“The day after Miss Roundtree’s portrait was exhibited, she was abducted, brutalised and very nearly killed. The day after that, Lady Richfield brought her back to London. It was weeks before Miss Roundtree was well enough to return to the theatre. Her face …” he shook his head, “… that beautiful face was a mass of scrapes and bruises. She was limping, and hurting from other injuries, but she went through strenuous rehearsals without complaint. She frightened easily. Any noise or fast movement made her cry out. She was constantly on the verge of tears.” His throat constricted with real emotion.
“Unable to overcome her irrational fears, she asked for my help. I forced her to relive the entire experience, to confront in absentia, every person who had done her injury. I knew the exercise would either cure her or drive her to true madness, but I saw no alternative.” He paused. The judge and jurymen were captivated.
He glanced at Sir Douglas. The old man touched his eyebrow, indicating his approval. Jeremy continued. “She said that she had wanted Sir John dead, and that by wanting it, she had killed him. This was why she told the Chief Inspector that she had pushed him.” His voice was velvety. “She said that she had indeed run to him, but had only pushed him, in … her … imagination.”
“Objection!” Johnson was on his feet. “My lord, does the witness wish us to believe that the prisoner is insane? That she cannot determine reality from fantasy? If this is the case, we must refer to the Act of 1883 and seek a sentence of ‘not guilty on the ground of insanity’. Criminal lunatic asylums are filled with women—”
Elly started to panic.
“Objection overruled!” The judge scowled. “Mr Johnson, Miss Roundtree’s choice to self-defend may be excessively foolish, but the manner in which she is handling herself clearly shows that she is in excellent control of her faculties. It is also to her credit that she requested Mr O’Connell’s assistance at a time of crisis.” He sniffed. “Most women wouldn’t have the good sense. Since she did not go insane, this ‘exercise’ Mr O’Connell describes was obviously a success.”
Hiding his fury, the prosecutor bowed and sat down.
The room was deadly silent. Jeremy waited; his face showed no emotion and his body appeared relaxed.
Elly looked at Sir Douglas. He touched his chin. She stood and inclined her head. “Thank you Mr O’Connell. My lord, I have no further questions for this witness.”
The judge spoke in a monotone. “Mr Johnson, your witness.”
Johnson stood and looked around the room. A hundred hostile faces dared him to insult the great actor. He smiled cordially. “Mr O’Connell, we have all enjoyed your most eloquent monologue. Your championing of the prisoner was very moving.” He checked his notes with a nervous hand. “I believe you receive a quarter of your theatre’s gross profit, on top of your generous salary.”
Expecting the prosecutor to accuse him of being Elly’s lover, and shamelessly using her publicity to draw bigger audiences, Jeremy threw back a response to quell both charges. “Not only that, Mr Johnson, but I also benefit from the salaries of my wife and son, who are also employed at His Majesty’s Theatre.”
The gallery burst into laughter.
Flustered, Johnson shook his head. “No more questions, my lord.”
When Sam Smelling was called into court, he sprang into the witness box. Always energetic, today Sam’s eyes flashed wildly. A huge grin played across his face. His hair hung in a solid clump over his eyes. Two days of dark stubble covered his chin, his eyes were red, his collar soiled and his suit a mass of wrinkles.
Elly wondered what had happened to him. “Mr Smelling, be so kind as to explain your movements on January 5th of this year.”
He eagerly dived into the story. “I’d spent a few days in Yorkshire, learning everything I could about your family and their relationship to Sir John Garingham.” He pulled a paper from his jacket pocket. “This is a sworn affidavit from the local doctor, Frederick Vickers, who heard the deathbed confession of a man Sir John Garingham hired, nineteen years ago, to murder your father, Charles Roundtree.”
There were gasps from the gallery.
The judge held out a hand. “Let me see that.” The clerk passed the judge the paper. After a moment’s perusal, the document was placed in evidence. “Pray continue, Mr Smelling.”
Sam pushed hair out of his face. “Well, you all know John Garingham died falling out the window. I was directly below. I saw it.” He looked at Elly. “Half an hour ago, I got off the train from Settle. The windows in your room had been replaced. I brought the glazier who did the work. He’ll testify that the windows were loose enough for someone to fall out, just by leaning on them.”
