Hester sat silently, steeped in misery.
"I must go home," Rathbone said at last. "Perhaps a good night of sleep will clear my mind sufficiently to think of something." He bade them good-night and left, acutely conscious of loneliness. He would lie by himself in his smooth linen sheets. Monk would lie with Hester in his arms. The clear, moonlit night held no magic for him.
Tobias was in an expansive mood when he called his first witness the next day, but he was careful not to exaggerate his manner. He was too clever to alienate a jury by seeming to gloat over his triumph, although Rathbone, sitting at his table, thought his care unnecessary. As things were going at present, and from all future prospect, Tobias could hardly lose, whatever he did.
Neither Hester nor Monk was in the court, nor was Callandra Daviot. All of the Stourbridge family had yet to testify, and therefore were forbidden to be present in case anything they heard should influence what they themselves would say.
Tobias’s first witness was the Stourbridges’ groom. He took great care to establish his exact position in the household and his so-far blameless reputation. He left no avenue, however small, for Rathbone to call into question either his honesty or his power of observation.
Rathbone was quite satisfied that he should do so. He had no useful argument to make and no desire to try to blacken the man’s character. It was always a bad exercise in that it offended the jurors to malign a person who was no more than a witness and in no way involved in a crime. And it had the great advantage—indeed, at the moment the only advantage—in that it took time.
All that he showed by it, unquestionably, was that Treadwell had on a number of occasions driven Miriam from Bayswater back to her home in Hampstead, or had collected her. He had also once or twice delivered messages or gifts from Lucius to her, in the early days of the courtship, before Lucius himself had done so. Undoubtedly, Treadwell knew her home and had spent time in the area.
Next, Tobias called the keeper of the local inn, the Jack Straw’s Castle Inn, on the corner of North End Hill and Spaniards Road, who swore that Treadwell had stopped there on more than a few occasions, had a pint of ale and played darts or dominoes, gambled a little, and struck up casual conversation with the locals. Yes, he had seemed to ask a lot of questions. At the time the landlord had taken it for concern for his employer, who was courting a woman who lived in the area.
The landlord of the Bull and Bush, farther up on Golders Hill, said much the same, as did two locals from the Hare and Hounds, a short walk farther along. There he had asked more particularly about Miriam Gardiner and Cleo Anderson. Yes, he was free with his money, as if he knew there would be more where that had come from.
"What sort of questions did he ask?" Tobias enquired innocently.
"About her general reputation," the witness replied. "Was she honest, sober, that kind of thing."
"And chaste?" Tobias asked.
"Yes—that, too."
"Did you not think that impertinent of the coachman?"
"Yes, I did. When I caught him at it I told him in no uncertain terms that Mrs. Gardiner was as good a woman as he’d be likely to find in all Hampstead—and a damn sight too good for the likes of him!" He glanced at the judge. "Beggin’ yer pardon, me lud."
"Did he explain why he asked such questions?"
"Never saw him again," the man said with satisfaction. He glanced up at the dock and gave both women a deliberate smile. Miriam attempted to return it, but it was a ghost on her ashen face. Cleo nodded to him very slightly, merely the acknowledgment courtesy demanded. It was a small gesture, but kindly meant.
"You would be glad to see Mrs. Gardiner happily married again, after losing her first husband so young?" Tobias observed conversationally.
"I was glad, and that’s the truth! So were everyone else as knew ’er."
"Did you know the late Mr. Gardiner well?"
"Knew ’im in passing, like. A very decent sort o’ gent."
"Indeed. But quite a lot older than his wife—his widow?"
The man’s face darkened. "What are you tryin’ ter say?"
Tobias shrugged. "What did James Treadwell try to say?"
"Nothing!" Now the man was plainly angry.
"You did not like him?" Tobias pressed.
"I did not!"
"No love for blackmailers?"
"No I ’aven’t! Nor ’as any man fit ter walk an’ breathe God’s good air. Filth, they are."
Tobias nodded. "A feeling shared by many." He glanced up at the dock, then back to the witness box.
Rathbone knew perfectly well what he was doing, but he was helpless to stop him.
"Of course." Tobias smiled deprecatingly. "Treadwell may have been asking his questions about Mrs. Gardiner in loyal interest of his employer, Mr. Stourbridge, in order to prevent him from making an unfortunate marriage. Did that possibility occur to you? It may not have been for purposes of blackmail at all."
Rathbone stood up at last. "My lord, the witness is not in a position to know why Treadwell asked questions, and his opinion is surely irrelevant. Unless Mr. Tobias is implying he may have had some part in Treadwell’s death?"
There was a sharp stir in the courtroom, and one of the jurors jerked up his head.
"Quite," the judge agreed. "Mr. Tobias, do not imperil your case by wandering too far afield. I am sure your point has already been taken. James Treadwell asked questions in the neighborhood regarding Mrs. Gardiner’s character and reputation. Is that all you wish us to know?"
"For the moment, my lord." Tobias thanked his witness and turned invitingly to Rathbone.
Again there was nothing for him to ask. The witness had already made it plain he admired Miriam and was partisan in her favor. As far as he was concerned, Treadwell had met with a fate he deserved. It would not help either Miriam or Cleo to hear him say so again.
"I have nothing to ask this witness," Rathbone said.
Tobias proceeded to call the Stourbridges’ servants to tell their account of the day of the party and Miriam’s still-unexplained departure with Treadwell. The parlormaid had seen it all and told of it simply and obviously with great unhappiness.
At last Rathbone had something to ask.
"Miss Pembroke," he said with a slight smile, moving into the center of the floor and looking up at her where she stood high in the witness stand. "You have told very clearly what you saw. You must have had a view of Mrs. Gardiner with no one blocking your way."
"Yes sir, I did."
"You said she seemed about to faint, as if she had suffered a great shock, and then after she had recovered herself she turned and ran, even fled, from the garden towards the stables. Is that correct?"
"Yes sir."
The judge frowned.
Rathbone hurried on before he should be cautioned to come to the point.
"Did anyone speak to her, pass her anything?"
"You mean a glass, sir? I didn’t see no one."
"No, I meant rather more like a message, something to account for her shock and, from what you describe, even terror."
"No sir, no one came that close to her. And I don’t think she had a glass."
"You are not certain about the glass, but you are sure no one spoke to her or passed her anything?"
"Yes, I am."
"Have you any idea what caused her to run away?"
Tobias rose.
"No," the judge said to him bluntly. "Miss Pembroke is an observant girl. She may very well know what happened. It has been my experience that servants frequently know a good deal more than some of us would believe, or wish to believe." He turned to the witness stand. "Do you know what caused Mrs. Gardiner’s flight, Miss Pembroke? If you do, this is the appropriate time and place to say so, whether it was a confidence or not."
"No sir, I don’t know, an’ that’s the truth. But I never seen anyone look as dreadful as she did that day. She looked like she’d seen the living dead, she did."