The Widow's Demise (18 page)

“I hope it helps.”

“So do I. We’ve had such a victory in the
election, it would be a shame to see all the goodwill we have
generated in Quebec go down the drain if Gilles is convicted of a
crime he didn’t commit by an English-speaking jury.”

“Well, there’s always tomorrow in court,”
Cobb said helpfully.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Marc said.

The trial resumed on Tuesday morning. The Crown
called Lionel Trueman to the stand. He was sworn in and Sheldon
McBride began his questioning.

“Mr. Trueman, did you attend this autumn’s
Charity Ball?”

“Yes, sir.”

Trueman looked relaxed and confident in the
witness-box.

“And did you have occasion to observe Mrs.
Cardiff-Jones dancing with the defendant, Mr. Gagnon?”

“I did.”

“Would you describe his behaviour towards the
lady as friendly?”

“Milord,” Marc said, rising. “Crown is
leading the witness.”

“The witness may answer yes or no to the
question, Mr. Edwards.”

“I’d say they were very friendly,” Trueman
said.

“What did you actually see that would suggest
they were more than friendly?”

“Well, sir, Gagnon couldn’t take his eyes off
her. And she kept smiling back at him.”

“Did they converse at all?”

“Well, there wasn’t much time during the
dance, but I noticed that whenever they came near to each other,
they would exchange remarks and smile.”

“And did this conversing continue after the
dance had concluded?”

“It did. They went over to the drinks table
and continued to talk and smile at one another.”

“Then what happened?”

“Mrs. Cardiff-Jones stopped smiling. She
seemed annoyed at the continued attention.”

“I see. She was getting weary of Mr. Gagnon’s
blandishments?”

Marc started to rise, but sat down again.

“I’d say so,” said Trueman.

“And how did the defendant react?”

“He seemed annoyed. He turned and walked
away.”

“His entreaties were rejected by the
lady?”

“Milord,” said Marc, “ Mr. McBride is doing
it again.”

“Don’t put words into the witness’s mouth,
Mr. McBride,” said the judge.

“My apologies, Milord.”

McBride tuned back to Trueman. “No further
questions.”

“Mr. Edwards?”

Marc rose to his lectern. “Mr. Trueman, when
the couple were in their set dancing, how far away were you?”

“I was on the other side of the room, about
twenty paces away.”

“And you were able to see the couple smiling
and making eye contact from that distance?”

“Yes, I was.”

“You say they kept their eyes on one another.
Is that not usual in the dance?”

“Possibly. But these were real stares.”

“And does one, following courtly manners,
smile at one’s lady partner?”

“Possibly.”

“And make polite conversation when they meet
in the course of the dance?”

“Possibly.”

“I submit, Mr. Trueman, that what you saw was
not courtship but courtliness. That there was nothing out of the
ordinary going on in that dance.”

“But they kept talking after the dance.”

“Ah, yes. At the drinks table. I was at that
dance and I know that the drinks table is even farther away, across
the room from where you were standing. How could you possibly tell
the nature of that conversation and what expressions played upon
the lady’s face and what words were spoken?”

“Well, I did.”

“You seemed uncommonly interested in Mrs.
Cardiff-Jones.”

“She was a very attractive woman. And our
hostess. Many eyes besides mine were on her that evening.”

Marc had more to say on this matter, but was
planning to leave it until the defense got under way.

“Don’t you think ‘rejected’ is too strong a
word for what happened next?” he said. “Perhaps Mr. Gagnon merely
asked for another dance and was politely refused?”

“She looked annoyed, and he left abruptly,”
Trueman said doggedly.

“As far as you know, Mr. Trueman, did these
two people ever meet before that evening?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Thank you. No more questions, Milord. But I
reserve the right to recall this witness.”

“So granted.”

Marc had done his best on cross-examination,
but Trueman’s testimony had gone some ways towards establishing a
motive, flimsy as it was: the revenge of a rejected suitor, who
happened to be a crazy, hot-blooded Frenchman. And the Crown would
play upon the natural prejudice of an English-speaking jury.