Rory lurched forward, whispering, “There’s no way those telegrams could have gotten through. How did Sam guess …?”
The judge sat up with interest. “The glazier is here, now?”
“Yes, sir. His name is Elias Campbell. He’s in the witness room.”
“Good. We’ll call him shortly.” The judge looked over. “Miss Roundtree, do you have any more questions for this witness?”
Elly saw Sir Douglas touch his chin. “No, my lord.” She sat down.
“Mr Smelling.” Johnson stood, glaring. “You told the court that you had a clear view into Miss Roundtree’s room.”
“That’s right. I was only a few feet back. The woods were dark, the lamps in her room were bright, and the windows were large.”
Johnson looked down his nose. “Since you had such a clear view into the room, where was Miss Roundtree directly before Sir John went through the window?”
“Directly before? She was too far back in the room for me to see. I could only see when someone walked near the windows.”
“So, you were not able to see Miss Roundtree at the time Sir John went through the window.”
Sam leaned confidently on the rail. “That’s right, but she must have been directly behind him. Otherwise his boot couldn’t have caught her dress hoop.”
“Then, since you could not see, you cannot swear that she did not push him.”
“As well as I know that girl, I know she never—”
“Did you, or did you not, see exactly what happened?”
Sam gritted his teeth. “I did not see exactly what happened.”
The prosecutor bowed. “I have no more questions, my lord.”
The judge scowled. “You are excused, Mr Smelling. Bailiff! Call Elias Campbell.”
“Elias Campbell!” The bailiff led in a middle-aged, muscular man in an ill-fitting suit. He nervously smoothed his greased hair, and clutched the rail of the witness box with rough hands.
After the oath was administered, the judge said, “Miss Roundtree, your witness.”
She froze.
“Miss Roundtree, do you wish to question this witness?”
Rory whispered, “Yes!”
“Yes, my lord.” She stood, turned around, and whispered frantically. “I have no rehearsed questions.”
“Start with his name, residence and occupation.” Rory broke into a new sweat.
Turning back, Elly forced out, “Please tell us your name, your place of residence and your profession.”
He looked surprised. “You know me, Miss. I’m Elias Campbell. ’Ave the glass works just outside t’ town o’ Settle.”
There was a buzz around the courtroom. The jurors were all attention’
“I do know you, Mr Campbell, but the esteemed judge and gentlemen of the jury do not.”
He turned to the sixteen men and bowed awkwardly.
Rory prompted, “Have your services been required …”
Elly asked, “Mr Campbell, have your services recently been required at the big house?” She clarified for the jury. “The Roundtree estate?”
“Aye, Miss. Miss Roundtree sent for me right after t’ shooting, didn’t she.”
“My aunt, Lillian Roundtree, sent for you after which shooting?”
He looked surprised. “Why, when Mr Roundtree shot Father
Folen.” He pointed to the jury. “I thought t’ whole world knew about that.”
She smiled reassuringly. “They do indeed, sir. We just need to be very clear. Why were you called to the house?”
“Aye, Miss.” Warming to being on stage, the glazier relaxed his grip on the rail. “Well, t’ night o’ t’ shootin’, Sir John fell out one of t’ windows. The wood o’ t’ sash were so rotten, it just give way, didn’t it.”
Elly caught her breath. “How do you know it just gave way?”
“When I were called in … it were three days later, mind … after the police were through with their investigation, Miss Roundtree …” he looked at Elly, “… Miss Lillian Roundtree, that is … she called me to do t’ windows. There were still blood soaked int’ floor. It were a righ’ mess. Anyway, one o’ t’ windows was clean out, and t’ other fell out when I were removin’ it.”
Elly nodded slowly. “I see.”
Rory seethed, “Have him explain …”
“Explain that please.”
“Well …” Proud of his expertise, the glazier posed with a hand on his lapel. “I needed to replace both windows, so—”
“Why both windows?”
