by Clara Benson
‘I brought this week’s papers with me,’ said Freddy. ‘They’re in the car.’
‘I’ll get them,’ said William.
‘I’ve been reporting the case myself,’ went on Freddy after William had gone out. ‘It’s been pretty sick-making, I don’t mind telling you. Poor Angela’s been having the devil of a time.’
‘Has she?’ said Valencourt, and again the odd look passed briefly across his face. He hesitated and said, almost as though he were unwilling to ask, ‘How is she bearing up?’
‘Very well, considering that she’s had to listen to all her private concerns being talked about and judged in front of hundreds of people. It seems she has a daughter nobody knew about, and her husband was blackmailing her over it. Hardly the kind of thing one wants to talk about before strangers.’
‘A daughter?’ said Valencourt in surprise. ‘Barbara,’ he said after a moment’s thought.
‘Yes. Did you know?’ said Freddy.
‘Not at all,’ said Valencourt, ‘but I’ve met the young lady in question, and they do look very alike. I ought to have realized at the time. Look here,’ he went on as William returned with the newspapers, ‘we’re cluttering up the house by standing in this passage. You’d better come into the parlour while I read. You see, even someone of my sort knows how to treat his guests,’ he said ironically to William, who had hardly spoken a word, but who somehow managed to radiate dislike for Valencourt even while remaining perfectly respectful.
They followed him into the parlour and sat as he read the newspaper reports carefully, only pausing now and again to ask Freddy a question. He seemed particularly interested in what Alfred Pearson had said about Davie Marchmont that day at Burkett’s. At last he threw down the latest edition of the Clarion and looked up.
‘It all looks rather bad for her, doesn’t it?’ he said. ‘Does the defence have anything else?’
‘Not much,’ said Freddy. ‘We can throw some doubt on the time of the gunshot, but most of the case rests on this mysterious foreigner who was seen threatening Marchmont on the day he died.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Valencourt non-committally and gazed at the floor as though he were thinking.
They waited in silence, hardly daring to look at one another. Would he agree to help them? He was their last hope, and without him Angela would almost certainly die. In the silence a clock ticked loudly, reminding them all of how little time they had left. Valencourt had raised his head and was now looking unseeingly at the wall. His face gradually assumed a grim expression, and for the first time he seemed to be undergoing some sort of internal struggle.
‘Damn the woman!’ he exclaimed suddenly. ‘Can’t she be left alone for an instant without getting herself into trouble?’ He sighed and looked around at the others. ‘Well, I suppose there’s no help for it. I shall have to come back.’
‘Then you will tell everybody she was with you that night?’ said Marthe.
‘No. I’ve already said there’s no use at all in my trying to give her an alibi,’ said Valencourt. ‘I’ve thought about it and I can’t see how it would help.’
‘Then you’re just going to abandon her?’ said Freddy.
‘I didn’t say that,’ said Valencourt. ‘But I can’t do what you want me to do.’ He held up a hand as Marthe looked about to burst into speech. ‘I said I might be able to help, but you must let me do things my own way and not ask questions. Promise me that.’
He looked around at the three of them. They glanced at one another and nodded, and he seemed satisfied.
‘Very good,’ he said. ‘Now, this is going to be rather tricky so it’s vitally important that you say nothing to anyone of what has been said here tonight. If anyone finds out that we talked of this beforehand then my coming forward will do more harm than good. You must keep quiet. Is that agreed?’
They all nodded.
‘Very well. Furthermore, you’ll have to trust me to give myself up. I shall go to this Travers first and speak to him, and then after that I dare say he’ll want to hand me over to the police.’
‘You’ll come back with us, though?’ said Freddy.
‘Yes, but we mustn’t arrive together. It must look as though I am doing this of my own volition.’
‘But how do we know you won’t run off when we get to London?’ said William.
