Minor Corruption (20 page)

“Mrs. Edwards, I believe you attended a
birthday party at the beginning of September for Miss Eliza Baldwin
out at Spadina?”

“I did,” Beth said, certain now where this
was going. She braced herself.

“Did the defendant, Mr. Seamus Baldwin, make
an appearance at that party?”

“Yes.”

“Describe the nature and course of that
appearance for the members of the jury.”

Beth hesitated.

“Begin with his arrival, please, and go from
there.”

“Mr. Baldwin arrived doin’ a jig and playin’
an Irish fife. He was dressed like an elf or a leprechaun.”

“This child-like behaviour was intended to
entertain the children?”

“Yes. And it did. They laughed and pranced
around him.”

“What else did he do to entertain them?”

Marc suddenly realized that the reason
Cambridge had not bothered to interview Beth was that someone else
at that party had already filled in the details. But who? There
were no outsiders that day. Surely not Fabian Cobb. But it could
have been Edie. From Cobb’s report of his interview with her, Marc
got the impression that she had a love-hate relationship with the
old man. If he had, in his recent depression, not paid her
sufficient attention, then she might have tattled to spite him. She
came into St. James cathedral every Sunday with the family. There
would be ample time for her to slip away and make a statement. He
turned his attention back to the witness-stand, where Beth had
started to answer Cambridge’s question.

“He played Blind Man’s Buff with the children
at the party.”

“And he was the blind man?”

“Yes.”

“Who else joined in the game?”

“The two housemaids, Betsy Thurgood and Edie
Barr.”

Cambridge paused, glanced meaningfully at the
jurors, and said, “And who invited them to join?”

Beth sighed, but she had little choice: she
would tell the truth, if she was compelled to. “They asked if they
could join, and when Miss Partridge objected, Mr. Baldwin gave them
permission. And they joined in.”

“Mr
Seamus
Baldwin?” Cambridge said as
if he were introducing that name for the first time.

“Yes. He wanted them to enjoy themselves,
too.” It was the best she could do.

“In the course of this children’s game, the
Blind Man tries to capture one of the participants, who taunt and
tease him. Am I correct?”

“You are. But whenever Mr. Baldwin came close
to catching a child, he’d pretend to stumble and lose his hold. The
children roared with laughter. They were having a wonderful
time.”

“I’m sure they were. There’s a little child
in all of us. But at some point did Mr. Baldwin actually catch a
participant?”

“Yes. He caught Edie Barr, one of the
housemaids.”

“I see. No stumbling there, I take it?”

Marc grimaced but kept quiet. Beth took the
question as rhetorical and waited, apprehensively.

“One variation of this game, as I understand
it, is that when someone is captured, the children cry out, ‘Who is
it? You’ve got to tell us who you’ve caught!’ Did that happen on
this occasion?”

“Yes. The children ordered him to name the
person he’d captured.”

“Describe, as precisely as you can recall,
how he went about it.”

“Well, first of all, I’m sure he knew who
he’d caught. I was told he could actually see through the scarf he
used for a mask. That was so he could pretend to stumble and
stagger and play ignorant so he could entertain the children with
his pratfalls. So as she stood stock still, he moved his hands up
and down her figure, keeping them deliberately away from touching
her. Again, the children howled at his exaggeratin’.”

“Then what happened?”

“I think Edie lost her balance and then –
fell against . . . Mr. Baldwin.”

“Fell into his hands so that he was grasping
her? Where?”

Beth waited as long as she could before
saying, “Around the hips.”

“And how can you be sure it was Miss Barr who
fell into those hands and not the hands that moved most improperly
against
her
?”

“I can’t. But it looked to me like she lost
her balance. Like it was an accident.”

“Did he remove his hands right away? Sort of
jump back startled? After all, you say he could see everything that
was happening through the scarf.”

“No. He
seemed
surprised, but we
couldn’t see his eyes. He just kind of held her for a moment,
perhaps to stop her from tippin’ over. Then he went back to his
pretend business.”

“So whatever did happen, the result was
improper, wouldn’t you say? A mature gentleman is running his hands
up and down a sixteen-year-old’s female figure in a sort of obscene
pantomime and the next thing you know, he’s got both hands on her
haunches – ”

“Milord!” Marc had sprung to his feet, eyes
blazing.

“Mr. Cambridge, that’s quite enough of that.
The jury will ignore those latter remarks.”

