Vintage Love (176 page)

It was bitterly cold the morning of the trial. For the first time in several years London had a dusting of early snow. Fanny feared it might be a bad omen for the trial ahead but hoped the foul weather might keep the courtroom less full. Great crowds usually attended sensational trials of this sort.

Charles arrived early with a carriage to take her to the Central Criminal Court. He pressed her arm, and said, “Now we show all our courage, my girl!”

She needed his reassurance. When they reached the court it was filled despite the weather. They were buffeted by throngs of people as they sought a seat near the front. The morbid-minded were out in strength and some were even standing outside the brick walls of the court waiting for the proceedings to be relayed to them.

Charles whispered to her, “Apparently this is a case not to be missed by members of the Bar; the Court is positively white with their wigs.”

Gazing around she saw this was true and in turn, she whispered to him, “It might be a garden party or a fashionable at-home’ considering the number of fashionably dressed ladies here!”

The trial was set for ten-thirty, but it was not until ten minutes later that the familiar rap on the door at the end of the Bench announced the judicial procession. All present in the court rose to their feet, including Fanny and Charles, as the heavy door opened and Mr. Justice Hawkins, robed in scarlet and white ermine, strode majestically into the courtroom. He was followed by other legal notables, with a black clad chaplain bringing up the rear. When they had all lined up, his Lordship beneath the Sword of Justice, the Bench bowed to the Court, the Court returned the salutation and all were seated. As the Judge sat down he placed a little square of black cloth beside him. It was the black cap donned by a judge when giving a prisoner the death sentence. This brought a hush over the courtroom and sent a cold chill down Fanny’s spine. Charles gave her a reassuring glance.

Then George appeared and took his place in the dock, a forlorn figure in his drab, gray suit, carefully guarded by warders as if he were a dangerous criminal. His face was white and haggard and he kept his eyes cast. Fanny wanted to sob aloud at the sight of him. But no such demonstration of her feelings could be allowed.

The trial began. To the customary question from the Bench, George bowed respectfully and in a low voice said, “Not guilty.” There was another murmur from the audience. Fanny, more and more, had the feeling it was a sort of grim play and not a trial at all.

The prosecution began under the competent direction of florid-faced and white-side-whiskered Sir Alan Norville, a skilled member of his profession. His case against George was summed up in a temperate, impartial and grimly convincing manner.

Sir Alan admitted that, as in most cases of this kind, much of the evidence was circumstantial. But he then stressed that the chain of events was complete and each link neatly fitted together. He ended with the statement that the only missing link was that no one had actually seen George administer the poison to his late wife.

The court recessed before the defence began and Charles took Fanny to a nearby pub for some food and drink, though she wanted neither. He found them a table in a back corner of the crowded place and urged her to eat something.

“You will be faint if you don’t,” he warned her. “And think of the sensation if you fainted in court. That might be the finish for George.”

“Very well,” she said. “I shall have a sherry and a small sandwich.”

He ordered for them and then asked her, “How do you think it is going?”

“Sir Alan Norville is a master of the courtroom,” she said. “He made it seem that he was sorry for George yet at the same time thought him a murderer.”

“I know,” Charles said with a deep sigh. “Did you notice how he kept repeating the phrase ‘wife-poisoner’?”

“It was most sickening. I only hope Montagu Matthews is as good as you believe. George is going to need all the help he can get.”

“I have confidence in Montagu,” Charles said.

They finished their lunch and hurried back through the cold to the court. The number still standing out in the courtyard astonished and appalled her. They were waiting for the man she loved to be given a sentence of death! They took their seats in the front again and the judge and prisoner took their places.

The defence began. Montagu Matthews was a short, portly man, bald, with an almost jolly, round face. He wore a high collar and had a deep, rumbling voice which appeared to emanate from somewhere in the depths of his considerable stomach. He went over the same ground as the prosecution but pointed out the thinness of the Crown’s circumstantial evidence. The trial continued through the afternoon and then recessed until the following morning at ten-thirty.

