A Dangerous Mourning (37 page)

"Did he have a temper, Miss Watkins?"

"Oh yes sir—I'm afraid so."

The last witness to be called regarding Percival's character, and its flaws, was Fenella Sandeman. She swept into the courtroom in a glory of black taffeta and lace, a large bonnet set well back, framing her face with its unnatural pallor, jet-black hair and rosy lips. At the distance from which most of the public saw her she was a startling and most effective sight, exuding glamour and the drama of grief—and extreme femininity sore pressed by dire circumstances.

To Hester, when a man was being tried for his life, it was at once pathetic and grotesque.

O'Hare rose and was almost exaggeratedly polite to her, as though she had been fragile and in need of all his tenderness.

"Mrs. Sandeman, I believe you are a widow, living in the house of your brother, Sir Basil Moidore?"

"I am," she conceded, hovering for a moment on the edge of an air of suffering bravely, and opting instead for a gallant kind of gaiety, a dazzling smile and a lift of her pointed chin.

"You have been there for"—he hesitated as if recalling with difficulty what to ask—"something like twelve years?"

"I have," she agreed.

"Then you will doubtless know the members of the household fairly well, having seen them in all their moods, their happiness and their misfortune, for a considerable time," he concluded. "You must have formed many opinions, based upon your observations."

“Indeed—one cannot help it." She gazed at him and a wry, slight smile hovered about her lips. There was a huskiness in her voice. Hester wanted to slide down in her seat and become invisible, but she was beside Beatrice, who was not to be called to testify, so there was nothing she could do but endure it. She looked sideways at Beatrice's face, but her veil was so heavy Hester could see nothing of her expression.

"Women are very sensitive to people," Fenella went on. "We have to be; people are our lives—"

"Exactly so." O'Hare smiled back at her. "In your own establishment you employed servants, before your husband . . . passed on?"

"Of course."

“So you are quite accustomed to judging their character and their worth," O'Hare concluded with a sidelong glance at Rathbone. "What did you observe of Percival Garrod, Mrs. Sandeman? What is your estimate of him?" He held up his pale hand as if to forestall any objection Rathbone might have. "Based, of course, upon what you saw of him during your time in Queen Anne Street?"

She lowered her eyes and a greater hush settled over the room.

"He was very competent at his work, Mr. O'Hare, but he was an arrogant man, and greedy. He liked his fine things in dress and food," she said softly but very clearly. "He had ideas and aspirations far beyond his station, and there was something of an anger in him that he should be limited to that walk of life in which God had seen fit to place him. He played with the affections of the poor girl Rose Watkins, and then when he imagined he could—" She looked up at him with a devastating stare and her voice grew even huskier. "I really don't know how to phrase this delicately. I would be so much obliged if you would assist me."

Beside Hester, Beatrice drew in her breath sharply, and in her lap her hands clenched in their kid gloves.

O'Hare came to Fenella's defense. "Are you wishing to say, ma'am, that he entertained amorous ideas about a member of the family, perhaps?"

"Yes," she said with exaggerated demureness. "That is unfortunately exactly what I—I am obliged to say. More than once I caught him speaking boldly about my niece Octavia, and I saw an expression on his face which a woman cannot misunderstand."

"I see. How distressing for you."

"Indeed," she assented.

"What did you do about it, ma'am?"

"Do?" She stared at him, blinking. "Why my dear Mr.

O'Hare, there was nothing I could do. If Octavia herself did not object, what was there I could say to her, or to anyone?"

"And she did not object?" O'Hare's voice rose in amazement, and for an instant he glared around the crowd, then swung back to her. "Are you quite sure, Mrs. Sandeman?"

"Oh quite, Mr. O'Hare. I regret very deeply having to say this, and in such a very public place." Her voice had a slight catch in it now, and Beatrice was so tense Hester was afraid she was going to cry out. "But poor Octavia appeared to be flattered by his attentions," Fenella went on relentlessly. "Of course she could have no idea that he meant more than words— and neither had I, or I should have taken the matter to her father, of course, regardless of what she thought of me for it!"

