“Objection overruled. Miss Roundtree, you may answer the question.”
Sir Douglas shook his head and wearily sat down.
Elly’s heart pounded. “He said he had sinned … before. Please, sir … I have no idea what he meant.”
The prosecutor continued calmly. “What happened after your Uncle turned the revolver on his sister.”
“There was a knock on the door. A servant called that Scotland Yard was downstairs.” She felt hot and faint.
“And then?”
“Father Folen ran forward.” Her eyebrows creased. She shook her head. “There was a terrible noise.” She closed her eyes and clutched her hands together.
“Where was your uncle’s revolver pointed?”
“I don’t know, sir. I wasn’t looking.”
“You heard a shot and didn’t look in that direction?”
“It was terribly loud and frightening. I looked away.”
“What did you see?”
Her stomach knotted. “As I said, before, sir, my betrothed was leaning against a window. When the gun fired, he lurched back and fell through. I ran to help him.” A sob blocked her throat and she put gloved fingers over her mouth.
The jurymen believed she was overcome by the sad memory. They nodded in sympathy. Rory grinned and drove a fist into the palm of his hand.
“Miss Roundtree.” The prosecutor’s eyes bored into her.
Elly returned her hands to the rail and looked up respectfully. “Yes, sir?”
“Did your uncle aim his revolver at Father Laurence Folen?”
She glanced at Anthony Roundtree and was appalled to see him nodding with a smile on his face. “I … I don’t know, sir. I didn’t see.” She forced herself to look back at the prosecutor.
“Was he holding the revolver up high …” he raised his hand above his head, “ … or forward?” He lowered his hand to a shooting position.
Elly shook her head. “I wish, with all my heart, that I could tell you, sir.” Her breathing was fast and shallow. “I honestly did not see.”
The judge nodded in approval. “Mr Milligan, have you anymore questions for the young lady?”
The prosecutor clenched his jaw. “No, my lord.”
“Sir Douglas?”
He rose halfway. “No more questions, my lord.”
“Miss Roundtree.”
She turned huge eyes to the judge.
“You are excused, with our thanks.”
The judge and jurymen smiled as the bailiff helped her from the witness box. She wanted to scream with relief. She wasn’t asked anything about Garingham’s death. Perhaps it was over. Perhaps she was safe. She glanced at Rory. His eyes were dancing. She walked from the courtroom and was surrounded by reporters.
Suddenly, a man pushed through and raced down the aisle. “Sirs, I’ve an urgent message for the Crown Prosecutor.”
Andrew Milligan read the man’s note and beamed with pleasure. “So please the court. The prosecution has one last witness who will be arriving shortly.”
The defence team looked horrified.
The judge sighed wearily. “Very well. We will adjourn for lunch. At 2 o’clock we will reconvene and, hopefully,” he glared at Milligan, “the jury will be allowed to deliberate.” As he stood, the court stood and watched him leave. The courtroom emptied.
****
After a very tense lunch, the major players were back in court. Elly and Sam joined Sir William in the gallery. Everyone tried guessing who the prosecution’s surprise witness would be. That morning, Sir Douglas had felt considerably stronger. By afternoon, his energy was fading. He dragged himself up the aisle and slumped down next to Frederick Brown.
The bailiff’s voice boomed, “Miss Lillian Roundtree!”
The room exploded with excited shouts. The judge sat up as reporters pushed forward.
Sir Douglas whispered, “Damn it, Brown! You said …”
“I’m sorry, sir. My man swore she wouldn’t come.”
They sat up as an older version of Elly walked into the courtroom. Tall, painfully thin, copper hair streaked with grey, Elly’s Aunt Lillian looked much older than her forty-five years. Dressed in sombre black, she placed a small gloved hand on the Bible and took the oath.
In the gallery, Elly clutched Sam’s arm. “You remember my aunt. She’s mad. God knows what she’ll say.”
The prosecutor smiled and made a gracious bow. “Miss Roundtree, the court thanks you for travelling on such short notice.”
She stood stone-faced and silent.
“Would you be so kind as to state your full name.”
“Lillian Mary Margaret Roundtree.”
