Giles and Sabrina had made sure to be in court early. The crowd had already begun to gather when they arrived, and they had looked at one another apprehensively. How would Clare ever survive all this? The heat became worse as the room filled, and the screaming and shouting as Clare arrived made Giles believe that he now knew what hell was like.
He watched as Andrew led her over to a side bench. She looked so pale that he could almost believe that she was cold with fear. But when he looked more closely, he could see that her curls were clinging damply to her neck, and even the black gown couldn’t hide the wetness under her arms. He hit the railing in front of him in an angry gesture of helplessness and frustration, and Sabrina put a hand on his arm.
“I should be with her, Sabrina. She needs me,” he said intensely.
“Andrew is right, though, Giles. Can you imagine the crowd were you to have been by her side? I know this is terrible for you, but it is best for Clare.”
When the jury was seated, Giles looked each one over carefully. How on earth could this be considered a jury of her peers, he wondered. And how would they see her? As a pretty young woman who had aroused the jealousy of her husband? Or as the victim of a maniac? It was impossible to tell from their faces, which remained expressionless.
The coroner, Sir Benjamin Rooke, was a hard man, well-known for hammering suspects into the ground. He was also not happy with the growing trend to use barristers as defense counsel. He was an older man, and more likely to be sympathetic with a husband’s right to “chastise” his wife than a wife’s right to defend herself.
* * * *
The first witnesses called were those officials who had been summoned to the scene of the murder: the local constable and the two Runners. They all agreed on the basic details: Lord Rainsborough had been shot twice with his own dueling pistols. Upon closer examination, he was also found to have suffered a blow to the side of his head.
“Which blow might itself have killed him,” asked the coroner.
“Yes, my lord.”
“And Lady Rainsborough?”
“Was found standing over her husband, brandishing a poker from the fireplace.”
“Was there any blood on her?”
“Yes, her dress was soaked with it.”
“I have no further questions,” said Rooke.
Andrew cross-examined the two Runners rather too quickly, thought Giles. When he came to the local constable, however, who had been first on the scene, he took his time.
“You say you saw Lady Rainsborough standing over her dead husband?”
“Yes.”
“Holding a poker?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“How what, Mr. More?” responded the constable, who was obviously puzzled by the question.
“How was she holding the poker? By her side? In front of her?”
“Uh, lifted in front of her, Mr. More.”
“As though she was trying to protect herself, isn’t that true?”
“Why, yes, although there were nothing to protect herself from. Lord Rainsborough was as dead as the proverbial doornail,” added the constable, looking around the court as though to get others to see the joke: the silly woman protecting herself against a man who was already dead.
“You found Lord Rainsborough’s death humorous, Constable?”
The constable’s face fell. “Of course not.”
“The fact is, that when you entered the library, Lady Rainsborough was convinced her husband was only unconscious and was obviously in a state of terror that he was about to get up and attack her again?”
“There is no evidence to suggest that Lord Rainsborough had attacked Lady Rainsborough, Mr. More,” interjected the coroner.
“My apologies, Sir Benjamin. I got a trifle ahead of myself. Constable?”
“She did act as though she thought he was still alive,” he admitted grudgingly.
“And could you describe to us Lady Rainsborough’s appearance?”
“Her dress was soaked in blood, as I said, if that’s what you mean.”
“Yes, and what of her face?”
“Her face?”
“Yes, Constable, her face. Did you notice anything about it?”
“Well, now that you mention it,” replied the man grudgingly, “it was a little bruised.”
“A little,” asked Andrew softly.
“Her cheek was red, and her lip was swollen.”
“And her neck?”
“I didn’t notice anything about her neck.”
“I see. Well, thank you very much, Constable.”
Sabrina turned to Giles. “He did very well with that one, don’t you think?”
“Yes, but I wish he had gotten him to testify to the bruises on her neck.”
“Sh, Giles. It is Peters up next.”
Peters was taken through the scenario again by the coroner, who never raised any questions about Clare’s appearance. He did ask whether the servants had been aware of any quarrel between the couple that night.
“I can’t say as I know of one,” answered the butler, who was so full of his own importance that Giles wanted to slap him. It was clear from the man’s expression that he found it extremely distasteful to be pulled into such a circus.
“What did you see on the desk and on the floor?” the coroner asked.
“The desk and the floor, my lord? Oh, the pistols, of course. Or, I should say the empty case on the desk and the two pistols on the floor.”
“Did you recognize the pistols?”
“Yes, of course, my lord.”
“And whose were they?”
“Lord Rainsborough’s. He was very proud of them. Had them specially made. They were inlaid with rosewood and mahogany.” The butler shook his head sadly.
