Beauty's Doom

by Christina Britton Conroy

  The judge looked to see who had spoken.

  Elly was on her feet. “Objection! The question is irrelevant.” She forced herself to stand still.

  The courtroom buzzed with excited whispers. Smiles and titters were half hidden under fans and fingers.

  Johnson blustered, “My lord, as Mr Milligan so eloquently put it, how am I to establish the character of the prisoner if not by hearing testimony from those who know her character?”

  The judge glared at Rory. “Objection overruled. The witness may answer the question.”

  Elly sat down, heavily.

  Sweat ran down Robert’s back. He lowered his eyes. “Yes, she spent a night at my lodging, but nothing improper occurred.” He angrily shook his head. “All we did was talk.”

  Johnson attacked. “Do you insult the intelligence of this court by expecting us to believe that a man and a woman who ‘care for each other’ spent an entire night alone together and did nothing but talk?”

  Some of the jurors affected righteous indignation, shaking their heads and scowling.

  Robert shouted, “Do you insult the virtue of an innocent young woman, because circumstances suggest an opportunity for misconduct?” He clutched the rail. “We hadn’t seen each other for weeks. We needed to talk.”

  “But of course.” The prosecutor shrugged sarcastically. “You needed to … talk.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Your chivalry is admirable Mr Dennison, protecting your lady’s honour.”

  “She is not ‘my lady’.” His hands were fists at his side. “She is a young girl who made the mistake of—”

  “She seems to be making a great many mistakes. Which mistake was this?”

  Laughter exploded around the courtroom, but was quickly hushed by the judge’s glare.

  Feeling anything he said would be wrong, Robert clutched the rail, pulled back, lowered his face, and snorted angrily at the floor.

  The prosecutor stood triumphant before making a final assault. “Mr Dennison, when first you visited Miss Roundtree in London, how did she appear?”

  Wary of this new question, Robert measured his words. “She appeared to be well. She had made new friends.” He looked around. “She enjoyed her work at the theatre.”

  “How long after that was she forcibly taken home?”

  “The next morning.”

  The prosecutor crossed his arms, pretending to discover a new idea. “So, she had new friends, a career she enjoyed. She was happy with her new life?”

  Robert wiped his brow. “That is what I said.”

  “Was it all she had hoped it would be?”

  His jaw was tight. “I don’t know what she hoped it would be.”

  The prosecutor raised an eyebrow. “It was, in any case, better than her anticipated married life?”

  Robert snorted. “I suppose.”

  “Then, she must have felt she had even more to lose by marrying her betrothed.”

  Robert stiffened. “I don’t know. Perhaps.”

  The prosecutor shook his head. “And, you still insist she was incapable of pushing Sir John out a window?”

  “Yes!” Furious, he turned to the judge and jury. “Yes, a thousand times. Yes!”

  Johnson smiled sardonically. “Thank you, ‘a thousand times’, Mr Dennison. I have no more questions.” He triumphantly took his seat.

  The judge glared. “Redirect, Miss Roundtree?”

  Turning her head, Elly looked furtively at Rory. They both looked to Sir Douglas. After a moment’s hesitation, the old man touched his chin. She answered, “No, my lord.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Constable Henry Wright!”

  Elly studied her notes as the constable’s heavy tread echoed up the aisle. After taking the oath, he bowed awkwardly to the judge and jury. “I beg yer pardon, m’ lord, gentlemen, for not bein’ ’ere yesterday. T’ train derailed just outside Daventry. Frightful it was. Two trains …”

  “Constable Wright,” The prosecutor drew focus. “We are glad you have arrived unharmed.”

  The constable blushed and lowered his eyes. “Ah, thank ye, sir. You’re right kind, sir.”

  “Now, I ask that you be so kind as to tell the court all you remember about January 5th of this year.”

  “Aye, sir, ’t were a bad day, that. Worst I ever remember. Started out so good too. Had a visitor from America. Never ’ad one of those before. Good wi’ dogs ’e were. Had a stray wandered in. This fella ’ad ’im doin’ tricks.”

  “What was the gentleman’s name?”

  The constable scratched his head. ‘Don’t remember his name, sir.”

