Sad Cypress (18 page)

O
pening speech for the Defence:

“Gentlemen of the Jury, I might, if I like, submit to you that there is no case against the accused. The onus of proof is on the Prosecution, and so far, in my opinion—and, I have no doubt, yours—they have proved exactly nothing at all! The Prosecution avers that Elinor Carlisle, having obtained possession of morphine (which everyone else in the house had had equal opportunity of purloining, and as to which there exists considerable doubt whether it was ever in the house at all), proceeds to poison Mary Gerrard. Here the Prosecution has relied solely on opportunity. It has sought to prove motive, but I submit that that is just what it has not been able to do. For, members of the jury, there is no motive! The Prosecution has spoken of a broken engagement. I ask you—a broken engagement! If a broken engagement is a cause for murder, why are we not having murders committed every day? And this engagement, mark you, was not an affair of desperate passion, it was an en
gagement entered into mainly for family reasons. Miss Carlisle and Mr. Welman had grown up together; they had always been fond of each other, and gradually they drifted into a warmer attachment; but I intend to prove to you it was at best a very lukewarm affair.”

(Oh Roddy—Roddy. A lukewarm affair?)

“Moreover, this engagement was broken off, not by Mr. Welman—but by the prisoner. I submit to you that the engagement between Elinor Carlisle and Roderick Welman was entered into mainly to please old Mrs. Welman. When she died, both parties realized that their feelings were not strong enough to justify them in entering upon matrimony. They remained, however, good friends. Moreover, Elinor Carlisle, who had inherited her aunt's fortune, in the kindliness of her nature, was planning to settle a considerable sum of money on Mary Gerrard. And this is the girl she is accused of poisoning! The thing is farcical.

“The only thing that there is against Elinor Carlisle is the circumstances under which the poisoning took place.

“The Prosecution has said in effect:

“No one but Elinor Carlisle could have killed Mary Gerrard. Therefore they have had to search about for a possible motive. But, as I have said to you, they have been unable to find any motive because there was none.

“Now, is it true that no one but Elinor Carlisle could have killed Mary Gerrard? No, it is not. There is the possibility that Mary Gerrard committed suicide. There is the possibility that someone tampered with the sandwiches while Elinor Carlisle was out of the house at the Lodge. There is a third possibility. It is a fundamental law of evidence that if it can be shown that there is an alternative theory which is possible and consistent with the evi
dence, the accused must be acquitted. I propose to show you that there was another person who had not only an equal opportunity to poison Mary Gerrard, but who had a far better motive for doing so. I propose to call evidence to show you that there was another person who had access to the morphine, and who had a very good motive for killing Mary Gerrard, and I can show that that person had an equally good opportunity of doing so. I submit to you that no jury in the world will convict this woman of murder when there is no evidence against her except that of opportunity, and when it can be shown that there is not only evidence of opportunity against another person, but an overwhelming motive. I shall also call witness to prove that there has been deliberate perjury on the part of one of the witnesses for the Crown. But first I will call the prisoner, that she may tell you her own story, and that you may see for yourself how entirely unfounded the charges against her are.”

II

She had taken the oath. She was answering Sir Edwin's questions in a low voice. The judge leaned forward. He told her to speak louder….

Sir Edwin was talking gently and encouragingly—all the questions to which she had rehearsed the answers.

“You were fond of Roderick Welman?”

“Very fond. He was like a brother to me—or a cousin. I always thought of him as a cousin.”

The engagement…drifted into it…very pleasant to marry someone you had known all your life….

“Not, perhaps, what might be called a passionate affair?”

(Passionate? Oh, Roddy…)

“Well, no…you see we knew each other so well….”

“After the death of Mrs. Welman was there a slightly strained feeling between you?”

“Yes, there was.”

“How did you account for this?”

“I think it was partly the money.”

“The money?”

“Yes. Roderick felt uncomfortable. He thought people might think he was marrying me for that….”

“The engagement was not broken off on account of Mary Gerrard?”

“I did think Roderick was rather taken with her, but I didn't believe it was anything serious.”

“Would you have been upset if it had been?”

“Oh, no. I should have thought it rather unsuitable, that is all.”

“Now, Miss Carlisle. Did you or did you not take a tube of morphine from Nurse Hopkins' attaché case on June 28th?”

“I did not.”

“Have you at any time had morphine in your possession?”

“Never.”

“Were you aware that your aunt had not made a will?”

“No. It came as a great surprise to me.”

“Did you think she was trying to convey to you a message on the night of June 28th when she died?”

“I understood that she had made no provision for Mary Gerrard, and was anxious to do so.”

“And in order to carry out her wishes, you yourself were prepared to settle a sum of money on the girl?”

“Yes. I wanted to carry out Aunt Laura's wishes. And I was grateful for the kindness Mary had shown to my aunt.”

“On July 26th did you come down from London to Maidensford and stay at the King's Arms?”

“Yes.”

“What was your purpose in coming down?”

“I had an offer for the house, and the man who had bought it wanted possession as quickly as possible. I had to look through my aunt's personal things and settle things up generally.”

“Did you buy various provisions on your way to the Hall on July 27th?”

“Yes. I thought it would be easier to have a picnic lunch there than to come back to the village.”

“Did you then go on to the house, and did you sort through your aunt's personal effects?”

“I did.”

“And after that?”

“I came down to the pantry and cut some sandwiches. I then went down to the Lodge and invited the District Nurse and Mary Gerrard to come up to the house.”

“Why did you do this?”

“I wished to save them a hot walk back to the village and back again to the Lodge.”

“It was, in fact, a natural and kindly action on your part. Did they accept the invitation?”

“Yes. They walked up to the house with me.”

“Where were the sandwiches you had cut?”

“I left them in the pantry on a plate.”

