‘You were present?’
‘Yes.’
‘What happened then?’
‘Mrs Wolfe screamed that Ben had stopped breathing. The midwife ran over to the bed and took the child from her. Mr Wolfe was sent for.’
She stopped. Again she had been so simple and straightforward when she answered that everything she said seemed to bear the ring of truth.
‘And what happened when Mr Wolfe arrived?’
‘He took the child from her and left the room.’
‘Did he return?’
‘Yes, but not before Mrs Wolfe had a screaming fit.’
‘What happened when he returned?’
‘He brought in a baby wearing Ben’s clothes and laid it in Mrs Wolfe’s arms.’
Again there was a murmur. Ben leaned forward. What was it about the woman? Dame Memory flashed her skirts at him again, but would not show her face. His puzzlement over this prevented him from being shocked at her evidence which proclaimed him to be an illegitimate impostor—albeit unknowingly.
‘You say a baby wearing Ben’s clothing. Was it not Ben?’
‘No, sir. This baby was like him, but he was bigger and he was the wrong colour.’
‘The wrong colour? How so?’
‘He was pink. The true Ben had always been blue. At the end he was purple.’
‘Did no one question this apparent exchange?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Why not?’
‘Mrs Wolfe was too far gone to understand and the midwife was tiddly.’
‘Tiddly?’ queried Lord Erskine, his voice austere.
‘I believe she means drunk,’ explained Mr Gascoyne, while Mrs Harte nodded agreement.
‘Very well. Continue.’
‘Where did the new baby come from?’
Mr Herriott leapt to his feet. ‘I protest at a question which asks the witness to assume something. If she has no direct evidence of an exchange, she cannot answer the question.’
Before Lord Erskine or Mr Gascoyne could say anything, Mrs Harte explained mildly, ‘Mr Wolfe’s by-blow by Lucy Withers, one of the parlour maids, was born on the same day as Ben Wolfe. Her baby was so big and strong it killed her. It was very like the true Ben Wolfe. Mr Wolfe exchanged the two babies and gave it out that Lucy Withers’ baby had been the one that died.’
She came out with this although the two attorneys and Lord Erskine were all trying to silence her. Ben doubted whether Mr Gascoyne was trying very hard and believed that it was more than likely that he had instructed her to continue with her account if ever he was challenged.
If true, Mrs Harte’s story was a hammer-blow for Ben. Lord Babbacombe was grinning, George, seated by him, was clapping him on the back. Here was no village rumour, no hearsay, but a decent, quiet woman who had been present at the birth, the death and the substitution. Lord Babbacombe’s witness was like to win the case for him.
The woman herself sat there quite still, in no way discomfited by having every eye upon her. She apologised to Lord Erskine for having continued to speak after Mr Herriott’s protest. He accepted her apology, saying sharply to Mr Gascoyne, ‘Pray instruct your witness not to volunteer information unless she is first asked to offer it by you.’
Mr Gascoyne also apologised to m’lud, his head suitably bent, adding afterwards, ‘I have no further questions for Mrs Harte, m’lud, her evidence now speaks for itself’—earning himself yet another rebuke from Lord Erskine, but gaining the advantage that the woman’s last words would be remembered as destroying Ben’s case.
Mr Herriott, invited by Lord Erskine to cross-question the witness, murmured something to Ben, to which Ben nodded agreement, before he rose to say, ‘In view of the grave nature of Mrs Harte’s evidence and the fact that neither my client nor I were aware of its nature until she gave it, I would ask m’lud to adjourn the court so that we may determine what course of action we need to follow to counter it.’
Lord Erskine stared at the ceiling as though asking God to advise him, before looking up at the gallery at God’s nearest representative on earth, the Duke of Clarence, for guidance. He took the Duke’s imperceptible nod to mean that an adjournment should be granted and so ruled.
‘You may have until tomorrow morning, Mr Herriott. In view of the gravity of the evidence of which you have spoken, I must ask all present not to discuss what has passed today with anyone outside of this court. That is all.’
He rose, and swept out of the chamber.
‘You knew nothing of this?’ demanded Mr Herriott of Ben that evening after they had dined in Ben’s London home. ‘If you did, you should have informed me at once.’