  The prosecutor stared in disbelief. “You don’t remember his name?”

  As the constable concentrated, his tongue made a bulge in his cheek. “Sorry, sir. Don’t remember him tellin’ me ’is name.”

  “Wasn’t he Sam Smelling the journalist, who later wrote all the articles about the incident? Surely you remember. He writes as ‘Sam Smell, The Man With The Nose For News’?”

  The constable’s face lit up. “Were that ’im? ’T weren’t never! I read all them stories. Were that ’im, right there in my station?”

  The prosecutor wearily shook his head, “Never mind about him, now, constable.”

  Embarrassed, the constable lowered his face.

  “I believe you received a telegram …”

  “Aye, sir. Said I were to meet an officer from Scotland Yard and take ’im to the Roundtree estate. I thought ’e were comin’ fer t’ weddin’.”

  The judge looked sideways. “Did you really?”

  “Half the countryside were comin’ fer t’ weddin’.” He sighed, “Would’ve been better than t’ county fair, if it weren’t fer …” He sadly shook his head.

  Johnson was losing patience. “Pray continue, Constable.”

  “Well I met the Scotland Yard man, and ’is sergeant.” His eyebrows squeezed together, “Can’t remember ’is name either.”

  “Hayes.” The prosecutor wearily leaned forward. “Chief Inspector Hayes.”

  “Aye, that’s t’ one …” the constable smiled, “… and his sergeant and the most beautiful lady I’d ever seen.”

  “That would have been Isabelle, Lady Richfield.”

  In the gallery, Isabelle raised an eyebrow. Her husband took her hand.

  The prosecutor stretched. “After you arrived at the Roundtree estate, what happened?”

  “There were a gunshot. I followed t’ Chief Inspector upstairs t’ old nursery.”

  “How did you know it was the nursery?”

  The constable looked surprised. “Well, I’d been there before, hadn’t I? Not fer years mind yer, but as a boy. Used to play with Masters Charlie and Tony, sometimes.”

  “So, constable, you were familiar with the house. What did you see when you entered the room, after hearing the gunshot?”

  “I saw Larry Folen, t’ priest from t’ moors. He were shot dead. Blood pourin’ from his neck. Miss Lillian were kneeling beside him sayin’ t’ rosary. A window were broken. The Chief Inspector called fer a doctor. I followed ’im downstairs.” He shook his head. “Outside, that stray dog were like to kill Mr Roundtree. The American, he were under a pile of rubbish with Miss Elisa. He called off t’ dog. The Chief Inspector said Mr Roundtree shot Father Folen. Made me arrest ’im. I didn’t believe it. Not then.” He paused, lost in the bitter memory.

  Johnson glared. “Who else did you see, Constable?”

  “Oh, sorry, sir. I saw Sir John Garingham, but he were dead, on t’ ground. Miss Elisa said she pushed him out of t’ window.”

  Elly snapped to attention.

  “Thank! You!” Finally having reached his point, the prosecutor relaxed. He carried a piece of paper to the witness. “What is this, sir?”

  The constable looked worried, then smiled. “That’s t’ paper where I wrote that Miss Elisa said she pushed Sir John out t’ window.”

  The prosecutor made a grand gesture, handing the paper to the judge. “T
he constable’s signed affidavit that on the night of January 5, 1904, Miss Elisa Roundtree admitted pushing Sir John Garingham out of a window.”

  Rory leaned over, whispering, “Elly.”

  She leaned back.

  “Did you tell him that?”

  She whispered, “I don’t remember.”

  “Ask him.”

  Her chest heaved. “What if I said it?”

  “Do what Milligan did. Ask if he believed it.”

  She shook her head and looked up to see the judge scowling at her and Rory.

  Johnson bowed. “M’ lord, I have no more questions at this time.”

  “Your witness, Miss Roundtree.” Annoyed, the judge drummed his fingers on the desk.

  Elly stood and smiled at the witness. “Constable Wright, you and I are well acquainted, are we not?”

  “Aye, Miss.” He smiled fondly. “Known you your whole life, I have. Always enjoyed seein’ y’ in town with your auntie. Good as gold y’ were, never said a word.”

