Gillespie and I (59 page)

‘You've got it, sir.'

‘But, Mr Wright, did you not just tell us that the accused doesn't drink?'

‘Aye—naw—he doesnae—he doesn't touch a drop.'

‘In that case, what, might I ask, was he doing, in all these public houses?'

‘Oh, he wasnae drinking, sir. He was eh—most likely—sir, he was just—eh—just—' Here, Jem struggled for a moment, until inspiration dawned, and his face brightened. ‘Knowing the big fella, he was maist likely just looking for a fight.'

The resulting hilarity provoked the judge to warn spectators that he was minded to clear the court, a threat that quelled the racket at once.

Still buoyant from his exchange with Jem, MacDonald opened our case for the defence by calling Elspeth Gillespie. Elspeth! How strange it was to hear her name, to see her walk into the court. Her eyes sought me out as she crossed the room and, to my relief, she acknowledged me with a look of sympathy.

‘Mrs Gillespie,' MacDonald began. ‘How well do you know Miss Baxter?'

Elspeth blinked. She seemed somewhat nervous. She kept clutching at the fabric of her garments, and wringing her hands.

‘I'd count her as a friend. In fact, Herriet Baxter saved my life.'

‘Saved your life? How did that happen?'

Elspeth appeared delighted to have been asked. I myself had heard this story several times, in the past. ‘Well, it was almost two years ago—' she began, but Aitchison had already sprung to his feet.

‘Really, my lord, I can hardly see the relevance of this story, especially if it took place so long ago.'

‘Indeed?' said Kinbervie, scratching his ear. ‘Well, Advocate Depute, you yourself have given us some fairly antediluvian evidence.'

‘My lord, if I may continue,' said MacDonald. ‘I believe there can be no better indication of my client's nature than what you are about to hear.'

Kinbervie sighed.

‘Aye, well, let's hear what this lady has to say, and then we shall see how relevant it is.' He peered at the witness. ‘If you'd be so good as to continue, madam.'

‘Thank you, my lord,' said Elspeth, and gave him a curtsey.

She went on to describe what had happened on that hot afternoon, in the late spring of 1888, when she had fainted in Buchanan Street and swallowed her dentures. Inevitably, there was amusement at this revelation; even Kinbervie was seen to chuckle. Questioned further, Elspeth testified that, had it not been for me, she would have succumbed to melancholia towards the end of the previous summer, after the abduction of her granddaughter which was swiftly followed by the departure of the Reverend Johnson, who (as it transpired) had only been masquerading as a preacher, and who had stolen the proceeds of Elspeth's Penny Orphan Fund. She also itemised various other good deeds that I had done, here and there, about the neighbourhood, including some financial support that I had given to her maid Jean, when Jean's father had been ill. In all her responses, Elspeth portrayed me as a veritable paragon of virtue. No need to record her many kind words verbatim; however, one thing was plain: her trust in me was absolute, and she was convinced of my innocence. What a dear, sweet person she was! As MacDonald brought his questions to a close, I almost wept with gratitude, and shame: to think that I had, on occasion, harboured uncharitable thoughts about Ned's mother.

‘Mrs Gillespie, to summarise, how would you describe Miss Baxter?'

‘Oh, she's such a kind and generous person, I've always thought of Herriet as a Good Samaritan, perhaps, or an Angel of Mercy.'

‘Thank you, Mrs Gillespie.'

Pringle rose for his cross-examination, looking rather more sprightly than he had done all week. He seemed to be staging a late rally—either that or he was anticipating the end of the trial with some pleasure.

‘Did you see anyone on the afternoon in question?' he asked Elspeth. ‘When Rose went astray. For instance, did you see any of your neighbours out in the street?'

Elspeth hesitated. ‘Well,' she said. ‘I did see Herriet.'

Mr Pringle made a display of surprise.

‘You saw the accused, Harriet Baxter? Where did you see her?'

Elspeth turned her gaze towards the dock and, for a second, our eyes met. I was unable to gauge anything from her expression, apart from the fact that she was clearly in torment. She turned back to Pringle.

‘On Stanley Street. I was on Woodlands Road, on my way out to a church meeting. I'd just bought some scones to take with me, and I was passing the end of our street again, on my way to the tram stop.'

