The Edge of the Fall (54 page)

‘Someone purposefully killed the cat, did they not? They took Miss Deerhurst's poor beloved Petra and put it on the railings so that it was impaled. Rather like some kind of medieval torture. They murdered the innocent thing in the most cold and cruel way possible!'

There was a general intake of breath. Mr Cedric played to it. He looked up at the court, opened out his hands. ‘What a terrible act of barbarism.'

The people in the court shuffled, tutted, whispered.

‘What an awful act of cruelty towards Miss Deerhurst,' he said. ‘She adored the cat. It was like
killing her baby
.'

There was a gasp from the court. Emmeline was clutching Celia's hand. ‘I feel sick,' she whispered.

Celia gripped her other hand, crossing it over her chest. ‘Don't be. You really can't be. Hold it in. Remember, this is good for us.' Because it was. This only proved that someone was after Louisa.

Mr Cedric nodded at the gallery. ‘I shall repeat it. It was like
killing her newborn baby
.'

There was another sigh and then a startled shriek and shuffling. Celia looked up at the gallery. Two women on different benches had fainted and the rest of the people were standing up to let them be carried out. She could only see one of the women, plump with a purple hat drooping off her head, bringing down the pinned hair with it. She looked back at Mr Cedric, his face satisfied, enjoying the effect.

He turned back to Mrs Merling. ‘Miss Deerhurst was devastated, of course.'

‘She was. She left soon after. Mr de Witt told me she did not feel safe with me.'

‘That is when they went to Weymouth?'

‘I believe so, sir.'

‘Well, it was all rather convenient for Mr de Witt, was it not? We have hazarded that he was growing weary of Miss Deerhurst's passion for the nightlife of London and certain individuals within it. He was maybe even a little jealous. And then here is the perfect excuse. She is not safe in London, so she must be whisked away to Weymouth, where there is little opportunity for amusement.'

The judge sighed. ‘Mr Cedric. Please. Must I warn you again? This is a court room. We deal in fact.'

Mr Cedric nodded. ‘Do you have any suspicion as to who killed the cat, Mrs Merling?'

Mrs Merling held out her hand. The clerk passed her a glass of water. She shook her head, touched her hand to her face.

‘Do tell us, Mrs Merling.'

She gripped the side of the witness box, stared out. ‘My daughter told me that she was on her way out after Miss Deerhurst. In front of her, going down the stairs, was Mr de Witt. He was carrying a brown sack, with something in it. At the bottom of the stairs, he gave the sack to a man she didn't know. Then he left the house. She waited until he had gone, then walked to the front door herself. She returned upstairs and told me. I dressed and came outside. Miss Deerhurst was weeping by the railings,
Mr de Witt comforting her. Then my daughter noted that the brown sack had been tossed into the public rubbish bin just next to the gardens. She retrieved it.'

‘And what did you do with it?'

‘I am afraid that my daughter forgot about it. We were caught up in the drama of Miss Deerhurst leaving and then my husband fell ill. But then when we heard of Mr de Witt's arrest, I came forward and I brought the bag.'

Mr Cedric walked over to his clerk. He seized a brown bag. ‘This one?' he said. He held it up. ‘There is a red stain on the bottom.'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘It looks like blood to me. Our police scientist believes it is blood.' He gazed around the court, but they were silent, watching him speak. ‘No doubt of an animal, but who knows? So, unless Mr de Witt had caught an unusually large rat, he had in fact killed the cat, put it in here and given it to some henchman to prop on the railings outside.'

Mrs Merling held her hands, twisting them.

‘Mr de Witt killed Miss Deerhurst's cat in order to frighten her. He also sent the letter, I feel we can be sure of that.' He looked up at the gallery, spread his hands. ‘If he was so quick to kill a cat out of simple jealousy – wishing to have Miss Deerhurst to himself – then he was capable of killing Miss Deerhurst herself, pushing her over the cliff.' He turned, pointed his finger at Arthur in the dock. ‘This man, ladies and gentlemen, is a murderer!'