Not only had the jury heard the remarks,
Cambridge had left the dramatic raising of his voice until the very
last minute of the morning’s testimony. And it was doubly
effective. Now, rebuked, he spoke in a very soft, almost seductive
tone as he said to Beth, “Tell us, Mrs. Edwards, how you felt as
you observed this incident. Not what you thought later, but what
feeling ran through you as you witnessed these sexual
intimacies.”

Beth dropped her head, looking down and well
away from Marc as she spoke the truth: “I felt a kind of revulsion,
like I was about to be sick to my stomach.”

ELEVEN

Marc did his best to undo the damage that Beth’s
testimony had wrought. All he could do was have her describe the
joy the children found in Uncle Seamus’s antics and his obvious
pleasure in it. He had her describe the old man’s gentlemanly
demeanour upon their arrival and his courtesy on their leaving when
he had fetched Beth’s shawl in the butler’s momentary absence. Beth
looked shaken – surprised perhaps by her own sudden candour – but
she kept her composure, as was her wont in trying circumstances.
Thankfully, the court broke for the noon recess.

In the chambers of Baldwin House the morning
session was mulled over by Marc, Robert, Hincks and Dr. Baldwin.
Beth joined Brodie and Diana Ramsay for luncheon, and planned to
sit with them behind Marc in the afternoon session.

“Well,” Hincks began, “Neville Cambridge has
taken the Tory gloves off for this one.”

“In his sly sort of way,” Robert said.

“Imagine, calling those two old farts you had
the misfortune to invite to Spadina last August,” Hincks said. “But
your cross was brilliant, Marc.”

“Thank you. But having my Beth come on right
after didn’t help, did it?”

“Cambridge knew you couldn’t bring yourself
to make your own wife look foolish or mistaken.”

“Yes,” Dr. Baldwin agreed. “And you were
wise, Marc, not to go directly at her evidence. At least the jury
left with images of happiness and courtesy in their heads.”

“We’re just getting started,” Marc said. “We
haven’t even got close to the rape charge.”

“You’ll have to excuse me,” Dr. Baldwin said.
“They’re holding Seamus in a cell next door to the court. They’re
being very solicitous, but I must go to him soon.”

The room went silent as the full weight of
the situation struck each man, and none more than Marc Edwards.

***

The Crown surprised everyone but Marc in calling
Auleen Thurgood to the stand. Marc had a pretty good idea why she
had been included, and it was not to corroborate her husband’s
testimony, for she was more likely to muddy it and blunt the effect
it had already had.

“Mrs. Thurgood, when Constable Cobb came to
interview you after the inquest into your daughter’s death several
weeks ago, he asked to look over your daughter’s room, did he
not?”

Auleen twisted a cotton hanky in her fingers
and answered in a tiny, strained voice, “Yes, sir, he did. And I
said he could.”

“Milord, on that occasion Constable Cobb
found a note in the girl’s room that pertains directly to this
case. I’d like to enter it as exhibit A along with the constable’s
signed attestation as to the circumstances in which it was
found.”

“So done,” said Mr. Justice Gavin Powell.

“Now, Mrs. Thurgood,” Cambridge said in a
tone as smooth as summer molasses, “would you kindly read the note
aloud and then tell me in whose hand it has been penned.”

In her shaky voice, Auleen read the note to
the court:

Dear Uncle:

Thank you for the five pound note. It’s a

lifesaver and you are an angel. I love you.

XOXOX

Betsy

P.S. See you soon at Spadina.

At the phrase “I love you” she let out a small sob,
paused, gathered her strength, and finished reading.

“In whose hand was this written, Mrs.
Thurgood?” Cambridge prompted.

“My Betsy’s. I’d know it anywheres.”

There was an audible intake of breath among
the jurors, and elsewhere.

“Now let’s see if you can tell me to whom it
was intended to be sent, but alas never was.”

“That’s clear, ain’t it?” Auleen said,
letting the tears flow through her words. “Mr. Seamus Baldwin –
”

“Milord!”

“The jury will ignore that remark,” the judge
said.

“It is addressed to ‘uncle,’ is it not?”
Cambridge said gently, as if he were quizzing a shy schoolgirl.

“Yes, it is.”

“Does Betsy have an uncle?”

“She did, but they all died.”

“To what does the word ‘Spadina’ refer?”