Charles escorted Fanny home and as they sat in the jolting carriage, he asked her, “Do you think Montagu is making his points?”

“Yes,” she said. “But he is taking such a long while!”

“He is playing for time, or so he tells me. He is looking for a missing witness he feels will help his case, a servant discharged just after Virginia’s death.”

“I can’t deny I’m worried,” she said. “I feel George is in terrible trouble. Thus far the count is against him.”

Charles sighed. “I’m forced to agree.”

The next day was equally cold and gray. Once again Charles brought Fanny to the place of the trial. The crowds gathered there seemed larger than the previous day despite the inclemency of the weather. Dora Carson had not attended the first day of the trial but she was present on this second day with a woman companion. Charles was not certain whether the Reverend Kenneth was in the courtroom or not. Fanny glanced around and could not see him.

Montagu Matthews resumed the defence and at once Fanny felt he was about to play a trump card. It came as no great surprise to her when he brought the housekeeper to the stand. There, with tears in her eyes, the woman confessed that she
had
mentioned the subject of ant paste to her employer, though she had not actually suggested that he buy some.

The plump and jolly Montagu Matthews became suddenly stern. He pointed a chubby forefinger at the woman and said, “But, madam, you do admit you mentioned that some ant paste was needed to take care of insect pests in the house?”

“Yes, I did speak to him about the need of it,” the woman sniffed.

He frowned at her. “Then it was wrong of you to testify that you had not asked the Marquis to buy the ant paste!”

“I did
not
ask that he buy it,” she retorted. “Mr. Malcolm, the butler, usually ordered such articles along with the other household supplies.”

“Yet there was a possibility that the Marquis, knowing your need of the item, might have purchased it and brought it home, then for some unknown reason forgot to hand it over to you.”

“He might well have done,” the woman said, seeming ready to break into tears at any moment.

“Thank you, ma’am” the chief counsel for the defence said with a smirk on his round face. “You may step down.”

She left the stand to a swell of murmuring from the people in the courtroom. It seemed for a moment that Sir Alan Norville was going to ask her to return so that he might question her statement. But after a short conference with his associates, he sat back grimly and said nothing.

Montagu Matthews turned to the Bench and said, “I would now like to call an important witness who until this morning was not available, since no one had been able to locate her. I ask that Miss Gladys Huff take the stand!”

Charles whispered in Fanny’s ear, “The important missing witness! Things ought to look up for George now!”

She nodded and glanced up at George standing in the box. He seemed to be showing more confidence, and looked much less forlorn than on the previous day.

Miss Gladys Huff proved to be a petite young woman neatly dressed. She pertly took her place in the witness stand, an assured look on her snub-nosed, rather homely face as she was sworn in.

Montagu Matthews questioned her. After he had established that she had been an upstairs maid in the house, he asked her, “Will you tell us why you are no longer in the employ of the Marquis?”

The girl looked annoyed. “It was him, Mr. Malcolm, the butler. He never liked me and when I complained about the room he’d given me being too cold he told me I could pack my things and leave since it wasn’t going to get any warmer.”

“Aha!” Montagu Matthews said. “And so you left despite the fact you enjoyed the children of the Marquis and his wife, and had hoped to stay on in your job.”

“I missed the young ones,” Gladys Huff agreed. “But I wouldn’t stay and take cheek off that Malcolm!”

“So you went off with a final week’s wages in your pocket.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you tell Malcolm where you were going?” Montagu Matthews wanted to know.

“No, sir. I told no one where I was going. And if you hadn’t found where my stepmother lived and that I had a stepbrother at whose place I had gone to stay, I wouldn’t be here now!”

“Will you tell the Court why you agreed to come?” the stout old lawyer for the defence said smoothly.

“To see justice done, sir!” the maid spoke out loudly.

“Objection, My Lord!” Sir Alan Norville said, jumping up.

“Objection sustained,” the Judge droned. “The remark will be struck from the record.”