He looked at Elly as if she her were a half-wit. “Yer not listen’n’, Miss. I just said t’ one were clean out. T’ other was ready to fall any minute.”
“They were loose enough to fall out by themselves?”
“Isn’t that what I’m sayin’ … Miss?”
“Do you mean that if someone had leaned against—”
“Sir John did lean against one, and ’e fell righ’ through, didn’t he.” He paused and scratched his head. “Are y’ a bit hard o’ hearin’, Miss?”
Elly smiled tensely. “I’m hearing you very well, Mr Campbell. Now, please, listen very carefully.” She paused to take a deep breath. “It has been said that Sir John only fell out of the window, because … he … was … pushed.”
“Aye, well, whoever said that don’t know much, d’ they.”
She caught her breath.
Rory whispered, “Have him explain.”
“Please explain.”
“What’s t’ explain?” He stared at Elly and spoke very slowly, as if to a demented child. “T’ wood what held t’ window glass were rotten. It were broken, like. Understand?”
She nodded. “Yes, I understand.”
He sighed with relief. “Sir John, he were a good-sized man, weren’t he? ’E leaned back on t’ window …” he spread his arms in illustration, “… and it broke loose. Wouldn’t a needed no one to push ’im, no how. I’m surprised it held for even a minute. T’ second window fell out soon as I touched it.”
Elly’s vision blurred. She realised there were tears in her eyes. Quickly wiping them away, she looked at Sir Douglas. He smiled and touched his chin. She turned back. “My lord, I have no more questions for this witness.”
Try as he may, the prosecutor was unable to sway the glazier’s belief that Sir John Garingham had died by his own folly. He begrudgingly rested his case. Containing their joy, the defence rested theirs.
Warning the jurors not to discuss the case overnight, Judge Reynolds ordered closing statements for the following morning and dismissed the court.
It was four o’clock by the time Sir Douglas, Brown, Rory, Sir William, Isabelle, Ned, Jeremy, Katherine and Elly all gathered in the consulting room, talking and laughing at once.
Brown bent double with laughter. “The look on Johnson’s face. The glazier made him look like an idiot.”
Elly wiped happy tears from her eyes. “He made me look like one as well, and I’ve never been so delighted to play the fool. Sir Douglas, would it be proper to send Mr Campbell a token of appreciation. No matter what happens now, he was a wonderful help.”
“I think it would be very fitting.” He patted her hand.
Elly suddenly remembered, “And Mr Milligan. Has anyone had word how he’s doing?”
Brown spoke softly. “I stopped by this morning. He was in terrible pain. The hospital is very busy and crowded. The nurses …” He shook his head.
Isabelle’s brows pulled together. “Hospital nurses are little better than skivvies. Surely his wife has employed a private nurse.”
Brown shook his head. “With doctor bills for the children, the cost of the hospital, and losing the fee for this case …”
Elly’s mouth dropped open. “Losing what fee? Does the man think he’s not getting paid just because he couldn’t finish?”
Brown shrugged.
Elly was on her feet. “That’s not how my friends are treated. I want Andrew Milligan’s full fee paid at once, a private nurse engaged immediately, and both billed to my credit.” She stopped as everyone stared at her. Embarrassed by her outburst, she turned to Sir William and tentatively asked, “Is that all right?”
They all laughed as he shrugged. “It’s your money.”
Isabelle called. “Mr Brown, I know two wonderful nurses. I’ll give you their names.” While she and Brown discussed arrangements, Ned yawned and scratched his moustache. “I’m famished. What’s happened to our tea?”
“And Sam?” Rory relaxed back. “He’s the real hero. Seems to have saved you again, Elly.”
Katherine laughed. “He’s probably getting his story into the late post.”
“This time tomorrow …” Rory took Elly and swung her around.
“We’ll have a party.” Ned cut in and twirled her under his arm.
“And the day after,” Jeremy smiled broadly, grabbed Katherine and joined the silly dance, “all my actors are due at rehearsal at 10 o’clock. Right, Mrs O’Connell?”
Katherine laughed and kissed him.
