Silence in Court

by Patricia Wentworth

  “Yes, she told her to get the sleeping-draught—she told her to take the glass away. She said, ‘You needn’t wash it—that’s Magda’s business.’ And when Miss Silence came back she said, ‘Sit where I can see you, Carey.’”

  “Mrs. Maquisten made these three requests?”

  The corner of Dennis’s mouth twitched.

  “They were a good deal more like orders.”

  “Was that her usual manner of making requests?”

  “Well—yes.”

  “Her voice and manner when she addressed Miss Silence were her usual voice and manner?”

  “Yes.”

  “And when she said, ‘Sit where I can see you, Carey’—how did she say that? Was that an order too?”

  “Oh, yes—she was giving us all our orders then.”

  “And what orders did she give the rest of you?”

  The lip twitched again. “She told me to hold my tongue—Nora Hull to sit down—and Honor King to stop fidgeting.”

  “Were all these orders given in the same voice—in the same manner?”

  “Not quite.”

  “Where did the difference occur?”

  “In what she said to Miss Silence.”

  “Will you tell us what this difference was.”

  “She was not quite so peremptory. She never was with Miss Silence.”

  “Her manner to Miss Silence was habitually softer?”

  “Yes.”

  “More affectionate?”

  “It was affectionate.”

  “And on this particular occasion, while telling Miss Silence to sit where she could see her, Mrs. Maquisten’s voice and manner were still tinged with this softness and affection?”

  Dennis said, “She was very fond of her.”

  “You haven’t answered my question, Mr. Harland. Was there a tinge of softness and affection when she addressed Miss Silence on this occasion?”

  “I think there was.”

  The words were hard and strained. They accused Carey Silence. For the first time Dennis Harland looked towards the dock, towards Carey. His eyes accused her. They said what he had said on the other side of the gulf which this had set between them—“Why did you do it?”

  Carey looked back at him steadily, gravely. She wouldn’t look away. She heard counsel say, “Thank you, Mr. Harland.” She saw Dennis pick up his stick and limp down out of the box. The second day of the trial was over.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “Not too bad,” said Mr. Mordaunt cheerfully—“not too bad at all. Vane did very well with Miss King. Lanthony was as sick as mud. The hand-holding episode got home on the jury all right—all the more because it came out so unwillingly. Odd kind of young woman that—very unattractive. No love lost between her and Miss Silence, I should say, so that bit of evidence is all the more convincing. I don’t mind saying that I was uncommon pleased to hear it, because when a witness dislikes someone it’s quite astonishing what he can contrive to forget. In this case she. And there’s no doubt that Miss King don’t like Miss Silence.”

  Jeff Stewart agreed.

  “I don’t think she likes anyone very much. I don’t think she’s ever had very much to like. I don’t think anyone’s ever liked her above a bit. And Mrs. Maquisten snubbed her pretty well to death.”

  “Looks like that,” said Mr. Mordaunt with undiminished cheerfulness. “Well, we’re one up on her, and a good thing too, for we’re going to need everything we can get. Dennis Harland’s not so good, you know. He’s taken a bit of the shine off Miss King’s admission.”

  That tight band was closing about Jeff’s ribs again. It made his breath come short as he said,

  “How?”

  “Well, he admits that Mrs. Maquisten was treating Miss Silence affectionately, and then makes it perfectly clear to the jury that in his opinion his aunt was lavishing this affection upon her murderess, and I’m afraid that got home too. You know, he thinks Miss Silence did it—he’s got it sticking out all over him. He hates her, and he’s got his knife into her. Pity Telfer asked him whether Miss Silence was long enough in the bathroom to have tampered with the sleeping-draught. That ‘Not then’ was very damaging. They’re out to suggest that it was done before that—when she was alone with Mrs. Maquisten, after Ellen Bridling left the room and before Miss King got down. That’s the dangerous time for Miss Silence, and for rebuttal we shall have merely her own evidence. You see, nothing would have been easier than for her to make an excuse and slip into that bathroom.”

  Jeff’s face showed nothing.

  “I’d have thought the time would be on the short side. Ellen went out of the room and along the passage to the landing, heard Honor King call out to Nora Hull that she was going down, waited for her, and walked back with her. It wouldn’t take very long, you know, and Carey would have had to make her excuse to go into the bathroom, dissolve those five or six tabloids, get back, and arrive at the point of having her hand held and being gazed at affectionately by the time Honor opened the door.” His drawl became very pronounced as he added, “I’d not find that so easy to believe if I were on the jury.”

  Mr. Mordaunt beamed with robust good humour.

  “Trust Vane to make the most of that. He’s in good form. Right on top of it with Hood. He’d something to break down there, hadn’t he? Tough bit of evidence to come up against. And it isn’t as if Hood had any possible motive. He’s not mentioned in the will—not even a trifling legacy. Bad bit of evidence, but Vane knocked it about a bit. On the whole, as I said, not a bad day.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Ellen Bridling came into the witness-box on the morning of the third day and took the oath. She was neat and dowdy in a long black coat with a grey fur collar, and the hat which had been her best when Mr. Chamberlain flew to Munich. It was made of black velvet in a depressed-looking shape, and it had two ostrich feather tips on the left-hand side. There had originally been a small bunch of violets too, but she had banished them in order to mourn for Honoria Maquisten.

  Before taking the oath she removed her fabric gloves and put them away in a shiny black handbag. All her movements were slow, deliberate, and controlled. When she had sworn to speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, she folded her gnarled, work-worn hands upon the edge of the box and waited, her head poked forward, her eyes very small and sunk under the hooded lids.

  Carey began to feel cold. She knew now that Ellen had always frightened her, and she knew why. It was because this moment lay ahead of them.

  Sir Wilbury Fossett rose majestic.

  “Your name is Ellen Bridling? You were the late Mrs. Maquisten’s personal maid?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How long had you been with her?”

  “Thirty-six years this month.”

  “That is a long time. Will you tell us what terms you were on with Mrs. Maquisten.”

  There was no need to tell this witness to speak up. The grating voice was not loud, but it was very distinct. There was no nervous hurry, no faltering of the tone. Every word, every syllable, was most deliberately given.

  “I’d been with her a long time.”

  “Were you in her confidence?”

  “There were things she’d tell me, and things she’d keep to herself.”

  “Did she tell you of her intention to leave some of her jewellery to Miss Silence?”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “What jewellery was it?”

  “It was the rubies that belonged to Mr. Maquisten’s mother.”

  “Did an incident in connection with these rubies take place on the afternoon of November 15th, the day before Mrs. Maquisten’s death?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you tell us about it, please.”

  Ellen’s hands took hold of the edge on which they were resting.

  “My bell rung, and when I went in, there was Miss Silence. Mrs. Maquisten said as how she was going to show her the rubies. She told me to open the safe, and I spoke up. ‘Se
eing it’s never been opened with none of the young ones there, it’s Mr. Robert you should trust,’ I said, ‘or Mr. Dennis—not those that haven’t been in the house no more than a fortnight.’ And she looks at me, and I said, ‘All right—I know my place, but there’s some that don’t and never will.’”

  “And what happened after that?”

  “I opened the safe.”

  “You were in the habit of opening it for Mrs. Maquisten?”

  “Whenever she said.”

  “Did anyone else open the safe for her?”

  “Not that I ever heard tell.”

  “Mrs. Maquisten gave you her complete trust and confidence in this matter?”

  “I’d been with her thirty-five years.”

  “Will you proceed, Mrs. Bridling, and tell us what happened after you opened the safe.”

  “I took out the cases and give them to Mrs. Maquisten in her bed. There was the two bracelets, and the big ornament for the front of the dress, and the rings, and the big necklace that made into a tiara, and the small necklace with the ruby drops. She had them all out on the coverlet, and Miss Silence put on the bracelets and the small necklace and went and looked at herself in the glass. Mrs. Maquisten said, ‘I’m leaving them to you, Carey,’ and I couldn’t hold myself. I said, ‘Mrs. Maquissen’s they were’—meaning her mother-in-law—‘and it’s to Mr. Robert or to Miss Honor they should go. They come from Maquistens, and you didn’t ought to leave them away.’ And Mrs. Maquisten, she tells me to hold my tongue, and I went round to the safe and started to put the things away.”