“Your pardon, My Lord,” Montagu Matthews said, looking not at all repentant for all this. He asked the girl, “May I ask you to tell the court what you told me, about a happening several nights before you were dismissed from the employ of the Marquis.”

“I went of my own accord,” Miss Huff insisted defiantly.

“Whatever,” the stout man said waving his hand airily. “Let us hear what happened on that certain night.”

“The night the missus was took bad and died,” Gladys Huff said. “Well, sir, she’d been drinking all day and I’d been told to watch over the youngsters as she was paying no heed to them at all. I was glad to be with the poor little tots. I left them for a little to go down and have a bite below stairs. When I returned I found the boy playing with a package he’d found somewhere. I looked at it and saw the box contained ant paste. Knowing it to be a poison I took it from him and hid it away in a cupboard in the hall.”

There was a loud reaction from the observers in the courtroom, so loud that the Judge rapped for quiet and threatened to clear the court unless the clamor ended. The face of Sir Alan Norville evidenced concern while in the prisoner’s box, George was looking a good deal brighter.

Sir Alan at once rose to cross examine. But he was unable to change the maid’s testimony; she insisted this had taken place on the night Virginia had died and that the cupboard where the poison had been hidden was the same one in which the police had later found it.

The court recessed for lunch. This time it was a more joyous occasion. Over her beef sandwich and ale, Fanny asked Charles, “It will be all right now, won’t it? They can’t possibly convict George in the face of Miss Huff’s testimony.”

“I think Montagu Matthews has done well,” Charles agreed. “But we mustn’t count on anything until the trial is over.”

Fanny gazed about the pub in which they were having their lunch and said, “I don’t see Dora anywhere. We missed her on the way out.”

“I doubt if she will return,” Charles said. “She doesn’t like to be away from the children long. She mentioned to me she would attend the morning session only.”

Fanny was amazed that Dora could be so calm. She said, “I don’t know how she can take it all so coolly. I should die if I missed the summing up.”

Charles gave her a wan smile. “You have a taste for drama in your make-up which Dora lacks.”

“I will not deny that,” she said.

It was snowing lightly when they left the pub. They had barely taken their seats in the courtroom when the court assembled again and the trial resumed. There was an expectant air among the observers since all had been thrilled by the revelations of the morning and were eager for some added last-minute excitements.

But there were no excitements, merely the summing up. Sir Alan Norville pointed out the instability of the housekeeper’s nature, and her confusion over what she had and hadn’t said. He also attempted to darken the character of Miss Gladys Huff, and condemn her as an impudent, vengeful young woman ready to say anything to discredit the rest of the servants with whom she had served.

The jury retired at three o’clock, and the prisoner was taken from the dock. The jury were away a half-hour. At length the foreman returned, looking solemn. George resumed his place in the prisoner’s box and the Judge and barristers were in their proper seats.

An expectant hush fell over the crowded courtroom and the foreman rose, cleared his throat and in a loud voice, intoned the words which Fanny had been praying for, “We find the defendant not guilty!”

Bedlam broke out in the courtroom. The Judge, looking displeased, insisted that order be restored. He then made a brief comment on the verdict, thanked the jury, and the trial was over. Charles and Fanny embraced happily and then Charles alone went over to the dock and congratulated George, putting an arm around him. Montagu Matthews and Sir Alan Norville were exchanging pleasant platitudes as the crowd left.

Charles quickly returned to Fanny and escorted her out. He said, “George sends you his love and told me he will see you as soon as he possibly can.

“I can wait,” she said. “I have waited this long. He must not rush things. We still have to be careful. It would be wrong to cause scandal after winning the trial.”

“Exactly,” Charles agreed. “But perhaps he can quietly come to your place tonight.”

Fanny made no reply, only hoping that this might be possible. This hope sustained her through the afternoon and early evening as she recounted the happenings at the trial to Hilda Asquith.

Hilda said, “Then all your troubles are at an end.”

“I wonder,” Fanny mused, standing by the fireplace and staring into the flames with a sudden feeling of desolation which she could not comprehend. She should be elated and somehow she wasn’t.