Take No Farewell - Retail (27 page)

Sir Henry, by contrast, was welcoming and courteous, more so than I would have been to a client at such an hour on a Friday evening. Rotund and balding, he was possessed of one of those cheery, chinless faces that should be, but are not, conferred on all fat men. This, and the signs of weariness in his words and actions, created an immediate impression of endearing and reassuring vulnerability. To judge by his legal collar and bands, he had come straight from a long day in court. If so, he could have been forgiven for thinking more of home and hearth than the business we had brought him. But there was no hint that he was.

‘For your benefit, Mr Staddon, I should explain that our request to transfer Mrs Caswell’s trial to London has been granted. I fancy we have the disorderly scenes at the hearing to thank for that. It will be heard at the Old Bailey. We also have a date: the fourteenth of January. That gives us precisely six weeks to prepare a defence. With Christmas intervening, it is not a generous allowance, but it is all we have. Mrs Caswell has been moved from Gloucester to
Holloway
Prison to await trial. Windrush and I visited her there yesterday afternoon.

‘Mrs Caswell’s response to the charges is straightforward denial. I must say that I was deeply impressed by her sincerity. It is, perhaps, the single most encouraging factor to emerge from my consideration of this case. And encouragement is something which I will freely admit we need in substantial quantities. The prosecution have amassed a large amount of damaging circumstantial evidence which we are unlikely to be able to refute. Our answer to the charges rests upon how Mrs Caswell presents herself to the court and what view the jury forms of her. We cannot deny that she was present when the crime was committed, nor that she had the means and opportunity of carrying it out. We cannot even divert suspicion elsewhere. In all the evidence I see no trace of an alternative suspect. Therefore, our efforts must be directed to persuading the court that Mrs Caswell is incapable of having done what she is alleged to have done.

‘The one distinguishing characteristic of evidence in poisoning cases is that commission of the crime is never directly witnessed. Nobody sees the poison being administered. If they did, they would intervene. By my reckoning, anybody who was in the house on the afternoon of the ninth of September could theoretically be the murderer. The prosecution will argue that nobody but Mrs Caswell had any reason to commit the crime or had such a good opportunity to do so. We will argue that no sane person would leave the only evidence against her lying around waiting to be found. If we can discredit that evidence, we will have created a persuasive defence, but, to do it, we will need to employ Mrs Caswell herself.

‘I anticipate that this case will turn on the defendant’s own testimony. My examination will give her every chance to do herself justice and I will prepare her for cross-examination to the very best of my ability. I cannot emphasize too strongly, however, that the crux of the matter will be how she responds to hostile questioning. I will not be able to help her. She will
be
on her own. Then, and only then, we will know whether our efforts on her behalf are likely to secure an acquittal.

‘So much for our strategy. Now, Windrush, I believe you have been recruiting witnesses. What joy on that front?’

‘I’ve traced Cathel Simpson, Mrs Caswell’s maid, to her new place of employment in Birmingham. She’s prepared to swear neither the arsenic nor the letters were in the drawer the day before the search.’

‘Excellent. And the gardener?’

‘Sings a different tune every time he’s asked.’

‘Excuse me,’ I put in. ‘Banyard told me that Mr Caswell, not Mrs Caswell, made the complaints that prompted him to buy
Weed Out
. Is that helpful?’

‘It is indeed,’ said Sir Henry. ‘And to reinforce such points we need good character witnesses. What progress there, Windrush?’

‘Miss Hermione Caswell seems the best bet. Convinced of Mrs Caswell’s innocence and related to the deceased. Plenty of spirit. Not likely to be knocked off her stride.’

‘Good. Anybody else?’

‘I’m afraid not. Mrs Caswell doesn’t seem to have many friends. And all Mr Caswell’s friends are fighting shy. There’s the Roman Catholic priest in Hereford, of course, but—’

‘I think not, Windrush. More harm than good with the stolid Protestant jury that will no doubt be our lot.’ He mused for a moment. ‘Miss Hermione will have to suffice, then. Perhaps, upon reflection—’

‘I’d be happy to testify,’ I said, more abruptly than I had intended.

Sir Henry smiled indulgently. ‘Thank you, Mr Staddon, but no. You would only confuse the jury, I fear. In my experience, jurors find it impossible to believe that married men and women can be friends with each other and nothing more.’