“Where do you reside?”
“The Big House, Settle, Yorkshire.”
“What is your relationship to the defendant?”
“He is my brother.”
“He is your younger brother, is he not?”
“He is.”
“And you reside in his house.”
“I do.”
“Why did you choose to stay with your brother and remain unmarried?”
“I did not choose it.” Her icy composure began to heat. “Twenty-five years ago, my brother gambled away my dowry.”
Angry murmurs spread around the courtroom. The judge listened intently.
She swallowed nervously and lowered her eyes. “No suitor stayed after learning I had nothing to bring to a marriage.”
“So you remained with your brother.”
She did not answer. There was no need. The room was still.
“Miss Roundtree.”
She looked at the prosecutor.
“Understanding that your brother has little talent for finance, is he a kind companion?”
The black dress seemed to expand. Her shoulders raised and her body tensed. There was a squeak of leather on wood as her gloved fingers angrily kneaded the railing in front of her. “The only reason I am here is because your man said he might be released and sent home.” She gazed into the distance, seeming to talk to herself. “Every day he was at home, I woke fearing that he would …” She shook her head with fright. “Every night I escaped … I thanked God. Mostly I was afraid for the child.” She Looked at Elly, in the gallery. “Elisa … I was so happy when you ran away.”
Elly gasped and grabbed Sam’s hand.
“I was so sorry when he brought you back.” She started to cry.
“Miss Roundtree.” Milligan spoke gently. “Will you please tell the court about the night Father Laurence Folen …”
She sniffed and stood tall. “My brother shot him and he died in front of me. What more is there to tell?”
People were on their feet. Cries of “Murderer!” and “Hang the rogue!” rang through the room.
The judge shouted. “Silence! Silence!” The crowd quieted. “One more outburst and I will clear the court.” He scowled at the prosecutor. “Mr Milligan, control your witness. Miss Roundtree, kindly wait for a question before volunteering an answer.”
Lillian seemed to shrink as her shoulders pulled forward, her head lowered and her hands clutched together.
Respectfully inclining his head, Milligan turned to Lillian and spoke gently. “Miss Roundtree. Please, be so kind as to answer my questions with a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’.” He paused dramatically, waiting until the room was silent. “Is it possible that your brother shot Father Folen … by … accident?”
“No.”
A murmur rose from the crowd but a look from the judge silenced it.
“You are quite sure your brother … intended … to shoot the priest?”
“Yes.”
The jurymen sat up, muttering angrily to each other.
The prosecutor inclined his head. “Thank you, Miss Roundtree. M’ lord. I have no further questions.” He sat down, a triumphant smirk on his face.
“Your witness, Sir Douglas.”
The old man painfully pulled himself to his feet. “Miss Roundtree, I am sorry to tell you that my le
arned colleague has brought you here under false pretences. There is no chance that your brother will be coming home, at least not for a good many years.”
“But …”
“No one doubts that Anthony Roundtree is responsible for the death of Father Laurence Folen. What is in question is whether your brother was brandishing the gun for effect, or if he intended to use it. If it was an accident, he will pay with imprisonment at hard labour. If he purposely aimed and fired the gun, he will hang.”
“Hang him!” She stared at her brother in the dock. “I should have killed him myself, years ago.”
Anthony Roundtree stood and shouted, “As if you had the courage!” Warders on either side subdued him.
Lillian flushed scarlet. “I wish to God I had.”
“Miss Roundtree, please try to calm …”
“You had the courage.” She pointed up at Elly, shouting, “You killed Sir John Garingham.”
Chapter Eight
London
The mansion at Hamilton Place looked like an armed fort. London police enhanced by Sir William’s private guards surrounded the house, keeping legions of journalists and gossip-mongers at bay.
Sir Douglas grew weaker every day. When the legal team returned to London, Isabelle insisted that he be moved into the house. Awaiting the arrival of a private nurse, Isabelle manoeuvred her large belly around his bed, treating his symptoms with calming teas and soothing poultices.