Next up was Horace Macy. He was nervous in
the box, fidgeting constantly.

“Good morning, Mr. Macy,” McBride said with a
broad smile that made his Old Testament beard look even more
intimidating. “Just a few questions. First, did you attend this
year’s Charity Ball?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And during the course of that evening, did
you have occasion to observe Mrs. Cardiff-Jones and the defendant
dancing together as a couple in a set?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Where were you at the time?”

“I was dancing in the next set, only a few
feet away.”

“How would you describe their behaviour?”

“They couldn’t take their eyes off each
other.”

“Would you describe their behaviour as more
than mere courtliness?” McBride glanced over at Marc and gave him a
quick half-grin.

Marc was on his feet. “Milord, the answer
calls for a personal opinion.”

“Since you introduced the point, Mr.
Edwards,” said the judge, “I’ll allow it.”

Macy answered the question: “If you mean were
they more than polite, I’d have to say yes.”

“Did you hear them converse at any time
during the dance?”

“I did. Whenever they came together, they
talked briefly – in French.”

“Could you hear what was said?”

“Only once, when Mr. Gagnon spoke English. He
told Mrs. Cardiff-Jones that she was a most attractive
hostess.”

“Most attractive, eh?” McBride said, and
turned to the jury with what might have been described as a
leer.

“He also said, in English, she would be most
welcome in Montreal society, where they had the grandest of
balls.”

“Most welcome, you say? And all the time
staring into her eyes.” McBride turned and stared at the jury. Then
he said, “And how did the lady react?”

Macy’s lip curled down as he said, “She
seemed flattered by all this attention. She smiled, and, I think,
encouraged him.”

“What happened after the dance?’

“I saw them go over to the drinks table, and
they kept on talking.”

“But you were too far away to hear?”

“Yes, except to hear that they were jabbering
away in French.”

“What happened next?”

“The defendant suddenly turned away and
strode across the room to his friends.”

“‘Strode’, you say? Was he angry?”

“He may have been. He left awfully fast.”

“As if he had been rejected?”

“Milord,” said Marc. “Mr. Bride is putting
words into the witness’s mouth, again.”

“I agree,” said the judge. “The jury will
disregard that last remark.”

But ‘rejected’ had already been planted in
the jury’s mind. It was too late to take it back.

The witness was now turned over to Marc.

“You say you were in the set next to the
couple?” Marc began.

“That’s right,” Macy said, looking wary.

“How is it you were able to observe their
behaviour so minutely if you yourself were dancing, and thus moving
in several directions?”

“I couldn’t watch them all the time, but
whenever I was turned their way, I took a good, hard look.”

“You seemed inordinately interested in the
lady and her behaviour.”

“I must admit that I was myself attracted to
the lady.”

And we’ll get back to that a little later in
the trial, Marc thought.

“Do gentlemen not often say flattering things
to their hostess as a matter of chivalry or courtliness?” Marc
said.

“They may.”

“With only intermittent glimpses of the
couple, how could you determine if what transpired between them was
more than a bit of harmless wordplay? And some of it in French?
With a bit of flirting on both sides?”

“They looked awfully intent to me.”

“That is your opinion, sir, not a fact. And
could be the result of jealousy on your part.”

“He was playing up to her in my book,” Macy
said with a trace of bitterness in his tone.

“Now, about this abrupt departure. You said
that Mr. Gagnon
strode
across the room?”

“That’s correct.”

“Could he not merely have been anxious to
return to his friends?”

“It’s possible. But he looked angry to
me.”

“Again, sir, that is merely your
opinion.”

After Marc requested permission to recall
Macy, he sat down, happy with his cross-examination. The Crown’s
efforts to establish motive were flimsy indeed. But then, with
Wilkie’s testimony, they really didn’t need a strong motive. The
‘crazy’ Frenchman would do.

The Crown next called Cecil Denfield to the
stand.

“Mr. Denfield, were you at the Charity Ball?”
McBride began.

“I was,” Denfield said in a calm and
confident manner.