“Yes, Peters.”
“I was just thinking how ironic it is that Lady Rainsborough murdered him with his own pistols.”
“Objection, my lord. We have not come to any conclusions about this killing.”
The coroner bowed in Andrew’s direction. “Mr. Peters, your mistress has not been proved guilty of any crime. We cannot draw any conclusions as yet. That is what this inquest is for. Your witness, Mr. More.”
Andrew began his questioning with his back to the butler. “How long have you been in the Rainsborough household, Mr. Peters?” he asked casually.
“Two years, sir.”
“So you are hardly an old family retainer, are you?”
“No, sir. Although I became very fond of Lord Rainsborough,” he added piously.
“And where were you employed before that?”
The coroner leaned over and addressed Andrew. “I fail to see where my learned counsel is going with his questioning.”
“I assure the court that I have a destination in mind,” replied Andrew turning around.
The coroner waved his hand. “Continue then, Mr. More, but don’t linger by the side of the road, if you please.”
“I repeat, Mr. Peters, who was your employer before Lord Rainsborough?”
The butler cleared his throat. “Lord Monteith.”
“And why did you leave his household?”
“I was dismissed,” the butler admitted.
“Any particular reason?”
“Unsatisfactory service.”
“Did you receive a reference?”
“No.”
“No? And yet Lord Rainsborough hired you?”
“He was most understanding and decided to give me a chance to prove myself anew. He was a kind man, Lord Rainsborough.”
“You were certainly indebted to him. An unemployed butler without a reference. You had motivation to ignore certain occurrences in Lord Rainsborough’s household?”
“Mr. Peters is not the focus of this inquest, Mr. More,” said the coroner.
“No, no, of course not, my lord. Tell me, Mr. Peters, what did you notice about Lady Rainsborough’s face that night?”
“It was like the constable said. Red, her lip swollen.”
“And her throat? Did you notice anything about her throat?”
The butler turned to the coroner as though seeking guidance.
“I am afraid Sir Benjamin wasn’t there that night,” Andrew commented dryly.
“There were marks on her throat.”
“If you had to venture a guess at what those marks were from, what would it be, Mr. Peters?”
“I would guess ... they looked like finger marks.”
“And how would fingers leave an impression on someone’s throat, do you think?”
“I suppose if someone were choking someone.”
“Someone choking someone. But in this case, the only someones were Lord and Lady Rainsborough?”
The butler nodded.
“Since we will assume that Lady Rainsborough was not in the habit of choking herself, we put forward the hypothesis that Lord Rainsborough had his hands around his wife’s neck and was holding her tightly enough to leave finger marks. Is that a possible explanation, Mr. Peters?”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“You suppose so. Had you ever seen Lady Rainsborough’s face or neck in that condition before, Mr. Peters?”
The butler hesitated.
“You are under oath, Mr. Peters,” the coroner reminded him.
“Yes.”
“Once, twice, often?”
“A few times.”
“A few times. And what did you do about it, Mr. Peters?”
“Do about it?” asked the butler in a puzzled tone.
“Yes. Your mistress was obviously being savagely attacked by her husband. Surely you would have wanted to protect her. Did you not feel something for Lady Rainsborough?”
“It was none of my business, Mr. More. A man has a right to beat his wife. Whatever happened in the privacy of his home was Lord Rainsborough’s business, not mine.”
“And you were dependent upon his goodwill, weren’t you?”
“That has nothing to do with it.”
“But it is true, nonetheless.”
“Yes,” the butler admitted reluctantly.
“Thank, you, Mr. Peters. I have no further questions,” said Andrew, turning his back again on the witness. Peters sat there for a moment as though unable to believe the lawyer had dismissed him.
“You may step down, Mr. Peters,” said the coroner.
“Oh, yes. Thank you, sir, thank you.” The butler had to pass right by Clare, and he averted his eyes as he scurried by.
“Like a rabbit,” said Giles to Sabrina. “Good for Andrew.”
* * * *
“I call Miss Liza Stone to the stand.” The coroner’s voice did not sound as confident with this witness. Now that he could see Andrew’s direction, it was clear that the testimony of the abigail would be useful in the same way the butler’s had been.
“Miss Stone.”
“Yes, my lord.” Liza looked cool and composed, thought Giles, and very different from the affectionate and impulsive Martha. How had Clare survived it, he wondered, with not even one friend to support her?
“You are in the employ of Lady Rainsborough and the late Lord Rainsborough?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Please tell the court in what capacity.”
“I am Lady Rainsborough’s abigail.”
“What do you remember of the morning of the murder.”
“I object,” said Andrew.
“I beg your pardon, Mr. More,” said the coroner. “The morning that Lord Rainsborough was found dead.”
“I was asleep like all the other servants, my lord. I woke up sudden like.”
“What woke you?”
“I couldn’t say, my lord. But I heard Mr. Peters go by, and I followed him downstairs.”
“Did you go into the library with him?”
“He went in first, and I stayed by the door. But then he called me in.”
“And what did you see?”
Liza’s voice, which had been flat and still as a pond on a windless day, became higher and an expression of fear rippled over her face, as though someone had dropped a small pebble in the pond. “The first thing I saw was Lady Rainsborough.”
“And what was she doing?”
“Just what the constable said.”
“We want to hear it from you, Miss Stone.” The coroner prompted respectfully.
“Well, she was standing there, her dress all bloody, holding the poker in front of her.”
“How did she hold the poker.”
“Like he said, she had it lifted up like she was going to hit someone. Then I looked over and saw him.”
“Who?”
“Lord Rainsborough. He was lying there ... it was a terrible sight.” Her voice rose a little again as she remembered what her late employer had looked like.
“Was there anyone else in the room?”
“Just Peters.”
“Did it look like there had been an intruder?’
“An intruder, my lord?”
“A housebreaker.”
“No, no, my lord. The windows was still closed and locked.”
“So before you arrived, Lord and Lady Rainsborough would seem to have been the only ones in the library?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Why doesn’t Andrew object,” whispered Giles to Sabrina. “How could she know if anyone else was there?”
“I don’t think Andrew wants to distract the jury with any other possibilities. After all, Clare herself is willing to admit she killed Justin.”
“That is all, Miss Stone,” the coroner was saying, and thinking she was finished, Liza started to get up.
“A moment of your time, Miss Stone,” said Andrew, smiling his most charming smile, first at her and then at the jury, as if to say: “We all understand how much you wish this was over, but let me lead you through a few more details.”
Liza sat back down and flushed with embarrassment. She knew about cross-examination, but had forgotten.
“My God, the woman is actually blushing,” said Giles. “I didn’t think she had any blood in her veins. Trust Andrew to throw her off balance.”
Andrew moved closer to the witness stand and said, with great sympathy, “I know this has been very difficult for you, Miss Stone, but I only have a few more questions. You have already said that you saw Lady Rainsborough first and noticed that her dress was all bloodstained.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you notice anything else about her?”
Liza had been listening to the other witnesses and didn’t see the sense of hemming and hawing, only to be led down the garden path, as it were.
“Yes, sir. Like the others have said, her face was red and her lip swollen.”
“And her neck?”
“Had red marks on it.”
“Would you call them finger marks?”
“The marks could very well have come from fingers, yes, sir.”
“You are Lady Rainsborough’s personal maid, Miss Stone?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And a lady’s maid has almost as much intimate knowledge of her mistress as her husband does, isn’t that so?”
“I am not sure what you mean, Mr. More.”
“Oh, nothing scandalous, I assure you. I only mean that you help your mistress dress and undress. You prepare her for her bath.”
“That is what an abigail does, Mr. More.”
“So a lady’s maid must be trustworthy and loyal, Miss Stone.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Loyal to whom?”
Liza answered without hesitation: “Why, to her employer, Mr. More.”
“And in this case, that was?”
“Lord Rainsborough.”
“So your loyalties, were, in reality, with your master and not your mistress?”
Liza looked a little taken aback. “Well, now, I wouldn’t exactly say that.”
“Tell me, who interviewed you for your position, Miss Stone?”
“Lord Rainsborough, sir.”
“And then of course, Lady Rainsborough would have met with you?”
Liza hesitated for a minute. “No, sir.”
“You mean, you were hired without meeting the lady you were to serve? And she never had a chance to approve or disapprove her husband’s choice?”
“No, sir.”
“Didn’t you think that a bit odd, Miss Stone?”
“Not really, sir. Lord Rainsborough explained that Lady Rainsborough trusted his judgment completely.”
“I see. So your first loyalty was indeed to the man you worked for, not to the woman.”
There is nothing she can say but yes, thought Giles. Good work, Andrew.
“Yes, Mr. More,” Liza replied in a low voice.
“Could you repeat that so all the court can hear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That must have been a difficult position to be in, then, Miss Stone,” said Andrew smiling sympathetically.
“I am not sure what you mean, sir.”
“To work so closely with Lady Rainsborough. To come to know her well, better than you knew her husband, I suspect. To have developed sympathy for her. And yet to be completely dependent upon Lord Rainsborough’s goodwill.”