This, I had not realised: that she had seen me, that afternoon.

‘Let me establish this beyond doubt,' said Pringle. ‘On the afternoon in question, you did not once see Mr Schlutterhose or his wife?'

‘No,' admitted Elspeth. ‘I've never seen them before.'

‘But you did see Miss Baxter in the street?'

‘Yes, I think she was going to my son's house, at number 11.'

‘Although—she could have carried on to Queen's Crescent, could she not?'

Evidently, Pringle had decided to ape Aitchison's technique, by attempting to imply that I had been up to no good, in some way, perhaps that I had been heading for a rendezvous with Schlutterhose. I doubted that anyone would give credence to such a scenario. However, when I glanced at the jury box, I saw, to my alarm, that the gentlemen therein were following the proceedings with great seriousness.

‘Perhaps,' Elspeth admitted. ‘She may have been going home. She does live in that direction, after all. But I just assumed she was going to number 11.'

‘Thank you, Mrs Gillespie.'

Returning to the advocate's table, Pringle gave the jurymen a long glance, the meaning of which was plain enough: believe this silly woman, if you will, but if you have any sense at all, you will realise that she has been duped.

Before Pringle had even reached his seat, Aitchison had launched into his examination of the witness.

‘Going back to Buchanan Street, when you fainted,' he said. ‘Is it not correct, Mrs Gillespie, that you'd seen Miss Baxter before that day?'

‘I don't know,' said Elspeth. ‘I thought I might have seen her, the week before, going into Assafrey's tea rooms, as my son and I were coming out.'

‘How strange that Miss Baxter always seems to pop up somewhere in the vicinity of you and your family. Mrs Gillespie, may I just clear up one point? You keep referring to your son's “house”, and yet…' He paused for a moment to check his notes, then continued. ‘It is my understanding that your son lives in a top-floor apartment—not a house.'

‘Oh, excuse me,' said Elspeth. ‘It's just I'm in the habit of saying “house”. You see, I reside in a main-door house—one of only a few in our neighbourhood.'

Alas, this sounded preening. The prosecutor gave her a smile of contempt.

‘Indeed—how nice. Moving on again, how often would you say Miss Baxter visited your son's “house”? Once a week? Twice? Five times?'

‘Perhaps three times a week. Sometimes more, sometimes less.'

‘Three times—sometimes more. And this, in addition to the many occasions that all of you seem to bump into her in the street. Rather a lot, is it not?'

‘Well—not really. We were—we are friends—neighbours.'

‘How would you describe Miss Baxter's relationship to your son?'

And so, relentlessly, his questions continued. Away from her own domain, Elspeth had little guile, and Aitchison was skilful enough to draw out her less appealing qualities. It was not difficult to portray her as a vain, prattling, silly woman, with a tendency to brag, and only a slim grasp on reality. I watched, in dismay, as he made her appear to be so blinded by her own self-importance that she was incapable of seeing the truth—or, at least, his truth, which was that she had been taken in by a clever, manipulative person, a lonely spinster, who had inveigled her way into the heart of the Gillespie family. Poor Elspeth. As she left the stand, she attempted to raise my spirits with a watery smile, but there was no hiding the anxiety in her eyes as she was ushered out of the courtroom.

MacDonald looked unusually grave as he watched her depart. I saw him rub his forehead, as though, momentarily, he was at a loss. However, he was quick to call his next witness, Walter Peden. Caskie had assured me that Peden would be a good witness for us and Walter did, indeed, look very respectable in his Sunday best. Much to my relief, he refrained from dancing about like a Hottentot on the stand. His learned demeanour was well received, and—by some paradox—his refined English accent seemed only to augment his credibility. The spectators listened to him, quietly, with respect. One could sense in the atmosphere of the court that they put their trust in him: here was a proper gentleman, a Galahad, a brick.

MacDonald encouraged him to confess that he would never have married Mabel, had I not been instrumental in bringing them together.

‘The same thing happened a few times,' Peden told the court. ‘The three of us had arranged to meet but, for some reason, Harriet failed to make an appearance, which rather threw Mabel and myself together, alone.'

‘Was this a deliberate piece of matchmaking on the part of Miss Baxter?'