“Did you see the accused dancing with Mrs.
Cardiff-Jones?”

“Only briefly. I was otherwise engaged.”

“Did you observe the couple at any other
time?”

“I did. After their dance they came over to
the drinks table, and Mr. Gagnon fetched the lady a glass of
champagne.”

“Were you close enough to hear their
conversation?”

“I was.”

“What did they talk about?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Why is that?”

“They were speaking mostly in French.”

“And you don’t speak French?”

“No, sir.”

“Could you describe their manner?”

“It looked like an intimate sort of talk.
They were smiling at each other and jabbering away.”

“Then what happened?”

“He asked her, in English, if she would dance
again with him. And she said she couldn’t because her dance-card
was full.”

“And how did Mr. Gagnon, the defendant,
react?”

“He said something sharply in French, then
turned and walked across the room.”

“Would you say he was angry?”

“I’d say he was disappointed, surely. He had
paid a lot of attention to her and she had turned him down.”

“So Mrs. Cardiff-Jones danced with many men
that evening?”

“Yes. She was very popular.”

“And very much observed. Thank you.” McBride
sat down.

Marc then began his cross-examination. “Mr.
Denfield, you said the couple was speaking in French.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And that they were discussing something
intimate?”

“It seemed so.”

“But since you don’t speak French, they could
have been talking about the weather, could they not?”

“I suppose so,” Denfield said grudgingly.

“Was there any particular reason you were
eavesdropping on this conversation in French?”

“I just happened to be nearby,” Denfield
said.

And you just happen to be the lady’s lover,
thought Marc. But we’ll get to that in due course.

Denfield was dismissed with the right of
recall. The Crown rested its case and the court was adjourned for
lunch.

***

Cobb began to wonder about the alibi of Cecil
Denfield. He had been certain that Audrey Denfield was lying when
she said he had been home with her all evening. But how to prove
it? Then he thought of the servants. They always knew what was
going on. So over the lunch hour he devised a plan. He walked to
the Denfield residence, where he was sure the couple had gone for
their luncheon. He situated himself behind a neighbour’s hedge and
waited. Sure enough, about one-thirty, the door of the Denfield
house opened, and the Denfields emerged. They headed south towards
the Court House. Cobb then went around to the back door and
knocked. A uniformed maid answered his knock.

“Good afternoon, miss. I’m
Detective-Constable Cobb of the Toronto police. I’d like to ask you
a couple of questions.”

The maid relaxed a little, but still seemed
wary.

“May I come in?” Cobb said.

“Oh, of course.”

Cobb followed her into the kitchen, which was
quite warm, the fire in the cooking stove not having gone out yet.
The maid motioned Cobb to a chair, and sat opposite him.

“What’s this all about?” she said.

“What’s your name, miss?”

“Sarah. Sarah Teasdale.”

“Well, Sarah, do you remember the evening
when Mrs. Cardiff-Jones was killed?”

“Yes, I do. That’s the day I burned my finger
on the stove.”

“I need to know where your master and
mistress were that evening – from seven o’clock onwards.”

“Now let me see if I can recollect,” Sarah
said, pausing to think. “Oh, yes. The master had a headache and
went to bed right after supper. The mistress went out about seven
o’clock to visit her cousin in town. I didn’t see her leave, but I
know she went.”

“Were you here all evening?”

“Oh, no. I was feeling poorly, too, and went
to my room.”

“Are you the only servant?”

“Yes, sir. I clean and do the cooking.”

“So you couldn’t be absolutely sure your
master never left the house?”

“Why would he?”

“If he did, you wouldn’t have heard?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“Thank you. That’s all I need to know.”

And it was enough. He had proven that Mrs.
Denfield had been dutifully lying for her husband’s sake. Cecil
Denfield had no real alibi. The Major would be very keen to know
this. Cobb excused himself and headed straight for the Court
House.

***

Marc began his defense of Gilles Gagnon by calling
to the stand Vera Mitchell, Delores Cardiff-Jones’s personal
maid.