Mrs. Cope looked round the court and preened herself; she was not in the least frightened, nor dismayed. Is there another country in the world where a woman of Mrs. Cope’s class and upbringing could face a judge and jury in a crowded court with confidence in their integrity and in her own rectitude? Is there another country in the world that could produce a Mrs. Cope?
I awaited Mrs. Cope’s evidence with eagerness. She would clear up the whole affair and perhaps—I was very ignorant in these matters—there would be no need for my evidence at all. Surely they would not waste their time in questioning me, when they had already got a full account of Kitty’s tenancy of my room from Mrs. Cope! It was not until halfway through Mrs. Cope’s evidence that I began to realize where it was tending, that far from exculpating Kitty, Mrs. Cope was ruining her irretrievably.
“Mrs. Lily Cope?” inquired Garth’s counsel.
“That’s me,” nodded Mrs. Cope brightly.
How strange that although I had known Mrs. Cope for twelve years I had never had occasion to learn that her Christian name was Lily! Did anybody on earth look less like a lily than Mrs. Cope—so compact, she was, so red and tough and capable?
“You work for Miss Dean, I believe.”
“That’s right. I been daily ’elp to Miss Dean twelve years.”
“A long time, Mrs. Cope”—in a friendly encouraging voice.
“So it is, sir. But Miss Dean and me gets on all right. I likes gentlemen as a rule, to do for, but Miss Dean’s no more trouble than a gentleman.”
There was a ripple of laughter in court which quickly subsided.
“On the morning of the nineteenth of March, did you go as usual to Miss Dean’s flat?”
“That’s right, sir.”
“Will you tell the court what happened that morning?”
Mrs. Cope took a long breath. “Well, it was loike this. I met Miss Dean on the stairs—just on the stroke of nine it was—‘’ullo, Mrs. Cope,’ she ses ter me. ‘Laite as usual,’ she ses. That’s just our little joke, ye see, sir.”
“You were not late?”
“No, sir. Miss Dean an’ me always meets on the stairs. So then she ses ter me that ’er sister’s spending the night an’ I’m not to waike ’er. She ses ter me, ‘’Er pore ’ead’s somethin’ awful,’ she ses. ‘Don’t you go maikin’ a noise,’ she ses. ‘Pore soul,’ I ses, ‘I’ll maike ’er a nice cup o’ tea an’ taike it in.’ Miss Dean thinks to ’erself a minute an’ then she ses, ‘Could you stay laiter today, Mrs. Cope?’ she ses. ‘Mrs. Wisdon doesn’t want to be disturbed before eleven.’ Well, I said I would. I ’ad another job, but it didn’t matter bein’ a bit laite so long as I got it done sometimes. So we settled it all right. ‘That’s okay,’ she ses, an’ off she goes. Well I does the ’all an’ the sittin’ room, goin’ about quiet-like, an’ then I maikes a noice cup o’ tea an’ a few bits of toast an’ takes it in ter the bedroom, an’ bless my soul you could ’ave knocked me dahn wif a feather—there’s nobody there.”
“The respondent had gone?”
“Wot’s that?” inquired Mrs. Cope with a puzzled frown.
“Mrs. Wisdon was not in the room?”
“Nobody wasn’t,” agreed Mrs. Cope.
“Would it have been possible for Mrs. Wisdon to have left the room and gone out while you were in the flat?”
“No, it wouldn’t then. She’d ’ave ’ad ter step over me when I was washing the floor in the ’all.”
Another ripple of laughter.
“Then the—er—Mrs. Wisdon must have left the flat before you arrived?”
“That’s right.”
“What did you do next?”
“I went an’ ’ad a look at the bed an’ I sees it ’adn’t bin slep’ in.”
There was a rustle in the court.
“The bed was—er—made?”