Celia was about to stand, but then the room began to switch and jolt. She turned around. Tom was behind her, looking at her. He smiled. He looked
pleased
. The people beside him loomed large and bulged. She was about to shout,
Stop!
But the words wouldn't come. The court went dark.

THIRTY-NINE

London, February 1926

Celia

Celia was staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. It was dark brown, the wood old and peeling.

‘Ah,' said Emmeline's voice. ‘You're awake.'

Celia looked around.

‘Drink some water. If you can sit up.'

Celia struggled up and Emmeline passed her a glass. ‘I thought you were stirring. I've sent the lady out for some tea. Although goodness knows what it will be like. I've had some and it was worse than school cocoa.'

‘I fainted.'

‘You did. That's what I was planning to do. So you really stole my thunder. Mind you, so did about four other ladies. And Arthur looked as if he wasn't far off doing the same.'

‘How is Arthur?'

Emmeline shrugged. ‘Still standing.'

Celia gazed up at the clock. It was a quarter past three. ‘What have I missed?'

‘Not much. Mr Bird talked to Mrs Merling, didn't get anywhere really. Then some man who said Arthur gave the bag to a friend and told him to stick the cat on the railings. The friend has since died in a street fight, which is rather convenient for Mr Cedric, if you ask me. Anyway, the court seemed to believe him. Everyone seemed to believe that Arthur killed the cat.

‘I was so stupid,' said Celia. ‘I thought he was giving us help with talking about the cat. Of course he knew something we didn't.'

‘It looks bad.'

‘We should have done what I said from the beginning. We should have talked about that man following Louisa. Mr Bird wouldn't.'

Emmeline shrugged. ‘Well, after the chap talking about Arthur, we had Edward Munsden, who is nothing but a pretty face, frankly.'

‘What did he say?'

‘Said Louisa seemed to want to escape. It was obvious that Munsden led her on, if you ask me. He was a sheepish kind of chap. Wedding ring now.'

‘Not much good for Arthur?'

‘Not really.'

A policeman and a woman in a pink suit came with two cups of tea. Celia thanked them, drank hers. The milk was off.

‘Tom was there. Behind us. I'm sure it was him.'

‘Who?'

‘Tom Cotton.'

Emmeline gaped. ‘Impossible! Anyway, you probably don't recognise him. It's been years. He'd be entirely different. You're imagining things, Celia, you really are.'

‘I saw him when I got back from Paris. I'm sure it was him. And he wrote after he heard the news. I didn't write back. I suppose it was kind of him to come.'

Emmeline shrugged. ‘I suppose. Who knows? I think we're the best entertainment in London this week.'

Celia put down the cup. ‘Now what's happening?'

‘A short break for the judge to assemble his papers. Then we have to go back for the final witness of the day.'

Celia dropped her head back. ‘Another one.'

Emmeline patted her hand. ‘But this time it's one of ours! It's Smithson!'

‘Smithson? I thought we had had all the character witnesses.'

‘Well, then, they have allowed us one more. Come along, Celia, drink up that tea. They start again in ten minutes.'

*

In ten minutes, they were settled back on the bench. Celia could feel people staring at her and she looked straight ahead. The court moved around, settled, the judge readied himself. The women on the jury looked sick and pale. Celia wondered if they'd be expected to cook for their husbands after this. Surely, she thought, they'd be allowed to sit at home, think. They needed to. This was too important for them to spend their evening fussing about potatoes. Arthur was going to be convicted!

The clerk called Smithson. Celia's heart leapt as he came out. He looked thinner, older. But his voice sounded the same. She heard him speak out and her heart flooded, expanding across her body. It was Smithson. He would tell them the truth, about who Arthur really was.