Elly learned his favourite poet was Alfred, Lord Tennyson. She sat at his bedside reading aloud. She occasionally glanced up to see his eyes closed and his lips moving, reciting along with her,
“… And slowly answered Arthur from the barge:
‘The old order changeth, yielding place to new …”
In the library, Frederick Brown was deep in conversation with Sir William and Rory. Gamie sat off by himself.
“Damn Andrew Milligan!” Brown’s plump figure swayed from side to side as he paced the floor, wiping his brow. “Even as a student, the man had no scruples.” He stamped his foot. “How dare he lie to a witness?”
Sir William scoffed, “It seems you lot dare anything at all.”
“I c-can’t b-believe it.” The sound of Gamie’s squeaky stutter made them turn around. “The j-jury deliberated for l-less than a-an hour.”
Rory taunted, “Gamie speaks. Let’s have a parade.”
“Cookingham!” Brown glared. “That’s quite unnecessary.”
“Sorry, sir.” Rory crossed his arms like a sulky schoolboy.
Sir William coughed uneasily. “Will they really hang him as soon as three weeks?”
“They will.” Brown sat down, drumming his fingers. “English justice tortures slowly and executes quickly.”
Rory threw up his hands. “Any fool could see Lillian Roundtree was out of her senses.”
Brown put a hand over his racing heart. “Twelve jurors and an assize judge disagree with you. She appeared sane in court. It was afterwards, at the restaurant, she raved like a lunatic.”
Sir William rolled his eyes. “You’re sure Elly’s trial will be in London?”
“There’s certainly no chance of finding an impartial jury in Yorkshire.”
“Will Sir Douglas be well enough to defend her?”
Brown put his head in his hands. “I’m still hoping it won’t come to that.”
Sir William spoke softly. “Mr Brown, you’ve been Sir Douglas’s second for years, surely you could …”
“I can’t.” He looked up, pale and sweating. “I’m a scholar, sir, not an orator. He raised his shaking hands. “Look at me. The very idea sends me into a frenzy.”
Rory’s clear blue eyes gazed calmly at his mentor. “Then sir, who shall we send for? There is no time to waste.”
****
Richard Reims, Esquire, sat on the end of a plush sofa in Sir Douglas’s bedroom. Stout, medium height, bald, with a manicured grey beard, Reims glared at Sir Douglas Thompson, wrapped in a dressing gown, dozing in bed.
“Sir Douglas, this is highly irregular. The first interview with a new client is a serious affair. This informal setting …” His face showed disgust as he looked at the upholstered furniture and thick carpet.
Sir Douglas waved away his concerns. “Stop it, Reims. We’ve too much work to do.”
Servants brought in a variety of mismatched chairs. Sir William and Mr Brown pulled theirs close. Rory escorted Elly into the room, helped her into a chair, then sat down himself. Gamie pulled his chair into a corner, slouched angrily, and gnawed his fingernails.
Mr Reims’s stern concentration frightened Elly. She dutifully retold her story. Mr Reims asked her a few questions, thanked her, and said she could go. She fled the room as if escaping torture.
The legal team spent another hour with Richard Reims, reviewing particulars of The Crown Versus Elisa Roundtree. When they were about to adjourn; Gamie stood and spoke for the first time, “P-please, Mr B-Brown, you p-promised to speak to Sir D-Douglas.”
“I do apologise, Gamesworthy.” Brown went to the old man’s side. “Sir Douglas, final exams are in just over a fortnight. Gamesworthy’s expected to win top marks. He’d agreed to work for us for four weeks and it’s been close to six. He needs to go back so he can gear up.”
Rory leapt to his feet. “Exams? A girl’s life is at stake and you’re worried about your bloody exams? Take the sodding exams in the autumn. We need you here.”
Gamie pointed a shaky finger. “I came here to d-do r-research for Anthony R-Roundtree’s murder trial. I’ve done that. You can look after your p-popsy yourself.”
Rory’s mouth dropped open.
“At least she’s giving you something for your t-trouble.”
Rory lunged at him.
Brown stepped between them. “Cookingham! Control yourself.”
Rory shook with rage, clenched his fists, and stepped back.
Richard Reims glared. “What a disgraceful display. With manners like that, you may be the one going back to Oxford, young man.”