‘I wouldn't be surprised. It would be just the sort of thing she'd do. Harriet likes to be helpful. Some might call it interfering, but her intentions are good.'

Aitchison took him to task on this point during cross-examination.

‘You say that Miss Baxter brought you and your wife together?'

‘That's right.'

‘Do you believe that matchmaking is always a selfless activity, Mr Peden?'

‘I suppose so; I've never thought about it.'

‘In your opinion, then, Miss Baxter was only acting generously in attempting to act as matchmaker for you and your wife?'

‘There was nothing in it for her, other than to make Mabel and I happy.'

‘You were a good friend of Mr Gillespie's, were you not?'

‘I still am, sir.'

‘And you are also an artist—you and he spent a lot of time together, before you were married, did you?'

‘Yes.'

‘And your wife—she and Mr Gillespie were close, as brother and sister?'

‘Oh yes—practically inseparable. Mabel was always in his studio—as I myself was, from time to time.'

‘But not so much now that you're married?'

‘I suppose not. When one is married … one has other things to do.'

‘Being married to each other has, effectively, removed your wife and yourself from Mr Gillespie's life, has it not?'

‘Well—perhaps not removed, but we see Ned less. And, of course, when we were living in Tangier, we didn't see each other at all.'

‘Whose idea was it that you and your wife go to live in Tangier, I wonder?'

Peden looked puzzled. ‘It was my idea, sir.'

‘Not Miss Baxter's?'

‘No.'

‘How far is Tangier from Glasgow, Mr Peden?'

‘Several thousand miles, I should think.'

‘Several thousand miles—and presumably, Miss Baxter encouraged you to go and live several thousand miles away?'

‘Well, she was enthusiastic about the idea, yes.'

‘Enthusiastic—I have no doubt. No further questions, my lord.'

Next, MacDonald called several witnesses who spoke favourably of my character, including dear old Agnes Deuchars. She was in her best frock, and what looked like a new hat, and she had a little cry on the stand as she told the court what a ‘nice lady' I was, and how well I had looked after her husband and herself at Bardowie. After Agnes, two ladies from the art class deponed that I was a well-liked member of the group, who was always encouraging of my classmates' efforts, and who had been at the forefront of the leafleting campaign at the time of Rose's disappearance. In turn, the Alexander girls, my landlady's daughters, claimed that they had never catered for a more pleasant or uncomplaining lodger.

If only we had been able to call these witnesses earlier, there might have been more balance to the trial. Unfortunately, the judicial system gives precedence to the prosecution, and arguments for the defence are only heard late in the day. In my case, the jurymen had heard so many defamatory aspersions since the trial had begun that it would be a miracle if their judgement had not been swayed.

Even our character witnesses came under attack from Aitchison. My landlady, Mrs Alexander, gave a perfectly lovely account of me: no problems there. However, as the prosecutor rose to his feet for cross-examination, he wore an expression that I had come to recognise. I have seen a similar gleam in the eye of a fox, just before it pounces.

‘Mrs Alexander, can you please tell the court what was found beneath Miss Baxter's bed, when the police searched her rooms.'

‘Yes, they found a painting—a portrait of Miss Baxter—rather a good portrait, I thought. I don't know why she kept it under the bed, except—well—one doesn't always want to look at oneself.'

‘Quite. And was there a signature on this painting?'

‘Yes, in the bottom left corner. It was signed Annie Gillespie. Miss Baxter used to go round for the sittings, to the Gillespies' apartment.'

‘Were you aware that the portrait was originally commissioned by Miss Baxter's stepfather, Mr Dalrymple—that he had asked for it to be done?'

‘No, I didn't know that.'

‘Annie Gillespie was under the impression that Mr Dalrymple had the painting on display, at his home in Helensburgh. And yet it was found under Miss Baxter's bed. Why did Miss Baxter never give this portrait to her stepfather?'

‘I'm afraid I don't know. Perhaps she wasn't pleased with it.'

‘Did it ever occur to you, Mrs Alexander, that Miss Baxter's stepfather might not even have asked for the portrait to be done, in the first place—that Miss Baxter might have lied about the commission in order to gain access to the Gillespie home?'