‘Two of my people questioned her,’ Ben said. ‘Both of them are skilled in such matters, one of them being an ex-Bow Street Runner, Jackson by name. Neither of them got any change from her.’
‘Jackson, hmm, a good man,’ murmured Mr Herriott. ‘That woman’s a cool piece. You’re sure she was employed at your home when she said she was—and in the capacity which she claimed?’
‘Both of my men were sure that she was. They went to a great deal of trouble to check that. The devil of it is that most of the servants at the time are either dead or gone elsewhere and cannot be traced. It is on her evidence—and her husband’s—that Babbacombe’s case relies. We have no one to counter them with.’
Mr Herriott sniffed. ‘Whether she’s telling the truth is quite another matter, of course. Now, let us sit down and take her evidence to pieces. If either of your men is here, send for them at once.’
Ben nodded. He had had to forgo his nightly rendezvous with Susanna, sending her and Madame a brief letter informing them that something quite unexpected had occurred during the day’s hearing, and that he needed to spend the evening with his lawyers planning their next moves.
Jess was sent for and was questioned ruthlessly by Mr Herriott, but the lawyer could not fault him in any way.
‘So, what do we do next?’ he asked. ‘For once, Mr Wolfe, your guess is as good as mine, perhaps better.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Ben slowly. ‘If I did, I would tell you. The thing is, there is something wrong about that woman, something I can’t put my finger on.’ He did not tell Mr Herriott what he had once told Susanna—that he could smell wrongness and evil. With Mrs Harte it was the former—but what about her gave him that impression he could not think.
Mr Herriott stared at his puzzled face before saying, ‘If anything occurs to you, you will, of course, inform me. We really need some hook, some device or ploy, to break that woman’s confounded certainty. She’s the best kind of witness. Doesn’t say too much, keeps her head. One thing, Fitzroy said that she married one of Babbacombe’s people. Could Babbacombe have bribed her through him? Who exactly was Tom Harte?’
Jess said, ‘He succeeded the agent who disappeared after the disappearance of Lady Exford and the murder of Mr Wolfe’s mother.’
‘Did he, now? That might bear investigating. Had this Harte a good reputation?’
‘The best,’ said Jess reluctantly. ‘That’s the devil of it. He and his wife are both highly regarded, being good churchgoers with well brought up, well-behaved children. They can’t be faulted. I suspect that he’s Babbacombe’s next key witness’
‘So—’ Mr Herriott swung on Ben ‘—it’s up to you now—try to think what’s wrong with her—it might help us, or it might not. God knows we need help. Or the sort of miracle that doesn’t happen nowadays. Tomorrow I’ll try to break her, but as it is, it’s bricks without straw.’
But next morning, sitting there, demure, in the big chair, Mrs Harte looked more unshakeable than ever when Mr Herriott took her once again through her evidence. Questioning everything she said, he was quite unable to disturb her.
The devil of it was that she never repeated anything—exactly—something which might have hinted that she had been coached. Ben, watching her, was more baffled than ever as she ran rings around all Mr Herriott’s clever tricks by being apparently t
ransparent and truthful in all her answers.
Only once was she a little shaken. He had asked her how she could be certain that the baby Mr Wolfe had brought back was not the one he had taken away. ‘You said that it was because the new baby was pink, whereas the old baby had always been blue—’
He paused.
‘Purple,’ she offered helpfully. ‘I said that he was purple at the end.’
‘So you did. You appear to have an excellent memory for what happened over thirty years ago…’ He paused again. ‘What puzzles me is this: if you knew that Mr Wolfe had switched the children, why did you never tell anyone? Lord Babbacombe, for instance. He was the heir and his man, Harte, was courting you at the time. You must have known that Mr Wolfe had committed a crime—and against your future husband’s employer.’
It was the first time that she seemed to be a little wrong-footed. She did something that Ben had seen her do before when a question momentarily took her by surprise. She put up a hand to fiddle with the brooch which fastened her fichu—and as she did so, Ben’s memory took on a life of its own, and he knew, at last, what it was about her that was wrong.
‘I was afraid of what might happen to me if I told the truth,’ she said at last.