"Naturally," O'Hare conceded soothingly. "I am sure we all understand that had you foreseen the tragic outcome of the infatuation you would have done all you could to prevent it. However your testimony now of your observations is most helpful in seeing justice for Mrs. Haslett, and we all appreciate how distressing it must be for you to come here and tell us." Then he pressed her for individual instances of behavior from Percival which bore out her judgment, which she duly gave in some detail. He then asked for the same regarding Octavia's encouragement of him, and she recounted them as well.

"Oh—just before you leave, Mrs. Sandeman." O'Hare looked up as if he had almost forgotten. "You said Percival was greedy. In what way?"

"Money, of course," she replied softly, her eyes bright and spiteful. "He liked fine things he could not afford on a footman's wages."

"How do you know this, ma'am?"

"He was a braggart," she said clearly. "He told me once how he got—little—extras."

"Indeed? And how was that?" O'Hare asked as innocently as if the reply might have been honorable and worthy of anyone.

"He knew things about people," she replied with a small, vicious smile. "Small things, trivial to most of us, just little vanities, but ones people would rather their fellows did not know about."

She shrugged delicately. "The parlormaid Dinah boasts about her family—actually she is a foundling and has no one at all. Her airs annoyed Percival, and he let her know he knew. The senior laundrymaid, Lizzie, is a bossy creature, very superior, but she had an affair once. He knew about that too, maybe from Rose, I don't know. Small things like that. The cook's brother is a drunkard; the kitchen maid has a sister who is a cretin."

O'Hare hid his distaste only partially, but whether it was entirely for Percival or included Fenella for betraying such small domestic tragedies it was impossible to tell.

"A most unpleasant man," he said aloud. "And how did he know all these things, Mrs. Sandeman?"

Fenella seemed unaware of the chill in him.

"I imagine he steamed open letters," she said with a shrug. "It was one of his duties to bring in the post."

"I see."

He thanked her again, and Oliver Rathbone rose to his feet and walked forward with almost feline grace.

"Mrs. Sandeman, your memory is much to be commended, and we owe a great deal to your accuracy and sensitivity."

She gazed at him with sharpened interest. There was an element in him which was more elusive, more challenging and more powerful than O'Hare, and she responded immediately.

"You are most kind."

"Not at all, Mrs. Sandeman." He waved his hand. "I assure you I am not. Did this amorous, greedy and conceited footman ever admire other ladies in the house? Mrs. Cyprian Moidore, for instance? Or Mrs. Kellard?"

"Ihave no idea." She was surprised.

"Or yourself, perhaps?"

"Well—" She lowered her eyelashes modestly.

"Please, Mrs. Sandeman," he urged. "This is not a time for self-effacement.''

"Yes, he did step beyond the bounds of what is—merely courteous."

Several members of the jury looked expectant. One middle-aged man with side whiskers was obviously embarrassed.

"He expressed an amorous regard for you?" Rathbone pressed.

"Yes."

"What did you do about it, ma'am?''

Her eyes flew open and she glared at him. "I put him in his

place, Mr. Rathbone. I am perfectly competent to deal with a servant who has got above himself."

Beside Hester, Beatrice stiffened in her seat.

"I am sure you are." Rathbone's voice was laden with meaning. "And at no danger to yourself. You did not find it necessary to go to bed carrying a carving knife?"

She paled visibly, and her mittened hands tightened on the rail of the box in front of her.

“Don't be absurd. Of course I didn't!''

"And yet you never felt constrained to counsel your niece in this very necessary art?''

"I—er—" Now she was acutely uncomfortable.

"You were aware that Percival was entertaining amorous intentions towards her." Rathbone moved very slightly, a graceful stride as he might use in a withdrawing room. He spoke softly, the sting in his incredulous contempt. "And you allowed her to be so alone in her fear that she resorted to taking a knife from the kitchen and carrying it to bed to defend herself, in case Percival should enter her room at night."

The jury was patently disturbed, and their expressions betrayed it.

"I had no idea he would do such a thing," she protested. "You are trying to say I deliberately allowed it to happen. That is monstrous!" She looked at O'Hare for help.