I noticed Rodrigo’s head turn towards me. But his eyes were in shadow: I could not tell what he was thinking.
‘Perhaps
I can help in some other way, then,’ I continued. ‘You mentioned the lack of an alternative suspect, Sir Henry. Can we exclude the possibility that Mr Caswell staged this poisoning in order to be rid of his wife?’

Windrush winced and sucked in his breath. Sir Henry, for his part, looked at me more attentively than before. ‘Would you care to expand upon that remark?’ he said mildly.

The shallowness of my suspicions about Victor Caswell was never more apparent to me than when I tried and failed to sketch out a case against him in response to Sir Henry’s invitation. I heard myself stringing together impressions and inferences in a way that even I found unconvincing. When I had finally stumbled into silence, Sir Henry sat for a moment with his hands clasped before him and his mouth pressed against them. Then he smiled and spoke in a tone of mild correction.

‘Your hypothesis is untenable, Mr Staddon. Moreover, reference to it in court would antagonize both judge and jury. They would feel we were compounding the family’s bereavement by levelling tasteless and unfounded allegations. Be guided by me. There are cases in which counter-attack is the best defence. This is not one.’

Suddenly, Rodrigo roused himself. ‘I want to ask a question,’ he announced in a tolling voice.

‘Pray do,’ said Sir Henry, his face still creased by a smile.

‘Will you be able to save my sister?’

‘Well, it’s really not as simple as—’

‘It is all I want to know!’ Rodrigo slapped the arm of his chair. ‘Can you save her?’

Sir Henry was unmoved. ‘I
can
save her, yes. I hope to save her. But I cannot guarantee it. There are no guarantees in law, only chances.’

‘And what are our chances?’ I asked.

‘Candidly, I would have to say that they are not good. But neither are they negligible. And I am confident that they can be appreciably improved between now and the fourteenth of January.’

‘What will happen if you fail?’ said Rodrigo. ‘What will they do to her if you lose the case?’

‘That would be a matter for the judge.’

‘Will they hang her?’

For the first time, Sir Henry’s optimism seemed dented. He fell back in his chair and his face sagged. ‘It is a possibility.’

Rodrigo nodded sombrely. ‘That is what I thought.’ He heaved himself to his feet. ‘
Chego!
You have told me what I wanted to know. Now, I must go.
Obrigado e boa tarde, senhor
.’ He bowed stiffly, turned and walked out of the room.

Windrush was clearly taken aback by Rodrigo’s sudden departure. He looked from me to Sir Henry and back again in a grimace of confusion. ‘Er … I’m sorry, really I am. I’d better go after him.’

‘No matter,’ said Sir Henry. ‘Our business is virtually concluded.’

‘Even so, I—’ He bundled his papers together, spilling some in the process.

‘Volatility is part of the Latin temperament, after all,’ Sir Henry added, craning forward to address Windrush as he stooped to the floor.

‘I know, but—’ Windrush swayed upright. ‘I really must check a couple of points with him. Excuse me.’ With that, and barely a nod in my direction, he rushed after Rodrigo.

‘I too should be going,’ I said, as Windrush’s footsteps died away.

‘There’s no hurry, Mr Staddon, I assure you. I was just thinking … Would you like a cigar?’

‘Er … no thanks.’

Undaunted, he lit one for himself. With the first puff, he assumed a more relaxed posture. ‘I was just thinking about my description of our Brazilian friend. “Volatile”. Accurate, would you say?’

‘Yes.’

‘So would I. But it doesn’t fit his sister, does it? Mrs Caswell is one of the calmest people I’ve met. Perhaps
the
calmest, in view of her position.’

Imogen Roebuck’s suggestion floated to the fore of my thoughts. ‘As if she’s not worried by what’s happening to her? As if she … wants it to happen?’

Sir Henry frowned. ‘What do you mean, Mr Staddon?’

‘It’s just that … Consuela Caswell is incapable of murder, assuming her personality’s not changed since I knew her. But what if it
has
changed? You said no sane person would commit such a crime and leave the evidence of their guilt lying around to be found by the police. You’re right. No
sane
person would. But what if—’

‘Don’t say any more, I beg you!’ He smiled, as if to apologize for his interruption. ‘Mrs Caswell is innocent. I am sure of it. To defend her will be an honour, whatever the outcome. But if we muddy the waters, we are lost. You understand?’

