The Many Sins of Cris De Feaux (Lords of Disgrace) (15 page)

Although those all help. It is his courage and his kindness and...

‘—it is essential that you keep calm. You are willing, of course, to help the authorities, but you are baffled—’

...as to why I love you when you keep secrets from me and I am not of your world, whatever it is, and you will be gone soon and I will never see you again.

‘Are you listening to a word I’m saying, Tamsyn?’

‘I am baffled,’ she repeated obediently.
Although you make love like an angel. Or perhaps a devil and that helps, too.
‘I will try my best to keep my temper, be helpful but confused. And, if he persists in this nonsense, indignant. I’m a lady and respectable, whatever my late husband might have done. After all, a wife is a mere chattel of her husband’s, is she not? I cannot be held responsible for what Jory did.’

‘If you were ever any man’s
mere chattel
, I will eat my hat.’

Oh, and I adore that rare, rare smile of his.

‘I will have the advantage that, being men, they will assume I am incapable of organised thought or sophisticated planning,’ she said and looked out across the garden to the sea. It was impossible to think when she was looking at Cris, all she could do was count the things about him that mysteriously merged together and made a miracle.

‘I am trying to think of it as a duel, me against Franklin. I must keep a cool head and fight strongly but prudently.’

‘Sensible,’ Cris admitted. ‘And when we do find out what he is about it will be my pleasure to make that duel a reality.’

‘You cannot!’ She spun round so fast that the bench rocked and almost tipped her off on to the grass.

‘Why ever not?’ Cris was suddenly the austerely aloof, distant man who sent a shiver of awe down her spine. ‘He has behaved in the most appalling way towards a lady, therefore it is the duty of any gentleman to call him to account.’

‘If he murdered poor Mr Ritchie, then he will hang. Would you cheat justice and spare him the ordeal of the courtroom and what follows?’ she asked fiercely, knowing as she spoke that what she felt so passionate about was Cris’s safety, not the abstract idea of justice.

‘I doubt he pulled the trigger himself. Why should he when there are so many villains to hire in the rookeries of London who would cut their own grandmothers’ throats if you made it worth their while?’

‘You mean he could get away with this?’

‘I think it very likely. After all, what proof do we have?’

‘There may be some after the inquest,’ Tamsyn told herself that rushing to meet trouble was not going to help, she had enough to cope with as it was, not least was the prospect of a broken heart in the very near future.

Chapter Fifteen

‘T
his court will rise for Sir James Trelawney.’

Awkward in their best clothes and solemn with responsibility, the jury shuffled to their feet from their double row of benches. The audience, jam-packed into the main part of the Ram’s Head Inn’s little assembly room, stood, too, nudging and whispering and staring at the front row, where all those to be called as witnesses were seated.

Sir James took his seat behind the table set on the rather shaky dais that the local joiner and coffin-maker had knocked up hastily, fussed with his cushion, his pen and his papers, donned a pair of spectacles and cleared his throat.

‘Silence in court!’ The parish constable was enjoying himself. ‘Be seated!’ He turned to Sir James, who nodded. ‘Call the first witness! Thomas Gedge!’

‘I be ’ere, Fred Dare, you old fule. Sitting right in front of you. No call for yelling.’ An elderly man in a smock and sea boots got to his feet.

‘You stand there.’ Red about the ears, the constable pointed to the witness stand, another of the carpenter’s constructions. ‘And here’s the Bible.’ He handed it over, read the oath, still at full volume, and sat down.

‘...so help me God,’ the old man concluded.

‘You are Thomas Gedge, fisherman?’

‘Aye, sir.’

‘And you frequent Cat’s Nose Bay?’

‘Don’t know about frequent it. I keeps me fishing boat there and me shed with me nets and all.’

Sir James glowered. ‘And were you there on the night of Wednesday last and for what purpose?’

‘Aye, I was there, having a bit of a smoke in me shed. The wife’s mother had come to visit and a man can’t get any peace in his own home with two women clacking. It was a good, warm night, so down I go to the cove. I was there from when the church clock struck eight to past one.’

‘Aye, and with a brandy bottle, too, I’ll be bound!’ someone called from the back.

‘Silence in court! And you could see the beach?’

‘The door to the shed was open, but I can’t see the beach on account of the shed’s with the others, up aways. I could see the track down to the beach.’

‘And did you see anyone go down it that night?’

‘Aye, I did that.’ A whisper of interest ran round the room. ‘It was that new Riding Officer, Ritchie. Recognised his hat and the cocky way he has...had...of walking. And the moonlight caught his face as he went past. I thought to myself, you’ll find no one down there to bother, you interfering devil, you.’

‘Did you see anyone else?’

‘I did. About ten minutes after, it was. Figure in a cloak, all muffled up and walking quietly, like they didn’t want to be seen.’

‘And is that person in this court?’

‘How would I know, your worship? He was all muffled up, like I said.’

‘Was it a man?’