  “Now, Mrs. Bridling, I’d like you to tell us what happened on the following evening, the evening of November 16th. Where were you at seven o’clock?”

  “In my room.”

  “Will you describe the position of your room.”

  “Opposite Mrs. Maquisten’s.”

  “There was a bell beside her bed which rang in your room?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you know that the nurse was going out?”

  “Yes. She looked in at seven with her hat on and said as how she was off, and to give Mrs. Maquisten her sleeping-draught and get her to bed by nine o’clock. ‘And keep her as quiet as you can,’ she says—as if she needed to tell me that after thirty-five years! As soon as she was out of the way I up and went in, and there was my poor dear crying and saying how cruel she’d been deceived.”

  “Was she in bed?”

  “Yes—I got her up later whilst they were at dinner. She was in bed and she’d been crying, and she said to me, ‘Well, Ellen, you were right, and I suppose I shall never hear the last of it,’ she says, and, ‘Thank God, I had a friend that told me before it was too late.’ She had a letter in her hand, but she didn’t tell me who it was from, only thank God she’d got a friend that wasn’t afraid to tell her the truth.”

  “Whom did you understand her to mean?”

  “The friend that wrote her the letter. She had it in her hand, but she never told me who wrote it, and I didn’t ask her no questions—I wanted to get her quiet. She pushed the letter under her pillow and took hold of my hand and said I’d warned her but she wouldn’t listen. ‘Those that go up quick can come down quick,’ she said, and, ‘I’ll not be deceived a second time. I’ll make a new will, and then we’ll see who’ll laugh on the wrong side of their mouth.’ And she held hold of me tight with both her hands, with the tears running down her face, my poor dear, and she said, ‘You warned me, and I did ought to have listened.’ And I said, ‘Don’t you fret, my dear, for she isn’t worth it. Put her away out of your will and out of your mind, and we’ll all be the same as what we were before.”

  “What did Mrs. Maquisten say to that?”

  “She cried and held my hand. And I took and told her she’d make herself ill, and I went through to the bathroom and got her some water to drink, and a sponge and a towel.”

  “Did you notice the medicine-glass with the sleeping-draught?”

  “I couldn’t help but notice it. It was right in the middle of the shelf over the taps.”

  “Did you notice the amount of liquid in it?”

  “Yes.”

  “How full was the glass, Mrs. Bridling?”

  “Not quite half full.”

  “Are you sure of that?”

  Ellen sniffed slightly.

  “Quite sure.”

  “How long were you with Mrs. Maquisten?”

  “Not very long—I wanted to get her quiet. I washed her face and gave her a drink, and I come away.”

  “What did you do after that?”

  “I stayed in my room sewing with the door open. I didn’t want no one to go in and disturb Mrs. Maquisten. Come half past seven I looked in to see if she was quiet and went on up to Miss Honor with a dress I was shortening for her. I got it done about five minutes past eight, but Miss Honor had gone on down.”

  “What did you do after that?”

  “I went back to Mrs. Maquisten and got her up for her dinner.”

  “Did you see the letter again?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Mrs. Bridling—could Mrs. Maquisten have destroyed that letter herself? No one seems to have seen it again. Could she have got out of bed and put it in the fire?”

  “Oh, yes, she could get out of bed.”

  “And walk?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “You say you got Mrs. Maquisten up for dinner. Had you occasion to go into the bathroom again then?”

  “I was to and fro.”

  “Did you notice the medicine-glass with the draught?”

  “I saw it.”

  “Did you notice the level of the liquid in the glass?”

  “It was the same. It wasn’t half full—nothing like.”

  “You are sure about that?”

  “Of course I’m sure!”

  “How long were you with Mrs. Maquisten at this time?”

  “About three quarters of an hour. I was there until Miss Silence come.”

  “Until Miss Silence came up after dinner?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now, Mrs. Bridling—during this three quarters of an hour, did you have any more talk with Mrs. Maquisten as to why she was upset and who had upset her?”