Sir Douglas crooked his finger at Rory and Brown. They followed him into a corner. “Cookingham, come back to Oxford, part-time.” The old man’s face was alive with excitement. “I’ll have to retire after this, but come to the house and I’ll tutor you myself.”
“Would you?” Rory’s mouth fell open. “If I didn’t have to sit through those dreary tutorials with the other chaps …”
“You won’t even have to see the other students, accept at examination time. Stay here, continue at the theatre, study at your leisure, come to me when you can. Brown will look after the particulars.”
Rory bit his lip and shivered with excitement. “Will the dean let me? It’s so irregular.”
Brown laughed. “You were always irregular. After the publicity you’ll be getting for this trial, the dean will let you do whatever you want.”
Rory looked horrified. “Oh my God! It’s not over. Elly’s got to practise her closing before O’Connell leaves for the theatre.” He looked at Elly laughing with her handsome cousin, and clenched his jaw.
Sir Douglas patted his shoulder. “You’re right, m’ boy. We’ll speak of this later. Mr O’Connell, Miss Roundtree, Come! There’s work to be done.”
Chapter Fifteen
The next day, at 2.20, Judge Reynolds posed on his high-backed throne at the Old Bailey. Stretching his red robed torso, he raised his wigged head and looked over his courtroom like a master inspecting his serfs.
Spectators squeezed into stairwells and between rows of full benches. Angry words erupted when women tried to fan themselves and hit their neighbours in the face.
Sam Smelling waited with a sea of other journalists, all poised like sprinters. He wiped sweat off his upper lip. The gallery was packed past capacity. Jeremy, Katherine, Ned, Isabelle and Sir William clutched each other’s hands.
Jeremy whispered through clenched teeth. “Not guilty, damn you bastards. Not guilty!”
Crammed between hot bodies at the very back, Robert Dennison whispered to Michael Burns. “If she’s not acquitted, I’ll kill myself. I swear it.”
The judge looked at Elly, ghostly pale and trembling standing in front of the barristers’ bench. He whispered to himself. “Pretty lady, you may get to tread the boards again, after all.”
Directly behind Elly, Rory
dug his fingernails into the edge of the study table. The judge glowered at him whispering, “Impudent scamp. Try any of those dodges after you’ve donned a wig and I’ll have your head.” He moved his gaze to Sir Douglas Thompson and Mr Brown. They sat like stone. “If she’s not acquitted, the old man may have a heart attack.” Finally, he spoke to the jury. “Have you reached a verdict on which you all agree?”
At the far end of the front jurors’ bench, a dark-suited gentleman replied, “We have.”
“Do you find the defendant, Elisa Roundtree, guilty or not guilty?”
“Not guilty.”
Cheers, boos and applause rang around the courtroom. A gasp burst from Elly’s throat as she collapsed onto the bench, sobbing with relief. Joyously leaping over the study table, Rory cradled her in his arms. Behind them, Sir Douglas and Brown sank into their seats, relieved and exhausted.
Secretly delighted by the verdict, the judge dismissed the prisoner. “Miss Roundtree, you are free to go.” Before leaving the courtroom, he looked up at the balcony and saw the actors bombarded by newspapermen. He chuckled to himself, “Perhaps now, I’ll be welcomed backstage at His Majesty’s Theatre.”
Escaping the press, Sir Douglas, Brown, Rory and Elly sneaked out of a side entrance into a waiting cab. The driver flicked his reins and they drove away.
Elly remembered her ride to Holloway Prison and gasped, “There was another woman in the wagon. She’d been in prison before. The warders knew her. Her husband had beaten her and she had tried to run away. When he found her again, he beat her bloody and she killed him. What will happen to her?”
All three men grimly shook their heads. Elly’s stomach was a tight knot. “And the woman who died from force-feeding, her husband broke her arm and killed her child. I thank God I’m free, but what about them? The matron might be tormenting some new woman, right at this moment.” Exhausted and tormented, she started to cry.
Brown shook a warning finger and scolded, “Stop this snivelling, young lady. You owe a lot of people.” He had always spoken sweetly to her. His anger shocked her into silence.
Rory remembered his tutor’s professional manner and tried not to smile.
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