“No, it wasn’t made neither. It ’ad bin rumpled about a bit to maike it look untidy, but the bottom sheet was smooth, an’ the piller. I knows the way Miss Dean maikes beds—as smooth as cream, ’er beds are—An’ I knows Miss Dean’s linen an’ I knows that bed ’adn’t bin slep’ in.”
Mr. Amber leaped to his feet. “My lord, my lord, I protest,” he said vehemently. “The witness’s opinion is not evidence.”
They wrangled for a few moments and Mrs. Cope waited patiently while they did so. The Judge instructed the jury to make a note of the fact that it was the witness’s opinion, and therefore not evidence, that the bed had not been slept in.
“What did you do next, Mrs. Cope?” inquired counsel sweetly.
“I picks up the nightie—on the floor it wos, an’ all of a ’eap, crumpled up—an’ the nex’ thing is a pin runs straight into me ’and.”
“A pin?”
“That’s right. It was Miss Dean’s best nightie—cripe der sheen—she’d got it out for ’er sister ter wear. But nobody ’adn’t worn that nightie, an’ why? Becos nobody couldn’t wear a nightie wifout takin’ out the pins.”
“But why pins?” inquired counsel. “To a mere man it sounds rather strange.”
“Ter keep the pleats right,” explained Mrs. Cope. “I done up that nightie ’arf a dozen times for Miss Dean, an’ don’t I know the job I’ve ’ad ironing the pleats down the front. They’re crule to iron, pleats are.”
“What did you do next?”
“Well, sir, it seemed a shaime ter waiste the tea so I ’ad it myself—I was feelin’ a bit queer, yer see. I’m subject to palpitations an’ I was a bit upset loike. So I ’ad the tea myself an’ felt all the better. An’ then I washed up and went on ter Mr. Smith’s. I was about a hour laite, yer see, what wif one thing an’ another.”
Garth’s counsel sat down with a satisfied smile, and Mr. Amber rose to cross-examine Mrs. Cope. He did not make much of her. Her evidence was too firm to shake, and it was to her advantage that she did not understand his more subtle questions, so that the traps he laid for her unwary feet failed to catch her. When she did not understand the question, she did not answer, and the questions put in plainer language lost a great deal of their sting.
“On the morning of the nineteenth of March you met Miss Dean on her way to work.”
“That’s right,” said Mrs. Cope.
“You met her at the end of France Street, didn’t you?”
“No, I didn’t then. I met ’er on the stairs like I sed.”
“I suggest that you did not go into the flat immediately. There was something you wanted to do. You remembered it after you had met Miss Dean and went out to get it.”
“I didn’t want nothin’,” replied Mrs. Cope. “An’ if I ’ad wanted anythink, I’d ’ave got it on the w’y. I don’t walk any further than I ’as to wif me corns stabbin’ me loike knives. I went straight up ter the flat when I’d seen Miss Dean an’ there I st’yed.”
“You had other flats to visit.”
“That’s right. After I’ve done for Miss Dean I goes on ter Mr. Smith.”
“What time do you leave Miss Dean’s flat?”
“About tennish,” said Mrs. Cope. “But that d’y I’d promised Miss Dean I’d st’y an’ maike ’er sister a cup o’ tea. You ’eard me s’y so to the other gentlemen, didn’t yer?”
“I am now cross-examining you, Mrs. Cope. Kindly give me your attention.”
“Well, I am, aren’t I?” inquired Mrs. Cope, not unreasonably.
“I suggest that you left Miss Dean’s flat at the usual hour—about ten o’clock—and went to this Mr. Smith, returning about eleven to prepare breakfast for the respondent.”
Mrs. Cope looked at him blankly, and he was obliged to repeat his “suggestion” in plainer language.
“Well, I didn’t, then,” said Mrs. Cope. “I didn’t do no such thing. Mr. Smith’s is at the other end of the street, an’ I wosn’t goin’ trilin’ off to the other en
d of France Street an’ back agen—as a matter of fac’, I never thought of it. Wot I did was this, if yer wants ter know, I finished at Miss Dean’s an’ it maide me a good hour laite, but it worked in all right, ’cos I did the sittin’ room thorough, as well as the ’all wot I generally does the nex’ d’y. So the nex’ d’y I gives Mr. Smith the extra hour. See?”