"No, Mrs. Sandeman," Rathbone corrected. "I am questioning how it is that a lady of your experience and sensitive observation and judgment of character should see that a footman was amorously drawn towards your niece, and that she had behaved foolishly in not making her distaste quite plain to him, and yet you did not take matters into your own hands sufficiently at least to speak to some other member of the household."

She stared at him with horror.

"Her mother, for example," he continued. "Or her sister, or even to warn Percival yourself that his behavior was observed. Any of those actions would almost certainly have prevented this tragedy. Or you might simply have taken Mrs. Haslett to one side and counseled her, as an older and wiser woman who had had to rebuff many inappropriate advances yourself, and offered her your assistance.''

Fenella was flustered now.

"Of course—if I had r-realized—" she stammered. "But I didn't. I had no idea it—it would—"

"Hadn't you?" Rathbone chaHeftged.

"No." Her voice was becoming shrill. "Your suggestion is appalling. I had not the slightest notion!"

Beatrice let out a little groan of disgust.

"But surely, Mrs. Sandeman," Rathbone resumed, turning and walking back to his place,”if Percival had made amorous advances to you—and you had seen all his offensive behavior towards Mrs. Haslett, you must have realized how it would end? You are not without experience in the world."

"I did not, Mr. Rathbone," Fenella protested. "What you are saying is that I deliberately allowed Octavia to be raped and murdered. That is scandalous, and totally untrue."

"I believe you, Mrs. Sandeman." Rathbone smiled suddenly, without a vestige of humor.

"I should think so!" Her voice shook a little. "You owe me an apology, sir."

“It would make perfect sense that you should not have any idea," he went on. "If this observation of yours did not in fact cover any of these things you relate to us. Percival was extremely ambitious and of an arrogant nature, but he made no advances towards you, Mrs. Sandeman. You are—forgive me, ma'am—of an age to be his mother!"

Fenella blanched with fury, and the crowd drew in an audible gasp. Someone tittered. A juryman covered his face with his handkerchief and appeared to be blowing his nose.

Rathbone's face was almost expressionless.

"And you did not witness all these distasteful and impertinent scenes with Mrs. Haslett either, or you would have reported them to Sir Basil without hesitation, for the protection of his daughter, as any decent woman would."

"Well—I—I..." She stumbled into silence, white-faced, wretched, and Rathbone returned to his seat. There was no need to humiliate her further or add explanation for her vanity or her foolishness, or the unnecessarily vicious exposure of the small secrets of the servants' hall. It was an acutely embarrassing scene, but it was the first doubt cast on the evidence against Percival.

* * * * *

The next day the courtroom was even more tightly packed, and Araminta took the witness stand. She was no vain woman displaying herself, as Fenella had been. She was soberly dressed and her composure was perfect. She said that she had never cared for Percival, but it was her father's house, and therefore not hers to question his choice of servants. She had hitherto considered her judgments of Percival to be colored by her personal distaste. Now of course she knew differently, and deeply regretted her silence.

When pressed by O'Hare she disclosed, with what appeared to be great difficulty, that her sister had not shared her distaste for the footman, and had been unwise in her laxity towards servants in general. This, she found it painful to admit, was sometimes due to the fact that since the death of her husband, Captain Haslett, in the recent conflict in the Crimea, her sister had on a large number of occasions taken rather more wine than was wise, and her judgment had been correspondingly disturbed, her manners a good deal easier than was becoming, or as it now transpired, well advised.

Rathbone asked if her sister had confided in her a fear of Percival, or of anyone else. Araminta said she had not, or she would naturally have taken steps to protect her.

Rathbone asked her if, as sisters, they were close. Araminta regretted deeply that since the death of Captain Haslett, Oc-tavia had changed, and they were no longer as affectionate as they had been. Rathbone could find no flaw in her account, no single word or attitude to attack. Prudently he left it alone.

Myles added little to what was already in evidence. He substantiated that indeed Octavia had changed since her widowhood. Her behavior was unfortunate; she had frequently, it pained him to admit, been emotional and lacking in judgment as a result of rather too much wine. No doubt it was on such occasions she had failed to deal adequately with Percival's advances, and then in a soberer moment realized what she had done, but had been too ashamed to seek help, instead resorted to taking a carving knife to bed with her. It was all very tragic and they were deeply grieved.