The Black Mountains (68 page)

Musing, he found himself going back to those days, and in particular to Stella O'Halloran, with her sound common sense and the cheerful brand of good humour that had helped so many men through a crisis in their lives. In different circumstances, he thought, I believe we could have made a go of it, but it had all seemed so thoroughly impossible then. He'd been too busy feeling sorry for himself, and she'd probably never seen him as anything other than another patient.

Where was she nowadays, he wondered. Maybe she had stayed abroad, married some other patient who had had the sense to sweep her off her feet.

Jack shifted the stump that she had helped him to accept, and asked himself why he minded the thought of that so much now, when he'd scarcely given her a thought in two years. Because of the similarity of the situation, he supposed. Because of the way lying awake and worrying had brought it all back.

The first soft light of dawn began to creep through the curtains and he got up, reaching for his leg and strapping it on. He'd go for a walk—anything rather than lie here thinking. He'd watch the city waking up, and then, maybe, things would come into perspective a little, and he would find some fresh resource of courage with which to face whatever the day brought.

WHEN THE court reassembled for the day, later than the previous day, because of some legal nobody seemed anxious to explain, the whole atmosphere seemed hostile, and Jack, looking at the faces of the jury, felt sure that they had already made up their minds. Even the judge, sitting hunched in his throne-like seat above the well of the court, looked as if he deemed the result a foregone conclusion.

Jack, having given his evidence, had been able to go in with Charlotte today, and Amy too had joined them to show family solidarity. Rosa was there again too, still sitting at the opposite side of the gallery, and not exchanging so much as a glance with any of the Halls except Jack.

The morning began with the conductor of the omnibus which had brought Ted to Bristol that fateful afternoon giving evidence as to how he had sat stony-faced the whole journey and given the impression of being in a bad temper when buying his ticket. Winston Walker, who intimated to Jack that the prosecution had probably not realized Ted would be legally represented when they had decided to put the bus conductor in the box, managed to demolish his evidence fairly satisfactorily, but when the prosecution barrister came back for his re-examination the questions he put were so sharply slanted and so pertinent that Jack felt he had undone any good Winston Walker might have done.

By the time the prosecuting counsel had finished, the case he had presented seemed so rational that it was almost impossible to believe that events could have happened any way other than that he described, and when he sat down, Jack was convinced that any last doubt that may have lingered in a juror's mind would have been well and truly dispelled.

Then it was Winston Walker's turn, but it was clear that whatever he said, and however well he said it, without disclosing the mitigating circumstances there was no way in which he could defend Ted against the destructive case that had been built up against him.

Jack felt his spirits sink lower and lower, and when they adjourned for lunch it was a dejected party who crossed the road for a bite to eat. Charlotte, for once, seemed to have nothing to say, and both Jack and Amy felt things were too serious for any trivial small talk.

But, when they made their way back to the courthouse, Jack was surprised to find Rosa Clements deep in conversation with Winston Walker. There was a great deal of shaking of heads and waving of hands, but Jack could not hear what was going on, and at last the barrister came over to him, his pleasant face pink with anxiety.

“That young lady—Miss Clements—was asking me if she could give evidence on Ted's behalf. I've told her …”

“What!” Charlotte demanded, finding her voice and using it to interrupt him. “ Rosa Clements give evidence for our Ted? I've never heard of such a thing!”

“What's she going to say?” Jack asked.

“It's a character reference of some kind, I believe. She won't say exactly what.”

“You can't let her!” Charlotte said sharply.

Winston Walker spread his hands on the wooden dividing bar, pressing down until the knuckles turned white.

“It's unusual, I admit. I'm not even sure if the judge will allow me to introduce an extra witness at this late stage. But if he will, I believe we should let her do it. Our case is so thin, we need all the sympathy we can get.”

“Hah!” Charlotte exploded. “She's looking for a chance to twist the knife, if you ask me. And she'd have cause. There's trouble between her and me—and the boys, too. There's no telling what she'd say to get her own back.”

“Oh, dear, and I was hoping …” Winston Walker began, and Jack laid a hand on his arm. Like the others, he was unsure of what Rosa was going to say, but unlike them, he was quite certain it would be nothing to harm Ted. He remembered her anxiety yesterday, and the expression in her eyes when she had said, “They can't lock him up—I won't let them.” Then, there was the fact that she was here. Charlotte might think she had come to gloat. Jack knew she had not.

And lastly, there was her appearance. To Charlotte and Amy, she was still Rosa, the skinny urchin of doubtful parentage, looked down on by most folk in Hillsbridge. But Jack could see her as the jury would see her—and he knew they would be impressed. She was not only beautiful, she had an air of self-possession that would lend credence to anything she might say.

“Let her go into the witness box, Mr Walker,” Jack said. “No, don't look at me like that, Mam, I haven't taken leave of my senses. Mr Walker's right. Unless we do something drastic our Ted is going to go to prison, maybe for a long time. Do you want that?”

“No, of course not, but …” “Then let Rosa go in the box. If she can.”

THERE WERE consultations and wranglings, but clearly, the prosecuting counsel was so sure of having made out his case that at last he gave way, and it was agreed to let Rosa go into the witness box. She stood there, a slight, proud figure, chin held high, dark eyes challenging all those who looked at her with curious gazes. She took the oath in a voice that was low but firm. But she never so much as glanced in Ted's direction.

“Miss Clements, you have gone into the witness box to tell this court what you know of Ted Hall. Is that correct?” Winston Walker began, somewhat tentatively.

“Yes, I have.”

“You have known him a long while?”

“All my life. He's a very fine man.”

“You sound very fond of him, Miss Clements. So as to put the record straight, I'd like to establish right away what is your relationship with the accused.”

A muscle tightened in her cheek. “None. We were friends for a time. Nothing more.”

“But you believe Ted Hall to be incapable of the kind of violence he is accused of?”

“Not incapable. He has never denied hitting Rupert Thorne. But he wouldn't have done it without a good reason.”

“But we have heard it suggested that the reason was that he was insanely jealous—that Rupert Thorne had stolen his lady friend.”

“That's not true,” Rosa said quietly. “ He was in love with her, yes, and he's in love with her now. That's why the full story has been kept from this court. You see, she was in love with him, too. And it wasn't jealousy that drove Ted to see Rupert Thorne that day. It was anger for what Thorne did to her.”

A murmur began to ripple around the court, but it was quickly silenced as Ted leaped to his feet, leaning forward over the dock.

“No, Rosa! Don't you dare! Keep quiet, do you hear?”

In almost the same instant, the prosecuting counsel realized something was very amiss, and he too rose in haste.

“Objection! Objection, your honour! This witness is trying to muddy the waters. Her evidence is not admissable. How can she possibly know …”

“Just a moment, Mr Scales,” the judge had woken up now, leaning forward to peer at the court, his eyes beady with anticipation. “Just a moment. I think I would like to hear what this witness has to say. I've felt throughout the case that something has been kept back. Proceed, Mr Walker.”

Winston Walker cast an agonized look towards the Hall family. “Your honour …” he began.

“Proceed, Mr Walker, if you please! You have put the young lady into the witness box. I want to hear what she has to say.”

“No!” Ted cried again. The judge turned to silence him.

“Any more interruptions from you, Hall, and you'll be answering an additional charge of contempt of court. Now proceed, please, Mr Walker.”

Winston gesticulated helplessly, searching for words, but Rosa did not wait for him.

“There's no need for him to question me. I'll tell you what I'm here to tell you, and why it's me that's got to do it. It's because Ted Hall is too much of a gentleman to tell the truth, and he's told his family he'll break their necks if they do. But he's got no such hold over me, and I won't stand by and see you send him to prison when he did what any decent man would have done, given the circumstances.”

“Circumstances?” the judge roared. “What circumstances?”

Rosa swallowed once, keeping her eyes straight ahead of her.

“Rupert Thorne killed Becky Church. He gave her something to get rid of his baby, and it killed her,” she blurted.