“I’m sorry, sir.” Sweat poured down the back of Rory’s neck. “That was inexcusable behaviour. I apologise.”
“It certainly was. Sit down.” He pointed to a chair.
Rory’s heart pounded as he sat across from the barrister.
“Do you have a personal acquaintance with the client?”
“I do, sir.” He caught his breath. “I’m studying acting … purely as an aid to oratory … at His Majesty’s Theatre. You know that Miss Fielding, rather, Miss Roundtree, is an apprentice actress. I met her there.”
“Mr Gamesworthy seems to believe that your relationship with Miss Roundtree is something more than that of a fellow student.”
Rory swallowed and glanced guiltily at Sir Douglas. The old man wearily shook his head.
Mr Reims looked grim. “Sir Douglas, were you aware of this relationship?”
“I was, from the first. Cookingham’s one of the most brilliant students I’ve ever had the pleasure to teach. I was sure he can separate his personal feelings from his work.”
“Well, he has just proved that he cannot. I’m sorry young man, but your services are no longer—
“I swear, sir, I will not even speak to Miss Roundtree until after the trial, only please, let me continue to assist with her defence. I know her better than anyone. I know her history, surely that can be of use.” Rory held his breath.
Mr Reims paused before answering. “Time is short. Since we will be losing our other researcher …” he glanced at Gamie. “… and since Sir Douglas thinks so highly of you …” He looked Rory in the eye. “Do you swear you will have no personal contact with the client until after the trial?”
“I do, sir, on my honour as a gentleman.” Rory raised his right hand, then feeling foolish, lowered it again.
“See that you keep your word.”
****
Elly had fled the room full of lawyers and found an empty house. That morning, Isabelle, her three young daughters,
and most of the servants had left for Isabelle’s mother’s estate in the country. Since Elly was not needed at the theatre, she went to the music room to practice the piano. She found a music book called Ragtime, worked out the funny rhythms, and was quickly enjoying this new, lively music.
When the clock struck 8 o’clock, she sat back, startled. Was it really so late? Whenever the legal team met at the house, Rory found her to say goodnight. She walked into the foyer. The lights were low and everything was still. Across the parquet floor, the butler Smythe pulled a drapery cord and closed the heavy brocade curtains. Suddenly, the cord looked like a gallows rope. She turned to see banister rails on the staircase become prison bars.
Smythe looked surprised to see her. “Good evening, Miss Fielding. Is there anything you require?”
His eyes showed genuine concern and she was grateful. “Oh, no thank you, Mr Smythe. It’s just … I didn’t hear the gentlemen leave.”
“Ah, yes, they packed up some time ago. I’m afraid your barrister, Sir Douglas, isn’t a bit well. The nurse said he ate almost nothing. Sir William’s gone to his club. Mr Cook left you a note. I told him you were in the music room, but he said he couldn’t wait. I gave it to Mary.”
Elly caught her breath. “Thanks so much. Goodnight.” She leapt up the stairs and sped to her room. Mary was dozing in a chair. Rory’s note was on her bed. She tore it open:
‘Elly Darling,
Thanks to that stinker, Gamie, Richard Reims discovered that I’m in love with you. He threatened to put me off the case. I’m still here because I swore to have no personal contact with you until after the trial. It’s killing me, but I know I can do you good, so I’m determined to stay on the team. I won’t be able to speak or write to you, but with luck, this will all be over soon.
Be brave, my dearest girl, know that I love you with all my heart, and think of you every moment.
Rory’
Elly’s stomach felt hollow. Everyone she loved was gone. Isabelle and her daughters were in the country. Rory was banished. She couldn’t blame Sir William for avoiding journalists and staying at his club. Now that she no longer worked in wardrobe, she only went to the theatre for The Tempest performances and acting classes. She missed Robert Dennison terribly, but couldn’t risk journalists following her to his loft. Robert couldn’t possibly come to her, but … Her heart raced. No one would know if she used the telephone.
Beauty's Doom: The final instalment of the romantic Victorian mystery (His Majesty's Theatre Book 4) Page 7