‘Could be. Might have been a tallish woman, I suppose.’ He shrugged. ‘I had a bit of a doze. Then I woke up and was just thinking the mother-in-law would have gone to bed and it’d be safe to go home when I heard a shot. I thought about it a bit, then I closed the door of the shed and waited until I heard footsteps going up the track. Then I waits some more and then I went to have a look and there was Ritchie on the beach in the moonlight with a bullet in his back and blood all over the stones.’

‘Why did you wait before going out to look, man?’ Sir James asked irritably.

‘Because I didn’t want a bullet in me head, of course. Then I went and got Fred Dare out of bed, much good he was.’

‘That will be all. You may go back to your seat. Frederick Dare, take the stand.’

Gabriel Stone leant forward as the constable took the oath and murmured across Tamsyn to Cris, ‘And that is it? One cloaked figure of indeterminate sex?’

‘There will be more,’ Cris said.

The constable recounted being woken, getting dressed, fetching some of the local men in support and finding the body on the beach.

‘And were there any traces of the murderer to be seen?’

‘Aye, there was, your worship. There was an object lying under the body. It’s that there object in the black bag before you, your worship. We carried the body up to the church, and woke up the vicar, then I went to tell you and you told me to search the neighbourhood for any strangers or news of anyone behaving suspiciously, and that I did. That night I didn’t find anyone, but the next day I came across this traveller in the inn and he said he’d been out for a walk and had seen something odd. So I brought him to see you, Sir James.’

‘Thank you, Dare. You may stand down and call the next witness.’

The local doctor came to the stand and explained in lengthy and gruesome detail that the deceased had been killed by one bullet to the heart and showed no other signs of injury.

Tamsyn found she was watching the proceedings, slow and rustic and ponderous, as though they were a rather bad play. She ought to feel something, fear, or curiosity at least, but all she felt was numb.

Beside her Cris whispered, ‘Now we come to the interesting witness.’

A thin man with a very ordinary, instantly forgettable face, took the oath and stood clutching his hat and staring stolidly at the coroner. He had brown hair pulled back in an old-fashioned queue, brown eyes, a brown suit of decent, but plain clothes.

‘State your name and occupation and business in this parish.’

‘Paul Goode, solicitor’s clerk of Gray’s Inn Road, London.’ Tamsyn felt a sudden prickle of interest. The accent was southern, the man a total stranger. ‘I was sent by my employer, Mr Ebenezer Howard, on a business enquiry, which took me further down the coast from here. I was making my way back and stayed overnight at this inn, your worship. I’d been hoping to get to Barnstaple, but the roads defeated my old horse, so I rested us both up.’

‘Tell us what you might that will throw light on this business, Mr Goode.’

‘I went for a walk after my supper, sir. I wasn’t sleepy. It was a nice moonlit night and the seaside is a novelty for a city man like myself. I wasn’t sure where to go, but I saw a man walking down the track that I discovered later led to the beach and I followed, assuming if he was going down it, it must head somewhere. I got a stone in my shoe, so I sat down on the bank and took it off and someone else passed me. I followed along, rather cautiously, sir, because I thought maybe I would be interrupting a tryst and that would be a bit embarrassing.’

‘A tryst?’ Sir James looked at him over his spectacles and Tamsyn thought he was tense now, like a weasel about to leap on its prey. ‘An odd word to choose, Mr Goode, for a possible meeting between two men. You may stand down, but do not leave the room.’

‘Why doesn’t he hear all the man’s evidence?’ Tamsyn whispered to Cris.

‘No idea. He’s stage-managing the whole performance.’

‘Call Mrs Tamsyn Perowne to the stand.’

Cris rose with her, his hand under her arm until she turned with a smile and shook her head. ‘I’ll be fine.’

Once she was no longer waiting it was easier. She took the stand, repeated the oath, folded her hands on the rail in front of her and turned the calmest face she could manage on Sir James.

‘You are Mrs Tamsyn Perowne, widow of Jory Perowne, leader of the Silver Hand gang of smugglers.’

‘I am Jory Perowne’s widow,’ she agreed. ‘But I have never heard his relationship with that gang confirmed in a court of law.’

‘You knew the victim of this murderous attack?’

‘I had met Lieutenant Ritchie on one occasion. He came to Barbary Combe House and introduced himself. A brief conversation on the front lawn was the extent of our encounter. I have not seen him before or after that.’

‘And did he issue a warning to you?’

‘He told us that a gang of smugglers was operating. I took that to be a caution in case they proved violent.’

‘Did you, indeed? A curious construction to put on it, considering your late husband’s business.’ When she merely stood impassive and waited for the next question he snapped, ‘And who is this
us
you speak of?’

‘Myself, my relative Miss Holt, with whom I live, her companion, Miss Pritchard, our staff and two gentlemen who are our guests. You met them the day before yesterday. Mr Defoe and Mr Stone are sitting in the front row now.’

‘Did your husband wear a charm around his neck?’

‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘A silver hand on a silver chain.’

‘And is it unique?’

She had expected a question about the whereabouts of Jory’s charm, but she answered immediately, knowing that hesitation would only create a bad impression. ‘I owned one also. A replica with an engraved message that was a gift from my husband.’

‘And where is it now?’

‘I have no idea. It appears to have been stolen from the locked chest it was kept in.’

There was a whispering of excitement and speculation in the court. ‘Stolen, you say? It must be a valuable piece, why has no reward been offered for it?’

‘Because its loss has only just been discovered.’ As soon as she spoke she felt a twinge of fear.

Sir James smiled. ‘Indeed? Constable, show the witness the contents of the black bag, then pass it to the jury.’

Tamsyn did not need to see the river of silver links that spilled into Dare’s calloused hand to know what this was, but she waited until he handed it to her and made a point of examining it carefully. ‘This is the hand and chain given to me by my late husband. It is engraved J and T with a heart.’ She let it run back into the constable’s outstretched hand and wondered if she should remove her handkerchief and permit herself a brave sniff and a dab at her eyes, but the thought of play-acting sickened her. Let them believe her or not, she would give them the truth and nothing else.

The coroner waited until the hand had been passed along the rows of jurors and returned to him. ‘This chain and the attached charm were found clasped in the dead hand of Lieutenant Ritchie as he lay on the beach at Cat’s Nose Bay. As you have heard, gentlemen of the jury, the witness has identified them as her property.’

Put there to incriminate me.
The words were almost out of her mouth before she caught them. The jury did not need her to underline the conclusion they were being led to.

‘You know the cove in question, Mrs Perowne?’

‘Certainly. I visit it occasionally. I believe the last time this year was in March when a fishing boat belonging to me was washed up there.’ It felt like standing on a frozen pond, hearing the ice cracking, feeling it shift under her feet, wanting to run. But she had to stand there, stay calm, not defensive.

‘Mr Goode, return to the front of the court. Remember you are still on oath.’

The whispering increased as the thin man made his way forward and stood, perfectly composed in his respectable drabness, looking at the coroner.

‘You told the court that you saw a cloaked figure following Lieutenant Ritchie down to the beach. Can you describe that man?’

‘I can, sir. But it was no man, it was a woman. She was wearing a cloak, but the hood was down and I could see her plain in the moonlight. Quite tall she was.’

The whispering broke out into exclamations. Tamsyn’s hands hurt and she looked down to see them locked on the rough bar at the front of the stand. A split ran all along the seam of the right index finger of her glove.

‘Silence in court! And can you see that woman in this courtroom?’

Goode hesitated, bit his lip. ‘It bleaches the colour out, does the moonlight.’

A nice touch
, she thought, wondering at her own detachment.

‘Try, Mr Goode,’ the coroner said with an encouraging smile.

The man turned to the stand and made a show of studying her. She made herself stare back, expressionless, while her stomach seemed to drop into a pit and her heart rate kicked up to a gallop.

‘Er...if the lady could turn sideways to me?’

‘Mrs Perowne, please do as the witness asks.’

She made her feet move although her legs were trembling, turned to face Sir James, lifted her chin and met the coroner’s gaze steadily.

‘That’s her! That’s the lady I saw. I couldn’t mistake that profile, the moonlight lit her up, clear as day.’

Tamsyn turned back slowly to face him. ‘Liar,’ she said without emphasis, wondering if she was about to faint. The coroner’s words to the witness were a blur of sound as she focused on breathing, on keeping the blackness at the edge of her vision from moving in.

‘Mrs Perowne, you heard the witness. What have you to say?’

‘He is either lying or he is mistaken. I was not at the cove, I was at home at Barbary Combe House.’ As she spoke the reality hit her. She had been at home, but not in the house. She had been in the lookout with Cris, making love, lying in his arms, tiptoeing back into the house at three in the morning.

Something must have shown in her face, for Sir James leaned forward. ‘Are you certain of that, Mrs Perowne?’ When she nodded he smiled, thinly. ‘And can you prove it?’

‘No,’ she said bleakly.

‘Yes,’ said Cris Defoe, coming to his feet.

Sir James narrowed his eyes at him. ‘You wish to present evidence, sir?’

‘I wish to take the stand and swear to an alibi for Mrs Perowne.’

‘Very well. Mrs Perowne, return to your seat. Mr... Defoe, is it not? Take the stand.’

‘No,’
she whispered as Cris passed her.
‘It will ruin me.’

Cris took the oath. She stared, uncomprehending, as Gabriel Stone sat beside her muttering, ‘Bloody fool, he must know where this will end up.’

‘Give the court your name, if you please, sir.’

‘Anthony Maxim Charles St Crispin de Feaux of Avenmore Park and St James’s Square.’

‘The—’

‘Yes,’ Cris said abruptly and with emphasis. ‘I believe that is sufficient to identify me.’

‘I understand. Well, m...sir, what have you to add to the proceedings?’

‘I do not know who Mr Goode saw, but Mrs Perowne was with me that night.’

‘We are aware that you are a guest in the house and that you would expect your hostess to be there in her own chamber after the party had broken up and gone to bed. However, the shooting occurred at past one in the morning.’

‘When I say that Mrs Perowne was me that night, I mean that I was with her,’ Cris said, his face an austere mask. ‘We were together. All night. Do you require me to draw you a diagram, Sir James?’