The Edge of the Fall (51 page)

‘I didn't go exactly very close. I didn't know, you see. Thought he might push me off next.'

The judge leant forward. ‘If the witness could refrain from speculation, please.'

‘Of course, Your Honour. We apologise. So, Mr Werth. You hurried forward. You saw Mr de Witt. And Mrs de Witt?'

‘Oh no, sir. She was gone. Gone over the edge!' There was a low, strangled scream from the gallery and someone shouted for air. There was a flurry of doors and voices. The judge looked up, his face impassive. ‘One moment, please, before we continue, Mr Werth. An onlooker requires some air.'

There were further voices, men's. ‘This way, madam,' one said. The judge touched his papers.

The doors closed and the hall was silent once more.

‘Thank you, Your Honour,' said Mr Cedric. ‘Now, Mr Werth, if you could go through this for me, one more time. The young lady was not standing on the cliff?'

‘No, sir. She had fallen over the cliff. I didn't look, sir. It wasn't my opinion that she'd be hanging on somewhere. I didn't think. I just knew – she's
gone over
!' There was another shriek from the back of the court, more shuffling and an opening of the door. The clerk demanded quiet once more.

‘The young lady was not there,' said Mr Cedric, raising an eyebrow. ‘Dear me. How was Mr de Witt behaving at this point?'

‘He was standing with his back to me, looking out. I couldn't say what his expression was.'

‘Did he look upset? As if he were screaming out or crying?'

‘No, sir. He was just standing there, quite upright. I think he was talking to himself'

‘And he wasn't flinging himself down to the ground, trying to
see over in the safest way. I believe that
is
the safest way, to spread your body over the ground, lean out. And he wasn't doing that?'

‘No, sir.' Celia looked up and realised that two of the journalists in the front row of the press box were not scribbling like the rest but looking directly at her and Emmeline. She realised they were looking for a reaction. She wanted to shake her head at them. Instead she looked away from them, towards the judge.
I won't cry for you
, she wanted to say.
You can find a story from somewhere else
.

‘He was just standing there?'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Dear me. You would think that a man who had just seen his wife go over the edge would be distraught, would you not?'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘You would think he'd be tearing his hair out, screaming. Some men might even be so upset that they'd try to get down after her and have to be restrained. But he was doing none of those things?'

‘He was just standing there, sir.'

‘Well. And then what happened?'

‘People came then. I think they heard my wife screaming. There was an officer too. I stood there for a bit longer. Mr de Witt didn't move. Then the officer approached him and took his arm. He took him away.'

‘He took him away. Surely Mr de Witt must have protested? Surely no man could bear to leave his beloved wife at the bottom of a cliff? You would scream, beg, say you needed to be with her, beg them to save her. Wouldn't you?'

The judge cleared his throat. ‘Mr Cedric.'

‘I'm sorry, Your Honour. But I am simply surprised. Mr de Witt was not possessed by madness at what he had seen, shock and terror, like anyone here might be. He was very calm. Mr Werth?'

‘He was very calm, sir, you are quite right.'

‘And did you catch a look at his face as they led him away?'

‘I did, sir. His face was still. He didn't even seem to see me.'

‘Goodness me. And then what happened? Did you see him again after that?'

‘No, sir. I waited for a minute, but more police officers came
then and I thought I should rejoin my wife. We returned to the town. She was very shaken up, sir.'

‘Quite understandable. Anyone would be upset after witnessing such an event. And did you see Mr de Witt again?'

‘No, sir. I never saw him again.'

‘Not until today.'

Mr Cedric wandered around the witness box. His face was stern with concentration. ‘Now, sir, I have one more question. Why, exactly, did you not come forward with this evidence at the time? You were not ill, Mr Werth?'

‘I was not, sir.'

‘And yet you waited for almost five years to give it. There is a reason for that?'

Mr Werth hung his head. ‘I'd rather not say, sir.'

‘I am afraid you have to, Mr Werth.'Mr Cedric looked sorrowful, almost comically so.

Mr Werth looked up. ‘Yes, sir. I am sorry for it. But at the time, the lady was not my wife. She was the wife of another. A violent man, sir. I could not have it known that we were keeping company. He died last year in a fight and she and I were married. Then I went to the police.'

‘So you understandably kept quiet because you thought her husband would be angry with the lady who is now your wife? You wanted to protect her.'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘An honourable impulse, of course, but a wrong one. You accept that now.'

‘Yes, sir. I – and Matilda – we are very sorry for it, sir.'

‘Well, I am sure everyone here would understand. Thank you, Mr Werth. You have been most helpful. We are very grateful for your time and your account. Your witness, Mr Bird.' He returned to his seat, nodded to his clerk.

‘This is terrible,'whispered Emmeline.

‘Don't let them see,' Celia whispered back. ‘We'll talk about it later.' She gazed ahead, looking at the judge. She saw nothing but a slight exasperation with the upper gallery, who were talking
loudly. Arthur was sitting, looking paler than ever.
Why didn't we listen to you?
she wanted to say.
Why didn't we find the man who was following Louisa?
She wanted to cry and forced herself to look away before the newspapers saw. She stared at the policeman to the right of Arthur, who appeared to be sucking something out of his tooth.

‘Silence!' called the clerk, once more.

Mr Bird sauntered forward. So relaxed! Why had they thought he would be a good idea? They'd been so stupid. So completely and utterly stupid. Celia watched Mr Bird ask inconsequential questions of Mr Werth about what he could and couldn't see. None of it made any impression. The people in the gallery above were shuffling, the jury were gazing vacantly. Everyone had had the story – that
the young lady had gone over the cliff
– and they weren't listening to anything else. Celia wanted to put her head in her hands. She clenched Emmy's arm, holding it hard under the cover of their shawls.

Then Mrs Werth came forward, a respectable little woman in a dark suit and hat, looking as far from an adulteress as you could be. Celia's heart sank. Mr Cedric interviewed her and she backed up every word of her husband's story.

‘I heard the cry,' she said. ‘I heard the poor lady cry out. My husband rushed forward and I was too shocked. I fell to the ground. I saw him run forward. I was afraid he might be pushed over too, I was so afraid. I was weeping.'

‘I'm sure you were,' said Mr Cedric sympathetically. ‘I'm sure you were terrified. You were so afraid for your husband's safety. As any wife would be!'

At this, Mrs Werth burst into pitiful tears. ‘I was so afraid!' she said, through hiccuping sobs. Celia heard her sobs echo around the hall and saw nods of sympathy in the gallery. It was hopeless, she thought, hopeless. Arthur was going to be hanged by Mrs Werth's tears. She looked at the woman crying, shoulders shaking, holding a handkerchief to her streaming eyes.

THIRTY-SEVEN

London, February 1926

Celia

‘It has been a little more difficult than I expected,' said Mr Bird. ‘But, still, dear Miss de Witt, it is all without weight and certainty.' Celia had gone straight to the chambers after the end of that day in a taxi. Mr Bird had not yet arrived. She told the clerks that she'd wait for him, and after an hour, he arrived. While she'd been waiting, a dark-haired, very pretty girl in blue had introduced herself as his assistant secretary, Miss Sillen. Celia supposed she was twenty, no more.

‘Thank you, Miss Sillen,' Mr Bird said when he arrived. He closed the door behind Celia. ‘She is an excellent secretary. Firstrate brain. Shame that she is of the fairer sex. I could do a lot with her if she were a man. Now,' he said, settling down in his chair behind his desk. ‘What is it I can do for you?'

‘I'm worried about the trial,' she said.

‘Oh, do not worry, Miss de Witt. The first week is always the most arduous. That man is all that the prosecution has. When the jury is weighing everything up, they will ask themselves – is this sufficient to convict? All without weight and certainty.'

He'd said the same after the first day.

‘And I am pleased to say it is surely not sufficient to convict. In this country, we need to prove beyond reasonable doubt. And one man's word on a windy cliff is not sufficient. As all the others have told us, Arthur was fond of his wife. The point about the baby was a master stroke.'

‘Louisa must have been mistaken. If the doctor found nothing.'

‘Well, whatever. Or maybe he misheard.'

‘Do you think he lied? Made it up?'

‘Some men on the stand do. Anyway, it has been established: there was absolutely no reason to kill his wife.'

‘But they were trying to say that he killed her for her money.'

‘Pure speculation. We have a set of character witnesses today and tomorrow. It is hardly Arthur's fault that he was married to a wealthy woman. He cannot be blamed for that. It was, as we will prove, a tragic accident.'

‘He should have come forward sooner, told the truth that he was married.'

‘He should have done. But you cannot be hanged for avoiding the truth.'

‘What about Mrs Werth? They were all moved by her.'

‘Now, Miss de Witt, I often have clients who say this kind of thing. But it doesn't matter what the gallery thinks. Only the jury matters, and His Honour. He, I can assure you, has seen many women cry. He cares only for the facts.'

‘He was watching more carefully when Mr Cedric was speaking. He really was.'

‘But of course, Miss de Witt. It is the job of the prosecution to prove the case. I've had dealings with Judge Grayson-Land before. He's a fair man, very cautious. No judge wants a wrongful death on his conscience and he is one of the most thoughtful of all.' He smiled, gently. ‘Come now, Miss de Witt. I have never lost a man yet. I am not about to start at my advanced age. Why don't you get on home? The best way you can help me is by allowing my clerks and I to go over the papers once more. And you should ensure you sleep well. If you or your sister look tired or unhappy tomorrow, the newspapers will be sure to comment. You need to be fresh-faced, calm.'

She nodded. He was right, she could see that. The best way to help him was by letting him read his papers. It was unreasonable for her to expect him to see the case with the same urgency as she did. This was work for him, a job. She bade him good evening and set off for home. She ignored the newspapers on the way, but
she heard the newspaper boy shouting ‘He Pushed Her Off!' That night Celia slept with Lily in her bed, curling herself around the child, trying to push the thoughts from her mind.

The next morning, the courtroom was even more crammed than it had been before. Celia looked up at the gallery, saw them shuffling and jostling. They'd never all get in, she thought, they'd never manage it. She and Emmeline had the fat man beside them again. He wished her good morning and she didn't respond. Despite what Mr Bird had said, she'd slept badly, fidgeting, her head full of terrible thoughts. Not even Lily, her childish body warm, her breathing innocent, regular, could lull Celia's mind into rest. By five a.m., she'd given up, went to lie in her own bed, staring at the cracks snaking through the ceiling in the dirty half light.

She felt sick, tired, as if everything was at one remove from her, words slower, faces broken down into their parts, nothing whole. She watched the jury file in once more, then the judge. She stared down at Arthur. He didn't look like he'd slept either. He looked worse today, his back stooped, staring at the floor.
Don't let them see!
she wanted to say.
Don't let them!
If only she could tell him what Mr Bird had told her – the only word was Mr Werth's and you couldn't send a man to hang based on
that
.

The morning was for character witnesses, Mr Bird had said. People vouching for Arthur's probity and kindness. First was the headmaster of Arthur's old school. Celia watched as a rake-thin old man was helped to the witness box. He looked frail – but he was sharp when he spoke. Mr Cedric tried but could not distract him from his point. Arthur, he said, was an upstanding, kindly pupil. Yes, he was not a prefect or head boy, but what did that matter? Some people are leaders, some are not. He had cared for others and it had been obvious to him and everyone that Arthur had loved his family.