“Was the window open?”

“Yes.”

“Anyone could have got into the pantry while you were absent?”

“Certainly.”

“If anybody had observed you from outside while you were cutting the sandwiches, what would they have thought?”

“I suppose that I was preparing to have a picnic lunch.”

“They could not know, could they, that anyone was to share the lunch?”

“No. The idea of inviting the other two only came to me when I saw what a quantity of food I had.”

“So that if anyone had entered the house during your absence and placed morphine in one of those sandwiches, it would be
you
they were attempting to poison?”

“Well, yes, it would.”

“What happened when you had all arrived back at the house?”

“We went into the morning room. I fetched the sandwiches and handed them to the other two.”

“Did you drink anything with them?”

“I drank water. There was beer on a table; but Nurse Hopkins and Mary preferred tea. Nurse Hopkins went into the pantry and made it. She brought it in on a tray and Mary poured it out.”

“Did you have any?”

“No.”

“But Mary Gerrard and Nurse Hopkins both drank tea?”

“Yes.”

“What happened next?”

“Nurse Hopkins went and turned the gas ring off.”

“Leaving you alone with Mary Gerrard?”

“Yes.”

“What happened next?”

“After a few minutes I picked up the tray and the sandwich plate and carried them into the pantry. Nurse Hopkins was there, and we washed them together.”

“Did Nurse Hopkins have her cuffs off at the time?”

“Yes. She was washing the things, while I dried them.”

“Did you make a certain remark to her about a scratch on her wrist?”

“I asked her if she had pricked herself.”

“What did she reply?”

“She said, ‘It was a thorn from the rose tree outside the Lodge. I'll get it out presently.'”

“What was her manner at the time?”

“I think she was feeling the heat. She was perspiring and her face was a queer colour.”

“What happened after that?”

“We went upstairs, and she helped me with my aunt's things.”

“What time was it when you went downstairs again?”

“It must have been an hour later.”

“Where was Mary Gerrard?”

“She was sitting in the morning room. She was breathing very queerly and was in a coma. I rang up the doctor on Nurse Hopkins' instructions. He arrived just before she died.”

Sir Edwin squared his shoulders dramatically.

“Miss Carlisle, did you kill Mary Gerrard?”

(That's your cue! Head up, eyes straight.)

“No!”

III

Sir Samuel Attenbury. A sick beating at one's heart. Now—now she was at the mercy of an enemy! No more gentleness, no more questions to which she knew the answers!

But he began quite mildly.

“You were engaged to be married, you have told us, to Mr. Roderick Welman?”

“Yes.”

“You were fond of him?”

“Very fond.”

“I put it to you that you were deeply in love with Roderick Welman and that you were wildly jealous of his love for Mary Gerrard?”

“No.” (Did it sound properly indignant, that “no?”)

Sir Samuel said menacingly:

“I put it to you that you deliberately planned to put this girl out of the way, in the hope that Roderick Welman would return to you.”

“Certainly not.” (Disdainful—a little weary. That was better.)

The questions went on. It was just like a dream…a bad dream … a nightmare ….

Question after question … horrible, hurting questions… Some of them she was prepared for, some took her unawares….

Always trying to remember her part. Never once to let go, to say:

“Yes, I did hate her… Yes, I did want her dead… Yes, all the time I was cutting the sandwiches I was thinking of her dying….”

To remain calm and cool and answer as briefly and passionlessly as possible….

Fighting….

Fighting every inch of the way….

Over now… The horrible man with the Jewish nose was sitting down. And the kindly, unctuous voice of Sir Edwin Bulmer was asking a few more questions. Easy, pleasant questions, designed to remove any bad impression she might have made under cross-examination….

She was back again in the dock. Looking at the jury, wondering….

IV

Roddy. Roddy standing there, blinking a little, hating it all. Roddy—looking somehow—not quite
real.

But nothing's real any more. Everything is whirling round in a devilish way. Black's white, and top is bottom and east is west… And I'm not Elinor Carlisle; I'm “the accused.” And, whether they hang me or whether they let me go, nothing will ever be the same again. If there were just something—just one sane thing to hold on to….

(Peter Lord's face, perhaps, with its freckles and its extraordinary air of being just the same as usual…)

Where had Sir Edwin got to now?

“Will you tell us what were the state of Miss Carlisle's feelings towards you?”

Roddy answered in his precise voice:

“I should say she was deeply attached to me, but certainly not passionately in love with me.”

“You considered your engagement satisfactory?”

“Oh, quite. We had a good deal in common.”

“Will you tell the jury, Mr. Welman, exactly why that engagement was broken off?”

“Well, after Mrs. Welman died it pulled us up, I think, with a bit of a shock. I didn't like the idea of marrying a rich woman when I myself was penniless. Actually the engagement was dissolved by mutual consent. We were both rather relieved.”

“Now, will you tell us just what your relations were with Mary Gerrard?”

(Oh, Roddy, poor Roddy, how you must hate all this!)

“I thought her very lovely.”

“Were you in love with her?”

“Just a little.”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

“Let me see. It must have been the 5th or 6th of July.”

Sir Edwin said, a touch of steel in his voice:

“You saw her after that, I think.”

“No, I went abroad—to Venice and Dalmatia.”

“You returned to England—when?”

“When I received a telegram—let me see—on the 1st of August, it must have been.”

“But you were actually in England on July 27th, I think.”

“No.”

“Come, now, Mr. Welman. You are on oath, remember. Is it not a fact that your passport shows that you returned to England on July 25th and left it again on the night of the 27th?”

Sir Edwin's voice held a subtly menacing note. Elinor frowned, suddenly jerked back to reality. Why was Counsel bullying his own witness?

Roderick had turned rather pale. He was silent for a minute or two, then he said with an effort: