Silence in Court (24 page)

“Call Emmeline Andrews!”

Carey came back from her thoughts to watch Mrs. Andrews come up into the box, roundabout and dumpy, her rosy face a little paler than it used to be, but otherwise just the same. Even her clothes. That was her pre-war black coat, with the brown fur collar taken off and one of black astrakhan put on. Carey even knew where the astrakhan had come from, because every spring while she was with the Andrews, she had helped to put away the winter clothes in camphor, and right down at the bottom of the chest there had been an old-fashioned pillow muff of very good astrakhan. Well, there it was, framing Mrs. Andrews's round anxious face. And she was wearing the unbecoming three-cornered hat which she had insisted on buying last winter in spite of all that Carey could say or do—a smart, sophisticated hat that belonged to quite a different type of person. It was never straight, because it had been made to sit on a lot of piled-up curls, and Mrs. Andrews had nothing but a straight, wide parting and a little iron-grey knob behind. Carey thought, “Someone ought to have put it straight for her,” but of course there wasn't anyone to do it now.

And then Mrs. Andrews was taking the oath and gasping out replies to Mr. Telfer, who was doing his best to encourage her. It was obvious that she was going to need a great deal of encouragement. She kept on taking breath, but no matter how much she took there never seemed to be enough to support the words.

Mr. Telfer was very patient and respectful.

“Miss Silence was employed by your late husband as his secretary?”

“Yes.”

“He was a Member of Parliament?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Just a little louder, Mrs. Andrews, if you will. How long was Miss Silence in Mr. Andrews' employ?”

“Three years.”

“Was she still in his employ at the time of his death last August?”

Mrs. Andrews' round blue eyes became suffused with moisture.

“Oh, yes—she was with him.”

“The train in which they were travelling was machine-gunned by enemy aircraft?”

In a voice that was suddenly loud Mrs. Andrews pronounced an opinion. She said, “Very wicked!” and stared challengingly at Mr. Telfer, who said, “Certainly.”

Having found her voice, Mrs. Andrews continued.

“And he saved her life. He covered her with his own body and saved her life.”

Mr. Telfer looked respectfully sympathetic.

“Very gallant conduct, Mrs. Andrews. You must feel very proud of him. And now just a few questions about Miss Silence. During the three years that she was your husband's secretary, did she live with you?”

“Like a daughter,” said Mrs. Andrews, her voice still loud.

“Will you tell us how you found her during those three years of close relationship.”

Mrs. Andrews took her breath and expelled the words.

“A very sweet girl.”

“Had you any fault to find with her conduct?”

“Oh, no—we shouldn't have kept her if we had. My husband was very strict indeed. I don't mean that he was unkind—you mustn't think that. He was the kindest of men, but he expected a very high standard of moral conduct. He was a true Christian himself, and he expected Christian principles in the home.”

“And you were both satisfied with Miss Silence?”

Mrs. Andrews took another breath.

“Sometimes a little heedless,” she said—“but of course young. She did not always remember to see that Mr. Andrews put on his scarf after an evening meeting. I know he could be very obstinate about it, but he should have been made to put it on.”

Mr. Telfer turned his pleasant smile upon the jury and found about half of them smiling too. He turned back to Mrs. Andrews.

“And was that the only complaint you had to make?”

The three-cornered hat slipped a little farther to the left as Mrs. Andrews shook her head.

“She didn't always make him take his ovaltine when he came in. And whether he preferred tea had nothing to do with it, because it isn't the same nourishment, and it's no good anyone saying it is.”

Two more jurymen smiled.

“But apart from these, shall we say, venial omissions, you had no fault to find?”

“A little worldly in her dress.”

Mr. Telfer was unable to suppress a look of astonishment.

“Worldly?”

Mrs. Andrews nodded, bringing the hat forward with a jerk.

“Favour is deceitful and beauty is vain. And though a girl can't help it if the Lord has made her goodlooking, there is no need to go any farther. Hair-curlers! Face-cream! Even lipstick—until my husband put his foot down!”