  “No.”

  “She did not refer to the matter?”

  Ellen’s head moved slowly in accompaniment to her “No.”

  “And you did not refer to it?”

  “I wanted her to keep quiet, and there was her dinner coming up, and Molly coming and going.”

  “Did Mrs. Maquisten speak to Miss Silence when she came in?”

  “No.”

  “Or look at her?”

  There was a fleeting spark in the sunken eyes. Then the lids came down again.

  “No—she was speaking to me.”

  “Did you hear her speak to Miss Silence before you left the room?”

  “No.”

  “What did you do after leaving the room?”

  “I walked along the passage as far as the landing, and I listened to hear if Miss Nora or Miss Honor was coming. I heard Miss Honor call out that she was going down, and I waited for her, and we went back along the passage to the bedroom door.”

  “How long did this take?”

  “I didn’t hurry myself. I was in my room for a minute getting a handkerchief, and I went along slow. Then I’d waited on the landing for a bit before I heard Miss Honor call out, and I waited a bit longer for her to come down, and we’d a word or two about her dress which I’d altered. Five minutes I must have been gone, what with one thing and another. Then Miss Honor went into Mrs. Maquisten’s room, and I was in my own room across the passage.”

  “Was your door open?”

  “Yes.”

  “Could you see anyone coming along the passage?”

  Again there was that spark. The grating voice said,

  “I took notice of who come along. Mr. Dennis come first—I could hear his crutch, and I looked out. I could se
e him all the way from the corner. Then Miss Nora come—Mrs. Hull, that is. She come flying down the stairs the way she does. I could see her all the way along the passage too. And then Molly come along with the coffee-tray, and I stepped out and opened the door for her to go in. And she come out again and went off down, and a little after that my bell rung.”

  “Go on, Mrs. Bridling.”

  There was a slight definite pause. Ellen’s poking head turned as if she was listening, but not to any sound in that court. Her eyes were hooded. It was as if she was listening for the voices which had died on the hot air of Hohoria Maquisten’s room on that November evening—as if her eyes turned back to the scene enacted there. Her voice took a lower tone—lower, but not less audible. She said,

  “I went in, and they was all there, and my dear she asked me for her sleeping-draught. She said, ‘Nurse put it ready. I’ll have it now whilst the coffee’s hot.’ And I took and told her I didn’t hold with sleeping-draughts and she’d do better with a nice hop pillow—my grandmother made them lovely. But she only laughed at me, and we had words, and I said giving sleeping-draughts and suchlike wasn’t what I’d been engaged for, and if she wanted them, there were those whose work it was, and if they was out of the way, there was Miss Nora and Miss Carey. ‘Let one of them fetch it for you,’ I said.”

  “What did Mrs. Maquisten say to that?”

  “Burst out laughing and told me to be off. And she told Miss Silence to bring her the sleeping-draught.”

  “Did you see Mrs. Maquisten again?”

  “I come back when they’d gone and I put her to bed.”

  “Did anything more pass between you as to what had been upsetting her?”

  Ellen took her hands from the rail and opened her bag. Very deliberately she took out a clean folded handkerchief and unfolded it. She shut the bag and slipped the handle over her wrist again. Then she stood there holding the handkerchief crushed up between her hands. They shook a little, and the white linen shook too. She said,

  “She didn’t say nothing till she was in bed. Then she took hold of my hand, and she said, ‘We’ve been together a long time,’ and I said, ‘Yes, my dear.’ And she says, ‘I’m very unhappy, but I’m not going to do any different because of that. It’s the deceit I can’t overlook,’ she says. And I said, ‘Nor you didn’t ought to, my dear. But don’t you think nothing more about it tonight—there’s tomorrow to do your thinking in. You take and go to sleep, and don’t you trouble yourself any more about it tonight, my dear,’ I said.” The tears had begun to trickle out from under those hooded lids. She stood there with them running down. The voice that had been so harsh began to break. “And she said, ‘Kiss me goodnight, Ellen,’ and I kissed her and come away.”