  She smiled. “Thank you, Constable. On the night of January 5th …” she shook her head, “… I’m sorry, but, did we speak? I don’t remember.”

  “No, Miss. Soon as that dog were called off, I took Mr Roundtree down t’ station. Locked ’im up, didn’ I. Didn’t talk t’ you at all.”

  Her heart fluttered. “Then, Constable, how was it that you heard me say I had pushed Sir John out of a window?”

  “I didn’t ’ear y’ say it, Miss. Later on, the Chief Inspector said that y’ said it.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  Rory whispered, “Did he believe it?”

  Elly asked, “Did you believe it?”

  “Believe wha’, Miss?”

  “That I pushed him.”

  “Tha’ y’ pushed ’im out t’ window?”

  She wanted to scream. “Yes!”

  “O, no, Miss.” He swaggered. “Didn’ believe that fer a minute.”

  “But you wrote it on that paper.”

  Taken aback, he scratched his head. “Aye, well, if a bloke from Scotland Yard says a thing, it must be true.”

  Elly shook her head in dismay.

  The judge rolled his eyes. “Constable, are we to understand that your statement is purely hearsay, and you did not hear Miss Roundtree give the admission from her own lips?”

  Not understanding, the constable stared.

  “Did Miss Roundtree tell you, to your face, that she pushed Sir John out a window?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then you wrote what someone else said.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Sighing, the judge shook his head. “Miss Roundtree, have you anymore questions for this witness?”

  Elly glanced at Sir Douglas. He touched his chin, so she answered, “No, my lord,” and sat down.

  The judge glowered. “Redirect, Mr Johnson?”

  Johnson stood, considered, then wearily shook his head. “No more questions, m’ lord.”

  Before the next witness could be called, the judge pointed at Rory. “You, sir!”

  Horrified, Rory sunk down in his seat.

  The judge called again, “You, sir. Stand up!”

  Rory’s pale blue eyes were huge as he slowly stood. Groaning, Sir Douglas put a hand over his eyes. Elly’s stomach cramped.

  The judge glowered. “Who … are … you?”

  Rory swallowed. “My name is Rory Cookingham.”

  “It is not!” The judge continued his frozen stare.

  Taken aback, Rory stuttered, “I … I beg your pardon, sir?”

  “I know you. You’re an actor, and your name is not C—”

  “Cookingham, sir.” Rory’s mouth went dry. “You are correct sir. I am an actor.”

  “Of course I’m correct.” The judge scowled.

  “My real name is, in fact, Rory Cookingham, but I shorten it for the stage. I’m Rory Cook as an act—”

  He pointed a finger. “That’s the name. Rory Cook. Yesterday, you were sitting with Mr Brown. Why?”

  “I’m a friend of Miss Roundtree.”

  The judge waited for more.

  “I was, for a very short time, a student of Mr Brown’s, at Oxford. I was merely helping with research. I’ve no credentials, in the law, none whatsoever.” He braced himself. “My lord, when a prisoner chooses to self-defend, he – she gives up the right to counsel, not to friendship. There is nothing in the statutes saying that the accused may not be aided by a friend, who is not a barrister.”

  “And there is nothing stating that she may have such aid. This is the most bloody, irregular trial I’ve ever encountered.”

  Rory pulled at his collar, soaking with sweat. Nervously chewing his lip, he waited for the judge to say more.

  Aching to throw something, the judge glanced down at his golf partner. Rodney stifled a smile. He looked at the journalists, pencils poised, eager for something dramatic. “Mr Cook, while I have no objection to the accused receiving assistance … from a friend … you have spoken out loud in my court.”

  “It won’t happen again, my lord. I swear it!”

  “Sit down!”

  Rory dropped onto his bench.

  Elly released her breath, whispering, “Thank you, God.”

  Two journalists ran out, as two others ran in, taking the empty seats.

  When the bailiff called, “Jeremy O’Connell!” thirty women straightened their hats, pinched their cheeks, and bit their lips to darken the colour. Seventy men strained to see the famous actor close up, out of costume.