Mr. Telfer began to feel as if Mrs. Andrews should have been called by the prosecution. He contrived an appealing smile.

“These things are just a fashion, are they not? You said Miss Silence was a very sweet girl.”

“Skirts up to the knees!” said Mrs. Andrews. The full tide of rosy colour had come back to her face. “And don't talk to me about fashion, because it's no excuse! So I told her, ‘We like you very much, my dear, and Mr. Andrews has no fault to find with your work. We are prepared to treat you like a daughter. But there must be no lipstick in this house, or cigarettes, or painted nails. And the skirt of your dress must be at least one inch below the knee, which is the least I consider decent.' And after that we got on very well.”

Mr. Telfer hoped the jury shared his feeling that a girl who had lived for three years with Mrs. Andrews without murdering her could not reasonably be suspected of a homicidal tendency.

“And Miss Silence agreed?”

“Oh, yes.”

“That sounds as if she was both sweet-tempered and obliging. You did say that she was a very sweet girl, didn't you?”

“I'm not making any complaint. I shouldn't have mentioned what I did if it hadn't been for swearing to tell the whole truth.”

Mr. Telfer persevered.

“Then once these small points were amicably settled between you, how did you find Miss Silence?”

“She was all right.”

Mr. Telfer gave it up.

As he sat down, Mr. Lanthony got to his feet.

“Just a moment, Mrs. Andrews. You found Miss Silence inclined to be thoughtless?”

Mrs. Andrews' round blue eyes fixed themselves upon him in a look of surprise.

“Oh, no.”

“Well, you rather conveyed that idea.”

Mrs. Andrews shook her head. The hat slid,

“Certainly not! A very thoughtful girl.”

“Perhaps the word should have been ‘frivolous.'”

He received a glance of reproof.

“Neither my husband nor myself would have kept a frivolous girl in our house for three years.”

A faint smile began to play about Mr. Telfer's lips. Mr. Lanthony ploughed on.

“But you were not altogether satisfied with her behaviour?”

“I don't expect a young girl to be perfect. I pointed out her faults, and she corrected them. We are poor sinful creatures, but she had good Christian principles and she did her best to live up to them. None of us can say more than that. I certainly don't set myself up to judge other people—I have faults of my own.”

Mr. Lanthony appeared staggered. He was observed to blink. But he returned to the charge.

“You say we all have faults. That is quite true. Will you tell us what faults you observed in Miss Silence.”

Mrs. Andrews gave an emphatic nod.

“When she first came to us she had been led away into following worldly fashions, but she was very good-tempered and obliging about giving them up—no sulks, no injured looks. After that we had no fault to find. She was very sweet-tempered and unselfish. We became attached to her.”

Mr. Lanthony, now a deep plum-colour, said hastily, “Thank you, Mrs. Andrews,” and sat down.

If Mr. Telfer had been anywhere except in court he would have hummed a little tune.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

When the court resumed after lunch Jeff Stewart was called. When he had taken the oath he looked across to Carey and smiled.

Hugo Vane rose to examine.

“You are a citizen of the United States?”

“Yes.”

“You are in this country on government business?”

“Yes.”

“What is your connection with Miss Carey Silence?”

“Well, her father's sister married my uncle, so I had an introduction to her when I came over in September. I found she was in hospital after being shot up in the train affair which has been mentioned, and I visited her there whenever I could. When she came to London to Mrs. Maquisten's I got engaged to her.”

“Will you tell us something about your financial position, Mr. Stewart.”

“Well, I am a partner in a concern that has gone over to making aeroplanes. We used to handle automobiles. It is a family concern—my uncle is the other partner. It has always brought in quite a lot of money.”

“Would you call yourself a rich man?”

“I suppose I might be called that.”

“And you say you were engaged to Miss Silence?”

“I am engaged to her.”

The colour ran up into Carey's face and burned there. He looked at her for a moment, and looked away again.