Mr. Amber left that and passed on.
“While you were busy in the sitting room the respondent could have gone out of the bedroom into the hall—Mrs. Wisdon is the respondent,” he added anticipating Mrs. Cope’s question.
“Not ’arf she couldn’t,” replied Mrs. Cope. “Miss Dean’s flat is cozy, but it ain’t big, an’ the only w’y out of the bedroom is through the sittin’ room—unless she ’ad wings an’ flew out of the winder.”
“Do you mean to say there is no door out of the bedroom into the hall?”
“Well yes, there is a door, so there is. But it’s blocked up wif Jeremiah standin’ up against it—that’s Miss Dean’s grandfather’s clock wot she brought wif ’er from ’er old ’ome. You go an’ look for yerself if yer don’t believe me; nobody couldn’t move that clock by themselves. It taikes up most of the ’all. I ain’t big, but it taikes me all my time ter squeeze around it when I does the ’all. Besides, the door’s locked an’ always ’as bin ter my knowledge.”
“Regarding the bed. You informed the court that it had not been slept in—rather a rash statement wasn’t it?”
“Wot’s that?”
“Why did you think the bed had not been slept in?” inquired Mr. Amber impatiently. “You informed the court that the bed had been rumpled about.”
“So it ’ad,” replied Mrs. Cope firmly. “I knows wot I’m talkin’ about when I talks about beds. If you’d ’ad as much to do wif beds as I’ve ’ad, you’d know soon enough when a bed ’ad bin slep’ in.”
“A bed does not get rumpled unless it has been slept in.”
“If someone rumples it, it does. Someone ’ad wanted to maike it look like it ’ad bin slep’ in, but they didn’t do it right. If you wants ter maike a bed look like as if it ’ad bin slep’ in, you get in, an’ ’ump yerself about a bit—see?”
There was a good deal of laughter at this. How could they laugh? It disgusted me that they could laugh at such a moment. Mrs. Cope looked round, smiling at the success of her remark, and waited for the laughter to subside.
“It seems strange that you did not inform Miss Dean of this marvelous discovery,” said Mr. Amber sarcastically.
“Wot’s that?”
“Why didn’t you tell Miss Dean about your suspicions?”
“Oh that!” said Mrs. Cope. “It wosn’t no business of mine, I sees lots of funny things in my life an’ I don’t say nothin’. Yer never gets into no trouble for sayin’ nothin’—that’s flat.”
“When did you change your mind? Was it after you had seen the resp—Mrs. Wisdon—and she had admonished you for your impudence?”
“Not so much about imperence,” returned Mrs. Cope hotly. “It wos her wot was imperent to me.”
“Kindly answer my question. Was it after you had seen Mrs. Wisdon that you decided to speak?”
“I didn’t s’y nothin’ ter nobody till I was arst,” said Mrs. Cope sullenly. “An’ when I was arst I sed wot I know’d, an’ not a word more.”
Mr. Amber continued his cross-examination for some little time, trying to shake Mrs. Cope, but without success. I thought he had strengthened the value of her evidence rather than weakened it. When at last he sat down there was a little buzz in court and I saw the jury whispering to each other.
Chapter Five
“She Asked Me Not to Disturb Her”
I was so dumbfounded by Mrs. Cope’s story that I could not speak to Kitty, could not look at her. I knew that Kitty would blame me for Mrs. Cope; it was my doing that Mrs. Cope had stayed and prepared breakfast for her and so found her out in her deception. For of course I realized now that Kitty had deceived me. It was impossible to doubt Mrs. Cope, she was trustworthy, she was completely and absolutely honest. She was one of those people who glory in honesty, who take a pride in their integrity. She would no more have gone into the witness-box and told lies than she would have flown. If Mrs. Cope said that Kitty had not spent the night in my flat, Kitty had not done so. I saw now that I had been used, that I had been deceived, made a dupe for Kitty’s convenience. I saw now why Mr. Corrieston had not answered my questions, why Kitty had contradicted herself, and, even in her wildest moments, had been careful to conceal the facts of the case. She was guilty, that was why. Her assurances that Garth was mad and had “made up the whole thing” were nothing but a pack of lies.