  Tall, pencil thin, graceful as a ballet dancer, he seemed to glide down the aisle. Elly watched as he effortlessly mounted the steps to the witness box, his perfectly tailored suit moving like a second skin. As he took the oath, his warm stage whisper resonated to the back walls. He turned his aquiline profile and his piercing brown eyes found her. He smiled fondly.

  She stood, returning his smile. “Good morning, Mr O’Connell. Thank you for agreeing to be a character witness in today’s proceedings.” She lowered her eyes.

  The actor nodded and turned to the judge. “It is a pleasure and a privilege to speak on behalf of so worthy a young lady.” The conviction in his beautifully modulated voice caught the jurors’ attention. The judge smiled with admiration.

  Johnson squinted with displeasure so Elly dashed into rehearsed action. “Mr O’Connell, the world knows you as an actor of extraordinary talent.”

  “The world, Miss Roundtree?” Turning again to the judge and jurymen, he chuckled. “My friends, the young lady speaks beyond her knowledge, but I do appreciate the approbation.”

  Believing the celebrated actor had just shared a private joke, sixteen men smiled back.

  Elly hid her pleasure. “Mr O’Connell, while I personally have no doubts as to your sincerity, there may be those who question their ability to determine whether an actor is telling the truth or … acting.”

  “Ah.” Leaning on the railing, he pretended to pose in thought. “An interesting dilemma. First off,” he shrugged, “I did just swear to tell the truth.” He looked questioningly at the judge. “Surely, my lord, that signifies something?”

  The judge scoffed, “Too little in this day, sir.”

  Jeremy comically lurched back. “Do you expect all your witnesses to commit perjury?”

  “Certainly not!”

  Yes! Rory crossed out the first item on his list.

  Jeremy continued, “Then, of course, one must consider why I agreed to come at all. It is not for personal gain, wealth, fame or fortune.” He turned apologetically to the jurors. “I already have those.” They laughed outright and his smile encouraged them. Engaging their eyes, he slowly turned his head, leading their focus to Elly.

  Rory gasped. The jurymen were smiling at her. He crossed out the second item on his list.

  Jeremy’s silky voice held the jury. “Gentlemen, I do have something to gain by being here, actually a great deal.” He paused dramatically. “I stand to gain the safe return of a dear f
riend.”

  Despite her instructions to show no emotion, Elly broke into a radiant smile. She glanced at the jurymen and lowered her eyes again.

  A heavy sadness came over Jeremy, as he continued looking at Elly. “Do you know something, gentlemen?”

  That line wasn’t scripted. Elly’s stomach lurched.

  Jeremy’s heart pounded as he stood watching her. “At this moment, I am as nervous as I have ever been in my life.”

  Elly stared. He wasn’t acting. Rory looked frantically to Sir Douglas, and the old barrister gestured for him to keep still.

  “Until this moment, I never actually believed that Elly …” he shook his head, “… Miss Roundtree might be sent …” He turned back to the Judge and jurymen, fearful creatures with enormous power. The room was still, every eye concentrated on him. He had eyes only for the sixteen men before him. “Gentlemen, since I am called as a character witness and not a witness to an event under investigation, with your kind consent, I would like to tell you about a young lady I know as …” he gestured gracefully, “… Elly Fielding.”

  Taking her cue, Elly lowered her eyes and sat with her hands in her lap.

  He stood casually, as if speaking to friends in his living room. “Gentlemen, shortly before Christmas, I engaged a frightened, penniless, friendless girl, with one soiled frock, to be an unpaid apprentice actress. She would receive no wages …”

  Johnson politely raised his hand. “My Lord, the gentleman obviously holds a high opinion of the prisoner. While his narrative is highly entertaining, he has made his point. I cannot see what benefit further personal history can give us, at this time.”

  The judge smiled at Jeremy. “Mr O’Connell, we appreciate that you have a fondness for the accused. Have you any new information that can help defend against her charge?”

  Much to the judge’s surprise, the actor said, “Yes sir, I do.”

  Number three . Rory crossed out the last item on his paper.

  Jeremy focused his thoughts. This was the most important performance of his life. Appearing to muse about Elly, he was acutely aware of the sixteen men, riveted, waiting for him to speak.

  When he raised his eyes, each man felt he was in private conference with the great actor. His velvet voice gently resonated to all corners of the room.