‘You don’t,’ said Valencourt. ‘But if I wanted to run off I should have done so by now—should have done it hours ago, in fact, when the three of you started thundering about like a herd of elephants in my back garden.’
‘Why didn’t you?’ said Freddy curiously.
‘Because you drew so much attention to yourselves that I knew you couldn’t possibly be dangerous,’ said Valencourt. ‘Besides, I was planning to leave tomorrow and preferred to spend the last night in my own bed rather than running about the countryside in the freezing cold and dark.’
‘If you were going to leave tomorrow then it is a good thing we came when we did,’ said Marthe.
‘Yes, it is,’ said Valencourt. ‘For you, at least; less so for me. Now, another thing: none of you must say a word to Angela about this. She mustn’t know a thing about it. If she has refused to give me away all this time then she won’t be any too pleased to hear that I’m planning to appear as a witness. She might even forbid Travers from allowing it.’
‘Not if she knows what’s good for her,’ said Freddy.
‘Well, from what you say, obviously she doesn’t,’ said Valencourt dryly. He looked at his watch. ‘Now, it’s getting late so I suggest we all turn in, as we’ll need to get an early start if we’re going to be ready by Monday morning. You needn’t worry,’ he said to William, who looked as though he did not like this idea, ‘I won’t run off in the night.’
‘I’d like to believe it,’ said William, ‘but I’d hate to think we’d come all the way here for nothing.’
Valencourt sighed.
‘Oh, very well, then. You’re evidently determined not to trust me, and I don’t say I blame you. Suppose you lock me in my room tonight. Will that do?’
‘It would do better if you’d hand over that gun,’ said Freddy.
‘No, I don’t think I will,’ said Valencourt thoughtfully. ‘It was given to me so I could protect myself, and I have the feeling it might come in useful very soon. Don’t worry, I won’t fire it—as a matter of fact, it’s in Angela’s interests that I don’t.’
And with that they were forced to be content. It was now almost two o’clock, so they all rose and Valencourt led them upstairs and indicated two little bedrooms that they might use.
‘I am sorry you will have to give yourself up and be arrested,’ said Marthe, before he was locked into his own room.
‘I’ve had ten years longer than I expected to get,’ he said. ‘It was bound to happen sooner or later. I dare say it doesn’t matter much any more.’
‘Still, I thank you,’ said Marthe. ‘We are very grateful for it, and I hope Madame will be too.’
He gave a wry smile.
‘I don’t think she will, Marthe,’ he said. ‘In fact, I don’t suppose she’ll be very pleased at all when she hears what I have to say.’
And with that he shut the door and they turned the key on him.
TWENTY-TWO
On Monday morning the usual crowd flocked into the court-room at the Old Bailey, eager to hear what Mrs. Marchmont would have to say for herself today after proceedings had been so rudely cut short on Friday. Freddy and Kathie were once more in their seats on the press bench. Kathie wanted to know why Freddy had left so suddenly on Friday, but he shook his head mysteriously and put a finger over his lips.
‘Shh!’ he said. ‘Mustn’t tell. I think there are going to be a few surprises this morning, though.’
In reality he was by no means certain that this was the case. They had brought Edgar Valencourt to London on Saturday morning and left him outside the chambers of Mr. Travers. They had then waited some little distance away and watched as he
was admitted and disappeared out of sight, and that was the last they had seen of him. As the ever-suspicious William said, there was no saying that he had not gone in and then run straight out again through another door, but Marthe shook her head and said she was sure he would never do such a thing to Madame—and besides, he might have escaped at any time before that; there was no need at all for him to have come to London with them. And so they were forced to wait and hope that Valencourt had kept his word, and that whatever he had to say to Mr. Travers would do some good and perhaps turn the tide of fortune in Angela’s favour at last. Freddy hoped that Angela would not be too angry with him when she found out what he had done, but even if she were he would never regret having done it—for if, out of some misplaced sense of loyalty, she would not do anything to save herself, then she must be saved against her will; there was nothing else for it.
