Gillespie and I (60 page)

MacDonald was on his feet, immediately.

‘My lord, I must object. My learned friend, the Advocate Depute, is simply up to mischief—trying his luck, my lord, and hoping to mislead the jury.'

Yes, indeed. Of course, there was a perfectly good explanation for why the painting was still in my possession. Quite simply, I was too embarrassed to give it to my stepfather. Oh, it was all very well, at the time, while I was sitting for it, and even, at first, when it was completed. I thought that Annie had done a marvellous job. But, once I had taken the portrait home, the more I looked at it, the more I grew to dislike it. Laid out on canvas, my image was only a constant reminder that my looks were far from the physical ideal. Ramsay had always teased me about my appearance, particularly my nose. The more I examined the portrait, the less I could bear the notion of him seeing it. Consequently, I stopped referring to it whenever I was in contact with him and, after a few months he, in turn, seemed to forget about it. He never mentioned it again, and I was extremely glad of the fact. I simply put the canvas under my bed, and ignored it. Regrettably, nobody else was aware of what I had done, for I would never have let Annie know that I had failed to pass on to Ramsay a picture that she had taken such care in painting. Of course, at the trial, had I been given the opportunity, I would have testified to this effect, as would Ramsay, no doubt. However, the matter was left hanging, unresolved.

Kinbervie was peering over the rim of his spectacles, at Aitchison.

‘Sir, do you have a genuine question for Mrs Alexander?'

The prosecutor bowed his head, in what seemed like an apology.

‘My lord, I have finished with her.'

‘In that case,' said the judge, turning to my advocate, ‘Mr MacDonald, if you'd be so good as to make haste. Time is fleeting, as I'm sure you're aware.'

‘Yes, my lord.'

As Mrs Alexander left the chamber, MacDonald stood at the advocate's table, staring down at his paperwork. Thus far, he had been quick to summon each witness, but this time, there was a long pause. Eventually, he raised his head, and turned to the Macer.

‘Call Sibyl Gillespie.'

I shot a glance at Caskie, to see how confident he looked, and was dismayed to see that his shoulders were up around his ears. When his gaze met mine, he pursed his lips, and gave his head an almost imperceptible shake, gestures that I found myself unable to read: was he telling me not to worry? Or was he indicating that he himself was worried? It was impossible to say.

Meanwhile, Ned had leaned forward in his seat, and was holding his head in his hands. He only looked up when the Macer returned, leading Sibyl into the courtroom. Every person present watched her cross the chamber. She looked more frail than ever. Her eyes were dull, her hair a few pale wisps hanging down below her plaid hat. She wore a matching coat, on top of a high-necked velveteen frock, trimmed with crape. The clothes swamped her and, beneath them, one could tell that her limbs were mere bones, draped in skin. Of course, the weather was still cold, and it was appropriate that she should be bundled up for warmth, but I could not forget that the layers of plaid and velveteen also helped to conceal her scars. When she climbed into the witness box, only her hat and the sallow little face beneath it were visible above the top rail. To begin with, she kept her eyes fixed upon the ground, and the cast of her countenance was so wary and full of foreboding that Kinbervie leaned forward and spoke to her, reassuringly:

‘Now then, young lady, be not afraid. These good gentlemen here just wish to ask you some questions. Then you can return to your mother. Is that understood?'

Sibyl looked up and nodded, timidly, her eyes huge in her pinched little face.

‘Good girl. Now you must tell the truth, dear. Do you understand what I mean by the truth? For instance, if I said I was wearing a wig on my head, would that be the truth, or a lie?'

Sibyl regarded him, dubiously, as though she feared that he might play a trick upon her. ‘The truth?' she said, at length, in a small, uncertain voice.

‘That's right. And if I said I was wearing—oh, let's say—a haggis on my head, what would that be—truth or lie?'

The child simpered, then said, with more confidence: ‘A lie.'

‘Very good. And why must we tell the truth here, in court?'

Sibyl considered this question for a moment, before speaking.

‘Because we're to find out what happened to Rose, and it's important because if it's proved then the people that took her can be punished, but if it isn't proved, they won't be punished—nor should they be.'

Inwardly, I could not help but smile, because it was as though Ned was speaking through her; no doubt, he would have seen it as his duty to try and explain to his daughter some principles of justice and the law. I glanced up at him, but his gaze was fixed, intently, upon Sibyl. Evidently, she had impressed the judge.

‘I've known, in my time, one or two lawyers who could not express it so succinctly,' he said. ‘Thank you, young lady.' He turned to my counsel. ‘Mr MacDonald, sir, if you would—be brief.'

MacDonald approached the witness box.

‘Now then, Sibyl,' he said, in soft, yet audible, tones. ‘I won't ask too many questions, and I just want you to answer each one as you see fit. Do you think you can do that for me?' She nodded. ‘Good girl. Now then, I want you to think back to the day when your sister Rose went missing, last year. Do you remember that day? You can tell me “yes” or “no”, if you would?'

‘Yes,' lisped the child.

‘Very good. Now, you and—'

‘Rose is dead,' Sibyl said loudly, interrupting him.

‘Yes, that's right—and we're trying to find out how it happened. Now, Sibyl, you and your sister were playing in the gardens that day, weren't you, at Queen's Crescent? Do you remember playing in the gardens? You can answer “yes” or “no”.'

‘Yes.'

‘Good girl. And can you remember what else happened that day?'

Sibyl thought for a moment. ‘There was a dead bird on the ground—but I didn't touch it.'

‘Good—and did you see anyone else at the Gardens? Any other person?'

‘There was a lady came to the gate.'

‘I see—a lady. And did she speak to you?'

‘Yes.'

‘What did she say?'

‘She asked me to go to the grocer to buy some sugar.'

‘And did she give you some money?'

‘Two pennies. One for the sugar and one for me, but—but—but I would have shared my penny with Rose—I would have.'

‘Of course you would. Now, Sibyl, I want you to think carefully, and tell me what the lady looked like.'

‘She had on a blue dress, and it was shiny.'

‘Anything else?'

‘She had a hat on, with a veil.'

‘And was she thin, fat, or average in size?'

‘I think she was quite a bit thin.'

‘Now then Sibyl, I want you to look over here.' MacDonald came and stood in front of the dock. ‘Look at the two ladies sitting behind me. Now, does either of them resemble the woman you saw that day?'

Sibyl flicked a glance at us and then immediately turned back to MacDonald.

‘Please may I go closer?'

The advocate glanced at Kinbervie, who nodded assent. MacDonald hurried to the stand and led Sibyl down into the well of the court, bringing her directly in front of the dock, so close that I could see the downy hairs that grew along her jawline. The child was quaking. She stared, solemnly, first at Hans, then at Belle. It was all very unnerving. MacDonald tried to put her at ease.

‘Take your time,' he said. ‘Tell me if you see the lady you saw that day.'

Sibyl tilted her head to one side and looked directly up at me, for the first time. Her eyelids narrowed and I saw her lips move, but she made no audible sound. I believe that she might have said my name to herself, under her breath. Then she smiled at me. I cannot tell what made me shudder: perhaps it was just the look in her eyes, a kind of cold deadness. Her gaze passed back along the dock to Belle, whose countenance showed plainly that she was sick with dread at this turn of events.

‘Take your time,' MacDonald was saying.

The child looked from Belle to me, and back again. My entire body was rigid with anxiety. Every person in the room was silent and still, as we all gazed at Sibyl.

‘Look at the ladies, and if you recognise the one you saw at the Gardens, just tell me “yes” or “no”.'

‘Yes,' said Sibyl, at length, her voice flat and expressionless.

‘Perhaps it would be easiest if you pointed. Just raise your arm and point at the lady who asked you to go and buy sugar. Which lady did you see?'