I was so angry at the way I had been duped that my terror fled. When I thought of how Kitty must have crept out of the flat while I was asleep, of how she must have looked at me lying there on the couch in the sitting room, and smiled to think of the success of her plan, and how easy it had been, my rage knew no bounds. I scarcely realized that the case for the petitioner was closed; I scarcely heard Mr. Amber’s opening speech for the defense, nor Kitty’s examination and cross-examination. What was the use of listening to it all? It was lies from beginning to end.
I was so angry that my terror fled, but only fled to return with redoubled force when I heard my name called and found myself getting up out of my seat and moving up to the witness-box. It was dreadful to stand there in front of the whole court and to know that I stood there to protect a lie. To know that although my evidence was true in every particular it was being used for an untrue cause. It was dreadful to stand there and answer Mr. Amber’s questions—the questions that I had been told he would ask me—knowing what I knew, knowing that everybody in court was aware that I was either an accomplice or a dupe.
Mr. Amber began by asking the questions for which I had been prepared, but he went on to other questions which were infinitely more worrying. I suppose Mrs. Cope’s evidence had altered his line of defense, the old line of defense had been swept away by Mrs. Cope. Even the fact that the milk (which I had left for Kitty’s tea) had been finished was of no importance now, for Mrs. Cope had admitted to having drunk it herself. Mr. Amber left the subject of milk severely alone; he tried, instead, to get me to discredit Mrs. Cope, to say she was untruthful and dishonest. He wanted me to say I had missed things from the flat and had suspected Mrs. Cope—I couldn’t do it. I was aware that my answers were not the answers that Mr. Amber wanted, and that they were unhelpful to Kitty’s defense, but I could not make them otherwise.
At last, to my relief, Mr. Amber relinquished the subject of Mrs. Cope and passed on to other matters.
“Do you sleep very heavily, Miss Dean?” he inquired.
“No, I don’t think so. Not unless I am very tired.”
“You were sleeping on the sofa that night?”
“Yes.”
“Was it as comfortable as a bed?”
“No.”
“It was not so comfortable as a bed. You would not sleep so well as usual, I imagine.”
“No, I don’t suppose I should.”
“Is it likely that anyone—anyone at all—could have passed through the room without waking you?”
“It does not seem—likely,” I replied feebly. What was the good of asking me that? Kitty had passed through the room when I was asleep, she must have done so. We all knew that she had done so. The man was trying to make me lie.
He bent forward earnestly and said, “Miss Dean, think for a moment. Can you remember hearing a sound from the bedroom the next morning?”
I knew the whole court was awaiting my answer with breathless interest.
“No,” I said faintly, “I heard nothing.”
“You knew the respondent was asleep?”
“Yes, I went about the flat very quietly, I did not want to disturb her.”
“Did y
ou open the bedroom door and look in to see whether she was all right? She had been indisposed the night before, if I remember rightly.”
“She had a headache.”
“Yes, so you looked in to see if she were better?”
“No.”
“Wasn’t it rather strange not to look in before leaving the flat?”
“She asked me not to disturb her,” I replied.
I knew, the moment the words had left my lips, that it was the wrong thing to say. How dreadful it is that one can never recall words! There was a rustle in court. I looked toward Kitty and saw her eyes fixed upon me; they were full of scorn and hatred.
Mr. Amber cleared his throat and continued, “Did the respondent visit your flat on the day upon which the Divorce Papers were served?”
The Young Clementina Page 8