“Miss Silence knew of your financial position?”

Jeff Stewart nodded.

“Oh, yes, she knew.”

“How far had you got in the direction of making plans to get married?”

“Well, we had got to talking about wedding presents. I wanted to give her a mink coat.”

“You had got as far as talking about the wedding?”

“I had.”

“How soon did you propose to get married?”

“Just as soon as Miss Silence would marry me.”

“Was Miss Silence aware of this?”

“She couldn't fail to be aware of it.”

“In these circumstances had she any reason to be anxious about her financial position—or prospects?”

Mr. Stewart said in a very determined voice,

“She knew very well that she could count on me, and on every cent I had.”

“Thank you.”

Hugo Vane sat down.

Sir Wilbury Fossett rose.

“This engagement to Miss Silence—had it been given out?”

“No.”

“Miss Silence was under Mrs. Maquisten's care—had she been informed that you were engaged?”

“No.”

“Had anyone been informed?”

“No—it had only just happened. I had to be out of London.”

“Oh, it had only just happened. Will you tell us when it happened.”

“I met Miss Silence when she arrived in London on the second of November, and I took her out to lunch next day. I talked to her then about getting married.”

“But you didn't tell anyone. Are you quite sure you told Miss Silence?”

Mr. Stewart stood, easily in the box. He had resumed his slight agreeable drawl. He was fighting for Carey's life, but he knew very well that he must not talk as if he were fighting for it. He said,

“Oh, yes, I told her. We talked about wedding presents and what kind of fur coat she would let me give her.”

“And what kind of coat did Miss Silence prefer?”

“She wouldn't say. We kind of got off the track. I was talking about getting married.”

“And what did Miss Silence say to that?”

“She seemed to think she wanted a little more time.”

“But you said you were engaged.”

“I said
I
was engaged. I am. I'm here any time she wants me. She's known that all along.”

“So you are engaged to Miss Silence, but Miss Silence isn't engaged to you?”

“That is entirely for Miss Silence to say.”

“Thank you, Mr. Stewart.”

Sir Wilbury Fossett sat down.

Jeff Stewart turned to leave the box. As Carey's eyes followed him, she heard her own name called aloud:

“Call Carey Silence!”

Her heart began to beat wildly. She had a moment of dreadful panic. The wardress touched her, and she got up obediently. You learned to be obedient in prison. She went down one set of steps and up another, and stood where all those other people had stood, and took the oath as they had taken it:

“I swear by Almighty God to speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

The words left a solemn feeling in her mind. Her heart-beats quieted. She looked at Hugo Vane and thought, “That's all I've got to do—just tell the truth.”

And then he was asking her questions and she heard her own voice answering him, a little shaky at first, but steadying as she went on. He took her through the scenes which had been described so often.

Sunday afternoon and Cousin Honoria showing her the rubies. Hugo Vane asking, “Had Mrs. Maquisten said anything about making you a present of jewellery before this?”

“Yes—there was something about some diamonds.”

“What did you say to that?”

“I said they wouldn't be any good to me because I couldn't wear them.”

“And when she showed you the rubies?”

“She made me try them on, and when she said she was going to leave them to me I said, ‘Oh,
no!
' And Ellen Bridling said I was right—they had belonged to old Mrs. Maquisten and they ought to go to Robert Maquisten or to Honor King. I said, ‘
Please
, Cousin Honoria—' and she told us both to hold our tongues. Afterwards when Ellen was putting the rubies away she took my hand and held it against her cheek and called me a proud, obstinate creature.” Carey's voice shook a good deal on the words.

“Did Mrs. Maquisten in fact give you any jewellery?”

“She gave me a brooch which had belonged to my grandmother.”

“Did she tell you anything about its value?”

“Yes—she said it wasn't valuable at all. It was very pretty. She told me she picked it up in an antique shop and gave it to my grandmother when they were both girls. She said it cost about five pounds. After my grandmother died it came back to her. She said she would like me to have it.”