, tip up the glass, and drink.

  Dennis’s voice which was the voice of a stranger went on.

  “When my aunt had drunk the sleeping-draught she gave the glass to Miss Silence and told her to put it back on the shelf. Then she drank the cup of coffee which had been poured out for her and told us all to keep quiet, because there w
as something she wanted to say.”

  “Had Miss Silence come back?”

  “Yes. My aunt told her to sit where she could see her.”

  “Will you tell us what Mrs. Maquisten had to say.”

  “She said we were all to be there next day at a quarter to two. She said she had told my cousin Robert Maquisten to come. She said Mr. Hood would be bringing the draft of her new will, and that she would have something to say to us all before she signed it. She said, ‘I have made a great many wills, but this one is final. I shall fill in the names and certain details tomorrow, and sign the draft.’ She added that she didn’t intend to wait for Mr. Aylwin’s return, as he might be delayed, and neither he nor anyone else would turn her from what was her decided purpose. Then she told us all to go, and to send Ellen to her. She said she was tired and wanted to go to bed.”

  “Did you see Mrs. Maquisten again?”

  Dennis said, “Not whilst she was alive.”

  There came back to Carey the echo of his voice as he had turned at the bedroom door that night—“Sleep well, darling.” It hurt her quite unbearably. She knew suddenly that the same memory was hurting him.

  Junior counsel for the defence, the tall, thin young man whose face she liked but whose name she couldn’t remember, was on his feet now. Mr. Lanthony had sat down, looking as rubicund as if he breakfasted on beef and beer and had never heard of Lord Woolton.

  “Mr. Harland—you were in Mrs. Maquisten’s room for about twenty minutes on the occasion you have just described?”

  “Rather less than that.”

  “During that time Miss Silence was also there, except when she went to fetch the sleeping-draught and to take away the glass at Mrs. Maquisten’s request?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long was she absent when she went to get the draught?”

  “She went into the bathroom and came straight back again.”

  “There was no delay?”

  “None at all.”

  “Would there have been time for her to have dissolved a tabloid, and to have added it to the draught in the medicine-glass?”

  There was a pause. Dennis Harland said, “Not then.”

  “There was not the slightest delay?”

  “No.”

  “Now, Mr. Harland—during the time when you were all together in Mrs. Maquisten’s room, did you hear her address Miss Silence?”