‘Yes. I understand.’

‘Good. Now, if you won’t have a cigar, can I offer you a drink? To be frank, Mr Staddon, you look as if you need one.’

Twenty minutes later, I emerged from Plowden Buildings into a night that had grown raw and chill. I turned south along Middle Temple Lane and saw at once, waiting in a doorway some yards ahead, Windrush, enveloped in a cloud of cigarette smoke and his own frosting breath.

‘There you are, Staddon. Thank God. I thought I’d missed you.’

‘Where’s Rodrigo?’

‘Vanished. He’s in a queer mood, I don’t mind telling you. That’s why I was so keen to catch him. I only hope he doesn’t do anything stupid.’

‘Such as?’

‘God knows. But he worries me, he really does. Where are you heading?’

‘Temple tube station.’

‘I’ll walk with you, if I may.’

‘I won’t deny I’d have liked a word with Rodrigo myself,’ I said as we set off.

‘Count yourself lucky you didn’t. He seems to have taken a dislike to you.’

This explained his pointed disregard of me in Curtis-Bennett’s chambers, but not what had prompted it. ‘I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘He seemed friendly enough when we last met.’

‘And he spoke well of you when he turned up in Hereford last week. But something’s happened since then to change his attitude. I don’t know what. When I collected him from his hotel this afternoon—’

‘Where’s he staying?’

‘The Bonnington, in Southampton Row.’

‘Perhaps I’ll call on him, then. I’m sure I can dispel any misunderstanding.’

‘It’s up to you, of course, but I wouldn’t recommend it. I know he can be hard to follow at times – the accent, the clipped sentences – but his sentiments about you were clear as day. He wants nothing more to do with you, Staddon, at any price. What he’d do if I told him you were covering Sir Henry’s fee I can’t imagine.’

‘He doesn’t know?’

‘Good God, no. Fortunately, he’s far too impractical to think about money, so he’s unlikely to ask.’

‘Sir Henry didn’t seem to take his walk-out to heart.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. Persuading Sir Henry to accept this brief was the best day’s work I’ve done for Mrs Caswell. I don’t want her crazy brother frightening him off.’

We turned on to Victoria Embankment and plodded on in silence for a while. A thought I had been seeking to suppress wormed its way into my mind and became a question before I could prevent it. ‘How is Consuela?’

‘The same. Calm. Remote. Like a swan I saw today on the Serpentine. Elegant. Uninvolved in human affairs. After a while, it starts to seem eerie.’

‘Will you be visiting her again soon?’

‘Tomorrow morning, before I go back to Hereford.’

We reached the entrance to the underground station and
halted.
I felt humiliated by the knowledge of my private affairs this man, a total stranger, had unwittingly acquired, reluctant to ask him what I so dearly wanted to.

‘Our paths divide here, Staddon. I’m staying with friends in Mitcham. So, I’ll bid you good night.’

‘Before you go—’

‘Yes?’

‘About Consuela …’

He smiled ruefully. ‘She won’t see you. She’s immovable on that point. As on many others.’

‘You could … ask again.’

‘I could ask a thousand times. And the answer would always be the same. She tells me you know why.’

I said nothing. Her only message was an accusation I could not rebut. Windrush nodded, as if my silence had given him the confirmation he sought.

‘Good night, Staddon. I’ll be in touch.’

Oppressed by the prospect of an evening alone, I passed a couple of hours in the warmth and vicarious good cheer of a pub in Notting Hill Gate. The imprudence of doing so did not become apparent until I reached Suffolk Terrace. As soon as she had opened the door to me, Nora announced that Angela had returned.

She was installed in the drawing-room with two of her bridge and shopping friends, Maudie Davenport and Chloë Phipps. Most of the dresses she had bought in Nice were displayed over the backs of chairs; the one she was wearing also looked new. They were laughing uproariously as I entered, reminding me of how like three geese in a farmyard they often sounded. Perhaps my face betrayed my thoughts. At all events, their laughter died as instantly as a light being switched off and the temperature of the room seemed to plummet.

‘There you are, Geoffrey. I was wondering what had become of you.’ Angela moved to meet me, inclining her cheek for me to bestow the kiss her friends would expect.

‘Good journey?’

‘Tolerable, thank you.’

‘You should have told me when you were arriving. I’d have met you at the station.’

‘It was all too much of a rush, darling.’