While she spoke Ben was thinking furiously, testing his newly won memory until he was certain that it had not deceived him. Mr Herriott, pausing temporarily in his cross-examination of Mrs Harte, bent down to pick up a piece of paper on which Jess had prepared some questions for him. As he did so, Ben caught him by the sleeve.
‘A moment,’ he said urgently.
‘What is it?’ Mr Herriott was irritable. ‘M’lud will not like it if we hold matters up.’
‘This. Will you allow me to question her? I have just realised what is wrong with her, but it would be lengthy and difficult for me to instruct you at this late date. If I begin to make a fool of myself, I promise to sit down immediately.’
‘Very well. Desperate situations demand desperate measures and, God knows, ours is desperate enough.’
‘M’lud,’ he said, appealing to Lord Erskine, who was about to protest their whispered conversation, ‘my client begs leave to question Mrs Harte himself. He has new and vital information relating to—’ He turned to Ben and hissed, ‘Relating to what, for God’s sake?’
‘Her truthfulness,’ Ben whispered back.
‘Her veracity, m’lud,’ translated Mr Herriott into legalese for m’lud.
‘Very well, Mr Herriott.’ Lord Erskine was reluctant, but was wishful to appear fair. He knew, like everyone in the room, that Mr Ben Wolfe was nearly dished.
Indeed, when both participants to the enquiry, and their lawyers, had entered, shortly before Lord Erskine came in, Lord Babbacombe had smirked at Ben, exclaiming loudly and exultantly, ‘I wonder at you, Wolfe—or whatever your true name is—still having the gall to continue with this matter. Better to cut line and cut losses. The longer this case goes on, the bigger the damages I shall claim when I go to the law courts to win it.’
Ben had said nothing; had simply given him his shoulder. Now he rose to his feet to walk slowly towards Mrs Harte. She showed no emotion when he smiled at her and said, ‘I have not seen you since I was a little boy and you were Joan Shanks, but I should have known you anywhere.’
Her only response was to stare stonily at him.
Ben made nothing of that but simply continued to speak, in the same even tones which the lawyers had used. ‘I believe that you were somewhat of a favourite with my late mother, were you not?’
Her right hand rose to finger her brooch nervously before she replied, somewhat reluctantly, ‘Yes, I suppose I was.’
‘I knew my memory could not be at fault,’ he told her gravely. ‘I think, however, that yours might be.’
Mr Gascoyne leapt to his feet. ‘I protest, m’lud. Mr Wolfe is going nowhere. He is simply making speeches, not asking questions.’
Ben bowed first at him and then at Lord Erskine who said sharply, ‘Do not make speeches, Mr Wolfe. Confine yourself to asking the witness questions.’
‘I do beg your pardon, m’lud. I am not versed in the law, but now that you have so kindly instructed me, questions it shall be.’
He turned again towards the witness. ‘That is a very pretty brooch you are wearing, Mrs Harte.’
Her hand dropped from it as though it had been scalded. Mr Gascoyne leapt to his feet, howling, ‘I protest, m’lud, he is making speeches again.’
Before Lord Erskine could reply, Ben forestalled him by saying, ‘Grant me a little patience, m’lud. I shall now ask Mrs Harte a question.’
It was her turn to be bowed to before he threw a gentle question her way, his voice honeyed. ‘Pray tell me, Mrs Harte, who gave you that trinket? I believe that I have seen it before. It is an inexpensive fairing, is it not?’
This time the jack-in-a-box which Mr Gascoyne had become was almost gibbering. He shouted in m’lud’s direction, ‘What the deuce have these questions got to do with anything in the case?’
‘Something which I am asking myself,’ said m’lud, gazing severely at Ben. ‘Is there any point to all this, Mr Wolfe? Because if there is not, I must ask you to cease this line of questioning.’
Beside Ben, Mr Herriott was moaning gently to himself. He saw his case—and his reputation—declining into ruin.
‘It is very much to the point, m’lud, and if you will instruct the witness to answer it, you would earn my undying gratitude.’
Mr Herriott’s moans grew louder. He rested his head in his hands, declining to look at his principal, or the court.