He began to speak, answering questions about his name and address, how long he had worked at Stoneythorpe. She meant to listen, really she did. But she found her attention wandering, her mind taking itself back to when they had all been in the house together. She thought of the party before the war had begun, how Thompson and Smithson had laid out the tables for the children, decorated the house for the celebrations that nobody but Tom and his sister, Missy, had come to. Smithson travelling off to Gallipoli, Jennie crying when she thought no one could see. Their wedding in the village when Celia wasn't joyous, as she would have been, for she thought only of her brother, Michael, and how he hadn't come home from the war. She looked down at Smithson, smart in his suit, answering the questions. He looked rather like one of the solicitors' clerks, even a solicitor himself. He looked back at Mr Bird, not at Arthur or up at the gallery. And then a thought bolted through her, fast and sharp. What if he had hated being their servant? He hated having to smile, give them things, be cheerful, respond when they rang the bell. He'd come back after the war, but only because there was no other job elsewhere. And now he hated them even more, kept in tiny, shambolic Stoneythorpe with nothing but the occasional visit from the vicar. Why, she thought, why hadn't they even called him Mr Smithson? She leant forward.

Mr Cedric was questioning him. He was asking about Arthur's behaviour after Paris. Smithson was quiet, his answers short.

‘Now, Mr Smithson. I'm sure you feel very loyal to the family who employed you for so long. But I must stress to you that this is a trial for a very serious offence. You must overcome your scruples and tell me everything you know.'

Smithson nodded.

‘Let's recommence. Could you please describe your relationship with Mr Arthur de Witt.'

Smithson cleared his throat. ‘Well, sir. I was his servant. After he came back from Paris and I was returned from the army. He had tasks he asked me to do, look after his clothes, attend to his room, order this or that. He was used to being obeyed. Occasionally he'd ask me to buy him alcohol. Stuff we didn't keep in the house day to day.'

‘I'm sure. But he paid you?'

Smithson paused. ‘Not always. And then I asked him for money towards my wedding. He said he didn't have any money and I was well paid enough.'

‘Indeed. Not the most desirable of employers, I think we can say. Tell me of his attitude towards Miss Deerhurst?'

‘We all knew he was following her around. Almost as soon as she arrived he was off trying to get to her. Obvious why.'

‘Why, Mr Smithson?'

‘All her money. Who wouldn't want to get close to a woman with that much money?'

‘Well, indeed. But then, they left quickly, did they not?'

‘They did, sir, all thanks to me.'

Emmeline coughed. Celia wanted to lean her head on her shoulder. She wished she'd stayed in the room, gazing at the ceiling, the peeled paint, drinking lukewarm tea.

‘Why do you say that it was all thanks to you, Mr Smithson?'

‘Because he wanted me to scare her. He made me make strange noises outside her room, odd bangs. He knew she was the nervous type. He wanted to make her run to him. Not that he ever paid me, of course, sir. Said he would, but never did. I asked again
about money for the wedding, but he still said no. Arthur made a lot of plans, you know. He was going to persuade Miss Deerhurst to run away with him and marry him. If that didn't work, he was going to say that his parents would lock her up. All sorts of lies. I was going to help. If she didn't agree by her own will, I was to pretend that people were coming for her, Rudolf's men, coming to seize her.'

Mr Cedric raised an eyebrow. ‘How dramatic.'

‘He was determined, you see. He thought she might be unwilling. Being so young.'

And did you agree?'

‘I did, sir. We needed the money. I got the carriage from the village, sent a man for it, brought it outside. But in the end, we didn't need it as he persuaded her well enough himself. We took the cart, then I dropped them at the inn, where they took a car. And I never saw them again.'

‘So Miss Deerhurst was to be tricked, frightened – and then abducted if all that failed?'

‘Yes, sir,' said Smithson.

Mr Cedric summarised it, nodding and smiling. ‘Thank you, Mr Smithson. You have been most helpful.'

The clerk banged his hammer. The day was over.