As for Angela, she was becoming increasingly weary and hopeless. She had sat in silence for most of the weekend, and had even begun to toy with the idea of admitting to the murder, just to get it all over and done with, for whether she confessed or not it all came down to the same thing in the end. At least if she were to admit to it then she could dispense with the trouble of having to sit in court for the next day or two, looking on as learned gentlemen crowned with horsehair treated her plight as though it were an amusing intellectual conundrum to be solved, and debated calmly as to whether she deserved to live or not. How many more innocent people throughout history had been tempted to do the same thing, Angela wondered. She had only ever observed the machinery of the law from the side of the acknowledged righteous, but now she was seeing it from the other side, and over the past weeks she had learnt that there was something about being exposed to the judgment of the nation which tended to crush the spirit somewhat. Even when she received a hurried note from Mr. Travers on Sunday, hinting at some new evidence that would change everything, she felt no joy at the prospect, for by now she was almost certain that the jury had already made up its mind and that it was too late to change it. Perhaps it would be easier to let the law do what it would and try to forget the inevitable consequences.
Such were her thoughts as she was led into the dock on Monday morning. As she glanced around the court-room, however, she caught sight of Freddy and Kathie in their usual spot on the press bench, and took heart. They had sat there throughout the proceedings, giving her encouraging looks and smiles whenever she happened to turn her head in their direction and doing their best to let her know that whatever anyone else thought, they believed her, at least. William and Marthe, too, had sat loyally through it all, reminding her that she still had friends who wished the best for her. Angela took a deep breath and straightened up. She felt no more hopeful about her prospects at the sight of them all, but neither would she crumble in their presence, for her pride would not allow it. She would remain courageous and keep a cool head to the bitter end, she was determined.
This was a fine resolution, but she almost broke it as soon as proceedings began. She had expected to be called to continue giving evidence on her own behalf, but instead there was a pause as Mr. Travers approached the bench and murmured something to the judge. Sir Benjamin was summoned to join in the conversation, and there was much nodding and consulting of papers. At last they seemed to reach agreement, and all returned to their proper places. Still the clerk did not call for her, but instead called out something else—someone’s name, she thought. The spectators in the public gallery were still shuffling at the delay and someone was having a loud coughing fit as he spoke, and so Angela did not hear it properly. But there was no mistaking the familiar figure of the man who stepped into the witness-box a minute later. Angela’s heart gave a great thump as she saw him and she drew in a silent breath, but she exerted herself to remain composed and so, other than the fact that her face had gone a little paler, nobody could have known by looking at her that she had any particular opinion about this new witness, for she gave him only one quick glance and then cast her eyes downward as though uninterested in what he might have to say. In reality, of course, her mind and her heart were in turmoil, and she knew not whether to feel dismay or relief at Edgar Valencourt’s arrival. She had done her best not to bring him into the thing, knowing that it would mean certain arrest for him without any likely benefit for her, but now it looked as though her efforts had been all for nothing, since he had come forward anyway. Now everybody would know that she had been consorting with a criminal—although after what had been revealed about her during the course of the trial, she did not suppose anyone could possibly think worse of her than they already did. Still, there was some comfort to be had from the fact that he had cared enough about her to come forward. She would cling to that thought and hope for the best.
The people in the public gallery perked up with interest when they saw the new witness, for here was someone unexpected, and they sensed an exciting revelation was about to occur. For his part, Valencourt, dressed smartly and soberly, stood in the witness-box, seemingly quite at ease with himself, and waited politely for Mr. Travers to begin, which he duly did.
‘You are Edgar Valencourt?’ he said.
‘I am,’ said Valencourt.
‘You came to see me on Saturday and told me that you had important new information about the death of David Marchmont,’ said Mr. Travers. ‘Mr. Marchmont was killed in November. If you intended to come forward, why did you not do it then?’