At her words, the court erupted. Above the gasps and the cries, the prosecuting counsel's voice rose shrilly. “Objection, your honour! Objection!”

“Order! The court will come to order!” The gavel banged and slowly the hubbub became a murmur gradually subsiding into shocked silence.

“Mr Walker, does your witness realize what she is saying?” The judge was leaning forward now. “These are very serious charges …”

“Your honour …” Winston Walker turned anguished eyes on the small figure in the witness box.

“It's true!” Rosa burst out again, as if realizing the forces of law were marshalling themselves to silence her. “ I saw Rebecca Church just a few days before she died. She was in a terrible way—she would be. Her people were religious maniacs …”

“Objection! Objection! This has nothing whatever to do with the case …”

“I think you may safely leave me to be the judge of that,” Mr Justice Haybum retorted. “ I have already said I feel that there is more to this case than meets the eye, and I would like to hear what this young lady has to say.” He turned to Rosa. “ Proceed!”

Rosa hesitated. She had caught sight of Ted's white face, and it had horrified her. “There's nothing more to say, really, except that Ted—Mr Hall—was a prisoner of war when it happened, and it's only now he's found out about it. You can't blame him for doing what he did. It was just his bad luck that Rupert Thorne had this … this funny gland thing. And I thought you ought to know!”

“How do you know all this, Miss … ah … Clements?” the judge asked.

“Jack told me. But they won't say because …”

“You mean it's hearsay.”

She looked at him, puzzled.

“Hearsay evidence, Miss Clements, means that you are repeating something you have been told, rather than something you knew from your own experience. I cannot allow that, I am afraid.”

“But …”

“It's a matter, of course, which the police may wish to investigate further. But for the present … do you have any further questions to put to this witness, Mr Walker?”

“No, your honour.”

“Mr Scales?”

The prosecuting counsel was on his feet in an instant. “ I most certainly have, your honour. This story, I am sure, is entirely without foundation, a slur on the memory of a fine young man. It would be entertaining if it were not so wickedly scandalous. And how this witness can possibly ask the court to accept her story is beyond me. She speaks of matters of which she can know nothing. First, she accuses the deceased of giving an unfortunate girl a child, then, blithely, she talks of ‘ something to get rid of it.' As an innocent young girl, have you the slightest idea of what that might mean, Miss Clements?”

“Well, of course, I have!” Rosa scoffed. “It's some concoction mixed up by a quack, herbs and things.”

“And you know of places where you can get such things?”

“No, but I could find out easily enough if I had a mind to.”

“But you don't know yourself.”

“No, but …”

“Thank you, Miss Clements, that's good enough for me, and for this court, too, I suspect. Now, supposing we turn our attention to the scandalous slurs you have made on the deceased, Mr Thorne. To all who knew him, he was highly respectable, a man of fine qualities, I suggest that you are taking advantage of the fact that he is dead and no longer able to defend himself to imply all manner of things you cannot possibly prove.”

“I'd say the same if I were face to face with him. But that's not likely, is it? If he weren't dead, we wouldn't be here.”

“The point Mr Scales is making, Miss Clements, if I am not mistaken, is that what you are saying is completely unsubstantiated speculation. Not one member of the family of the accused has even hinted that Mr Thorne was in any way connected with the unfortunate girl's death—or, in fact, that she died anything but naturally. As for the slurs on Mr Thorne's character, I take it they too are hearsay. You did not know him personally, did you?”

Rosa swallowed. Her chin came up and she looked at him defiantly.

“You're wrong, sir. I knew him only too well.”

The judge's jaw dropped visibly. “ You did? How?”

There was just the slightest hesitation as Rosa composed herself. But when she spoke, her voice was quite level. “I worked in Bristol during the war—on the trams. Mr Thorne's office was on my route. I met him then. He asked me to have dinner with him. I was very flattered, and I accepted. Afterwards, I regretted it. He wasn't a very nice man to know. He could be very persuasive. And he told me that if anything went wrong, there were ways and means of putting them right again.”