Lord Erskine said frostily, ‘I don’t want your gratitude, Mr Wolfe, undying or otherwise, but to please you and in the hope of bringing this matter to a speedy end I shall instruct Mrs Harte to humour you. Were we in a real court of law I should not do so.’
He leaned forward to say gently and kindly to the witness, ‘Pray answer Mr Wolfe’s questions, madam.’
She stared at Ben before saying, defiance in her voice for the first time, ‘Why, your mother gave it to me. It is inexpensive, tin and glass, but I treasure it in her memory.’
‘Do you, indeed? That is most gracious of you. Tell me, when did she give it to you?’
She smiled at him for the first time. ‘That is easily answered, sir. The day I was promised to Tom Harte.’
‘Which was?’
‘A fortnight before she disappeared.’
‘A fortnight before she disappeared. You are quite sure of that?’
‘Quite sure, sir.’
Mr Herriott, agonised by this series of non sequiturs, pulled at Ben’s coattails to urge him to sit down. Ben ignored him and tried not to catch the eye of Lord Erskine or the by now baleful glare of Mr Gascoyne.
Instead he said to her, his voice still honeyed, ‘Do you know, Mrs Harte, I do believe that you are not telling me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.’
Her hand flew to the brooch again. ‘Oh, but I am.’
‘No, and I can prove you to be a liar. If I am not mistaken, that brooch was bought at Lavendon Fair and given to my mother on her birthday, the very day she disappeared, and I was the one who paid for it, and gave it to her. I bought it out of my pocket money.’
She was now as agitated as she had been calm. ‘No, it is you who are lying. You have been living a lie all your life. It was as I said, she gave it to me on the day I was betrothed to Tom.’
Pray God, thought Ben, that time has not betrayed me, nor erased my handiwork of over twenty-five years ago.
‘You see,’ he said, and his kind smile never wavered, ‘I was only a little boy of nine then, and I was so proud of my gift that I scratched my name and the date on the back. I don’t suppose that you ever saw it, or, if you did, thought that the marks were other than random. Pray give m’lud the brooch that he may inspect the back of it.’
He knew that he was taking an enormous risk, but as Herriott had said the night before, they needed a miracle and
perhaps here was one for the asking—if the marks were still there.
‘You see,’ he said, more into the silent room than to the now-unhappy witness, ‘I gave my mother that brooch a fortnight after the day on which Mrs Harte claimed that my mother gave it to her. Two points must follow from that false statement. One, that if she has lied about that, then she can lie about anything, including my birth, and two, when I kissed my mother goodbye on that last terrible afternoon she was wearing my brooch to please me—so how did Mrs Harte come by it?’
Everyone was staring at the pair of them. Ben was still smiling his now terrible smile at the white-faced woman who was shrinking away from him in her chair.
Lord Erskine said at last, ‘Pray hand me the brooch, Mrs Harte, so that I may inspect it.’
‘No,’ she wailed. ‘It’s my brooch. I made a mistake…my husband gave it to me…’
She got no further. Lord Erskine had motioned to one of the ushers who came forward, his hand outstretched, ready to take it from her. Her face a rictus of shame, she unfastened it and handed it to him.
Regardless of whether or not Ben’s childish marks were on the back of it, she had given herself away by trying to change her story.
Lord Erskine took the brooch, turned it over, picked up a quizzing glass and inspected the back.
‘What do you claim to have scratched there, Mr Wolfe?’
‘My name, Ben, and the date, 12.6.94.’
M’lud bent his head, raised it and said, ‘The marks are just visible, Mr Wolfe, and confirm that what you have said is true. Bearing in mind your second point, I shall ask the court’s tipstaff to detain Mrs Harte for questioning in connection with your mother’s death, which, I understand, has been a mystery ever since the day you gave her your present. I am afraid that the court must retain it for the time being.’
Mr Herriott’s face was one smile. Mr Gascoyne was shaking his head ruefully, and Lord Babbacombe looked ghastly as his strong case against Mr Wolfe dissolved before his very eyes.
Chapter Fourteen
‘That was deliberate, was it not?’
Ben smiled, a lethal smile. ‘What was deliberate, Mr Herriott?’
The Wolfe's Mate Page 21