‘I have been out of the country for the past two months, and knew nothing of the court case,’ said Valencourt. ‘It was only when I happened to pick up an English newspaper on Friday that I found out about it. Otherwise I should have done it long before now.’
‘I see. Then it is perhaps fortunate for Mrs. Marchmont that you are here,’ said Mr. Travers. He glanced down at a paper he was holding in his hand, then resumed. ‘Now, you go by the name of Edgar Valencourt. Are you the same Edgar Valencourt who is currently being sought by the police with respect to a number of jewel-thefts which have taken place over the past few years in various countries?’
‘Yes.’
‘I see. Might I ask whether the name you are using at present is your real one?’
‘It is part of it, but it is not my full name.’
‘Then what is your full name?’
‘Edgar Valencourt de Lisle.’
‘Edgar Valencourt de Lisle,’ repeated Mr. Travers. ‘And is this the first time you have appeared before an English court in any capacity?’
‘No, it is not. I appeared before Maidstone Assizes about ten years ago in the capacity of defendant.’
‘Oh?’ said Mr. Travers, as Valencourt fell silent. ‘And what was the nature of the offence with which you were charged?’
For the first time Valencourt looked uncomfortable. He hesitated and seemed reluctant to speak. Mr. Travers, who was not about to let victory elude him now that it was within his grasp, decided to give him a prompt. His voice now rang out, and what he had to say sounded harsh and stark in the silent court-room.
‘Let me help you. Are you or are you not the same Edgar de Lisle who was found guilty of the murder of his wife, Selina de Lisle, in July of nineteen eighteen?’
Angela glanced up sharply, then back down again. Her heart had begun to beat rapidly, and she was conscious of a rushing of blood in her ears and a sudden light-headedness. She gripped the edge of the dock tightly to steady herself.
Valencourt, looking straight ahead, said quietly after a moment:
‘I am.’
There was a brief stir which was swiftly hushed up. Now the judge addressed Mr. Travers.
‘Is this true?’ he said.
‘Yes, My Lord,’ said Mr. Travers. ‘You may remember the murder, since it was reported rather widely at the time.’
‘I believe I do,’ said the judge. ‘A most serious case. Still, that is not the matter under discussion at present. Please carry on.’
Mr. Travers turned back to Valencourt.
‘You escap
ed from prison during a disturbance before the sentence of execution could be carried out, I believe?’ he said.
‘Yes, I did,’ replied Valencourt.
‘And you have managed to elude the police all this time?’
‘It appears so,’ said Valencourt.
‘Then why have you come forward now? What is it that you wish to tell us about this case?’
‘Only that I know the prisoner to be innocent of the crime with which she has been charged. I know she did not kill David Marchmont.’
‘Oh? And how exactly do you know that?’
‘Because I killed him myself,’ said Valencourt.
TWENTY-THREE
At that a tumult broke out which could not be contained for some minutes. As the court officials did their best to maintain order, Edgar Valencourt continued to look straight ahead of him, apparently unmoved by the sensation he had created—not least among three of the spectators, who had had not the faintest idea that this was coming. Freddy’s jaw dropped, and he looked across at Marthe and William, who were staring at one another, dumbfounded. The revelation of Valencourt’s previous conviction for murder was surprise enough, but this was even more astonishing. They had expected him to give Angela some sort of alibi—perhaps a false one that did not reveal the true nature of their relationship—but they had never dreamed that he would go to the lengths of confessing to the murder. Kathie was frantically nudging Freddy in the ribs, and he glanced towards Angela, who looked as though she did not quite know where she was. As they watched, they saw her visibly pull herself together, although her hands still rested on the edge of the dock as if for support.
When calm was finally restored, the questioning continued.
‘That is a surprising confession to make, Mr. Valencourt,’ said Mr. Travers. ‘Especially in view of the fact that we are here today to try someone else entirely for the crime in question. Can you support your assertion with evidence?’