“To the Baldwins’ big house, Spadina.”

“And is there someone up there commonly
called ‘uncle’ by those who know him?”

“There is. That’s what she called Mr. Seamus
Baldwin: ‘Uncle Seamus’.”

All eyes turned up to the dock. Uncle Seamus
was slumped in the arms of the bailiff’s deputy, apparently unaware
of the discussion of his nickname.

“So we may assume that this is a note
addressed to that gentleman, the defendant?”

“That is for the jury to assume or not, Mr.
Cambridge,” the judge said.

“Indeed, sir. My apologies. Now, Mrs.
Thurgood, the letter thanks the so-called ‘uncle’ at Spadina for
lending Betsy five pounds. Did you know about this
transaction?”

“No, sir, we did not. And if we had, we’d’ve
been very cross with Betsy and – ” She stopped to dab her eyes with
the well-wrung hanky.

“So this was a secret transaction?”

Marc wanted to interrupt, but there was
little use. Cambridge was going to get his way on the thank-you
note. And gain a lot of ground in the process.

“Did you in recent weeks, madam, ever see a
five-pound note in your home?”

“Yes, we did. Burton and me saw one waved at
us by Mrs. Trigger when she come out of Betsy’s room after stickin’
her with a rusty needle!” Auleen’s voice, in rising with emotion,
cracked and broke.

Cambridge nodded in sympathy and, slyly, left
well enough alone. That the jury would see the appropriate
connections between Uncle Seamus, the banknote, its purpose and its
reappearance was almost certain. He moved elsewhere.

“‘I love you,’ Betsy says here. Did you know
that your fifteen-year-old daughter was in love with a
sixty-year-old gentleman?”

Marc winced again. Cambridge’s cunning was
impressive.

“’Course not! We’d’ve put a stop to it if we
had! We thought she’d be safe up at Spadina. Dr. Baldwin’s such a
fine, religious gentleman, we never dreamed – ”

“I understand, madam, perfectly. Thank you
for answering my questions under such difficult circumstances.”

It was Marc’s turn. Again he was facing a
witness who had won over the jury and had got them believing that
Uncle Seamus had financed an abortion for a minor he may or may not
have raped but certainly and subsequently had seduced into loving
him.

“Mrs. Thurgood, in your experience, do
youngsters ever use the word ‘love’ in ways we don’t think of as
‘romantic’?”

Auleen was puzzled by the question and a
little fearful of what was to come, but managed to reply, “I guess
they do.”

“Like saying they just
love
a certain
neighbour or a favourite aunt or uncle?”

“Yes. I see what you mean. Like lovin’
strawberries or ice cream?”

The jurors laughed politely, to Marc’s
satisfaction.

“Exactly. Young people use the word in a
variety of ways, don’t they?”

“Milord, counsel is leading the witness.”

“You are, Mr. Edwards. Please move on.”

“In this note, Betsy refers to the addressee
as an ‘angel.’ ‘You’re an angel,’ she says. What does that suggest
to you about her feelings towards this ‘uncle’?”

“Milord, the witness is in no position to –
”

“I’ll allow it. Proceed, madam.”

“Well, it sounds like Betsy looked up to and
admired this person, and this person may have helped her and been
kind to her.”

“Like a guardian angel?”

“Yes. Betsy was always imaginin’ things and
writin’ stories about them.”

Marc was touched and pleased by Auleen
Thurgood’s naiveté and her trusting nature. With a chance to talk
freely about her dead daughter, she was taking full advantage of
it. Marc sensed that at home her opinions were neither sought nor
respected. He could see Neville Cambridge out of the corner of his
eye trying not to grimace.

“She had certain people she
hero-worshipped?”

“Well, she did go on and on about Mr. Seamus
Baldwin after she’d come home from workin’ at Spadina in July and
before she went up to work there steady.” Auleen looked down. “She
never come home once after she started in – until I got sick.”

Marc realized that the jury had already made
up their minds about who the ‘uncle’ was and that if he were to
probe too hard to unsettle the witness, all would be lost. So he
let the assumption lay where it had landed. At least he had
seriously weakened the Crown’s contention that this was a
love-letter, and had planted the notion that Betsy was highly
imaginative and a hero-worshipper. At worst, the jury might see her
feelings as mere puppy-love, that worship from afar common to
teenaged boys and girls.