Sibyl raised her arm and extended her finger. To begin with, her hand hovered, so that she was not pointing at anyone in particular, except Schlutterhose or one of the policemen. I held my breath. Of a sudden, it was as though I could see more clearly. Everything in the courtroom was radiantly defined. Everything was brighter, more vivid. I could see the stitching in the seams of Sibyl's coat. The colours of the plaid threads were lush to my eyes. Strangely, I felt that I had been granted supernatural powers, and that I understood, innately, how those threads had been woven together. Sibyl's trembling hand became the focus of my newly razor-sharp mind. Her skin was so pale that it seemed to glow. Her nails were short and ragged but I knew, beyond doubt, that, at some future date, she would cease to bite them. Her bony little fingers trembled, but I was seized by the conviction that, one day, she would wear a wedding ring, and her hand would be held, and caressed, by her husband. She might seem fragile now, but, in the end, she would get well again, and lead a normal life.

The moment seemed to last for ever. Then, at length, Sibyl swivelled, and pointed directly at Belle.

‘Her there, in the middle. That's the lady I saw.'

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Belle dropping her gaze to the floor, scowling, as though disgraced. The entire courtroom seemed to exhale, as one.

‘Good girl,' said MacDonald. ‘Now you can—'

He was about to help the child back to the stand when Sibyl suddenly hunched over on the spot. She opened her mouth, as if to speak, and then her head tipped forwards. In a flash, she reached out and grabbed the dock, right in front of me, her hands gripping the bars of the balustrade, next to my feet. In the same moment, she made a faint whining noise, then her head jerked back again, and she stared me right in the eye.

‘Harriet!' she cried.

Of a sudden, I heard a strange sound that I could not place. At first, it made me think of heavy cloth being ripped, and then I thought it might be rainwater, from a broken gutter, thundering on the roof. It was only when I glanced down to Sibyl's feet, and saw the pool of liquid beginning to spread out from beneath the hem of her coat and across the floor, that I realised, exactly, what was happening.

MacDonald saw it, in the same moment, and took a step backwards. Aitchison sprang to his feet, with a horrified look on his face.

‘By thunder!'

‘Harriet!' cried Sibyl. ‘Harriet!'

She gazed down at the pool of urine spreading out around her skirts, and her face crumpled. Having lost control of her bladder, she now seemed unable to marshal her emotions. She began to whimper, and the whimper soon turned into a wail. All of the advocates had frozen to the spot in horror. Kinbervie was peering down into the well of the court, bemused. Then, he saw the puddle on the floor.

‘Oh dear—no,' he said.

There was a commotion in the crowd and, looking up, I saw that Ned had jumped up, and was craning his neck, trying to see what had happened. I could hardly bear the thought of the misery and mortification that he would feel, once it dawned upon him. Of a sudden, I discovered that I was on my feet; I could not help myself. I was speaking aloud, intervening, taking charge. According to the following day's
Glasgow Herald
, my voice was commanding but full of compassion, my face ‘the very glass and image of sympathetic concern'. In the opinion of the reporter from
The Scotsman
, my rapid and kind-hearted actions put the entire assembly of learned gentlemen to shame.
The Mail
wondered whether those gathered in the court had finally glimpsed my ‘true character'.

‘Gentlemen,' I found myself saying. ‘Please be so good as to look after this poor child—can't you see she's unwell?' I reached out across the balustrade, and leaned down to rest my hand on Sibyl's shoulder, to reassure her. ‘Don't worry, dear. These good gentlemen are going to look after you now.'

Thank Heavens, at these words, MacDonald suddenly snapped to his senses, and appealed to the judge: ‘My lord—may I beg your permission to remove this witness from the court, at once.'

‘Granted,' said Kinbervie. ‘Take the poor wee thing away.'

The Macer hurried forwards and he and MacDonald led the child towards the exit, supporting her between them. Poor Sibyl was inconsolable, no doubt overcome by shame at the display she had made of herself, in public. As soon as the door had closed upon her, Kinbervie spoke, in aside, to his clerk.

‘A brief adjournment, I think, while we clear up this mess.'

I glanced up, but Ned was no longer in his place. Turning my head, I caught sight of him, just as he dashed through one of the exit doors of the gallery. However, I felt sure that he must have witnessed what had happened. I had helped his daughter, by coming to her rescue, boldly and without hesitation. Even if his faith in me had wavered of late, it seemed certain that this incident would help him to see me, once again, in a better light.