“It was a little difficult,” said Liza, her voice softening as she responded to the attention and understanding Andrew was giving her.
“It must have been very difficult, indeed, when you had to help Lady Clare after one of her husband’s beatings,” continued Andrew even more sympathetically.
“There has been no evidence of beatings introduced, Mr. More,” the coroner reminded him.
“Excuse me,” said Andrew, turning and giving a short bow to the coroner and the jury.
“On the night in question, Miss Stone, did you take Lady Rainsborough up to her room?” Andrew’s voice was harder now.
“Yes, sir.”
“And you helped her bathe?”
“In the morning, Lady Sabrina came over and we both helped her, sir.”
“You have already stated that you noticed a red and swollen face and finger marks on her throat. Did you notice anything else?”
Liza hesitated, and then answered slowly, “There were bruises, sir.”
“Bruises? What kind of bruises? And where?”
“Rather large bruises, sir. Around her ribs. Her back ... her belly.”
“And where did you think these bruises were from, Miss Stone?”
“I don’t really know, sir.”
“But if you were to guess, how might they have occurred?”
“They looked as if ... perhaps they were made by the toe of a boot, sir.”
“A gentleman’s boot, Miss Stone?”
The abigail nodded.
“An earl’s boot?” Andrew’s voice was very hard now.
“I never saw him kick her, so I couldn’t say as it was Lord Rainsborough’s,” said Liza, relieved that she could tell the truth and yet not be giving the coroner and the jury any reason to favor Clare.
“I wonder who else would have had the opportunity,” mused Andrew with pseudo-innocence. “Mr. Peters, the butler? A footman? A groom from the stable?”
Liza blanched. “No, sir, of course not.”
“It would seem that a husband had the greatest opportunity, then. Would you agree with me, Miss Stone, that in all likelihood it was Lord Rainsborough’s boots which had left these marks?”
“Yes, sir,” Liza answered with obvious reluctance.
“And had you ever seen Lady Rainsborough in this condition before?”
“What relevance have past beatings in this case, Mr. More?”
“Every relevance in a claim of self-defense, my lord. And I am grateful for your concession that there were past beatings, my lord.”
Brilliant, Andrew, brilliant. Giles wanted to shout it aloud, but he could only turn to Sabrina and smile his exaltation. “I knew he could do it.”
“Hush, Giles, he hasn’t done it yet,” said his sister. But Sabrina was feeling the same admiration for Andrew. And something else. She had always been equally sympathetic to Andrew’s and his family’s views. She understood his desire to be independent of their expectations, and also their repugnance for his usual clients.
Today, however, she knew that they were wrong. Andrew More had found the one thing that his intelligence and talents were meant for, and such unity of purpose and dedication had a powerful effect on Sabrina. She found herself becoming aware of little things about Andrew she had never noticed before: the way his thick brown hair sprang back into place whenever he ran his hand through it, how expressive his face was, and how he used his voice like an instrument.
She had always had fleeting moments of finding him attractive, but today, it was as though something coalesced inside her, and despite her ongoing sympathy for Giles and her sense of oneness with him, something had shifted so that when she looked over at her brother, she felt more separate from him and in some strange way, connected to Andrew.
* * * *
It was now after one, and the coroner informed the court that since the next witness would likely take them past dinnertime, he would adjourn the inquiry for two hours.
“Thank God,” said Giles. “It is exhausting just sitting here in this heat. I can’t imagine how Clare can stand it. Come, Sabrina, let us get out of here and see if we can get a hackney to take us home for dinner.”
“Will we have time, Giles?”
“I think so. And we certainly will not find any eatery in this neighborhood suitable for a lady.”
They were lucky that the coroner had called his recess a little bit earlier than usual, for it meant that the crowds had had no time to gather and they were able to find a cab quite easily. It was too hot, and both were too nervous to eat much, so Sabrina had a platter of cold meats and salad sent up from the kitchen for them as well as a large pitcher of lemonade.
“Unless you wish for wine, Giles?” she asked.
“No, no. I am too thirsty for anything stronger than water or lemonade.”
They ate silently and quickly, and after a quick freshening up, were back at the court just a few minutes before the coroner reconvened.
Andrew had had food and drink brought in for himself and Clare, and both were feeling refreshed. They had not been able to escape the heat, however, and Sabrina could see that Andrew’s hair was damp and clinging to his neck.
“Whom do you think will be called next, Giles?”
“The coroner is in charge, so I assume the only one left is Clare.”
And indeed, after everyone had been reseated, the coroner called Lady Rainsborough to the stand.