“It was unfair. I was only doing my duty.”
“Did you seek the assistance of Mr. Cardiff to intervene?”
“I did, but he refused. He said the servants were beholden only to Mrs. Cardiff-Jones.”
“Were you given references?”
“No,” Perkins said bitterly. “She wouldn’t give me a reference.”
“And you haven’t been able to find other employment?”
“Not yet, no.”
“Did you harbour feelings of resentment towards Mrs. Cardiff-Jones?”
“I was unhappy with her, yes.”
“And did you, in front of other servants, swear to get even with Mrs. Cardiff-Jones?”
“I was just blowing off steam.”
“Where were you on the evening of the crime?”
“I was home. Alone.”
“Can you substantiate that?”
“No.”
“So you harboured a grudge against Mrs. Cardiff-Jones and you have no alibi for the time of the crime?”
Perkins glared at Marc. “No,” he said.
“Did the police ask you to try on the glove that was found at the scene of the crime?”
“Yes.”
“And did it fit?”
“Yes. But it wasn’t mine,” Perkins cried, looking bewildered.
Marc turned Perkins over to McBride.
“Just a few simple questions, Mr. Perkins. First, where you home all evening on the night of the crime?”
“I was.”
“And did you throw acid in Mrs. Cardiff-Jones’s face?”
“I did not!” Perkins said loudly.
“And regarding this glove. Would you say you were an average size?”
“Yes. Average.”
“And therefore the glove might well fit hundreds of average-sized men in this city?”
“That’s right.”
“That you,” McBride said.
At this point Horace Macy was recalled to the stand.
“Mr. Macy,” Marc said, “were you paying court to Mrs. Cardiff-Jones?”
“We spent much time together,” Macy said. He looked wary.
“Did you ever propose marriage to her?”
“Several times.”
“And how did she respond?”
“She said she was not quite ready to be married.”
“And how did you take this refusal?”
“I was disappointed, but not discouraged. I loved her and I knew she liked me.”
“Were you under the impression that you were her only suitor?”
“At first I was.”
“When did you discover that there was another man in the picture?”
“One afternoon recently when I came out the back door of Rosewood, I found a Mr. Lionel Trueman waiting for me in the yard.”
“And he was as shocked to see you there as you were to see him there?”
“You could say that.”
“Did you subsequently get into an argument?”
“We quarrelled over who was the true suitor.”
“At some point did you challenge Mr. Trueman to a duel?”
“He accused me of seeking Mrs. Cardiff-Jones’s money.”
“And you took that as n insult to your honour?”
“I did.”
“Even though duelling is illegal?”
“We never intended to go through with it.”
“Did you not meet at dawn the next morning in the cricket grounds, armed with pistols?”
“It was all show – ”
“And were you not in the process of pacing off each other, pistols cocked, when you were interrupted by the police?”
“It wasn’t what it seemed.”
“Be that as it may, Mr. Macy, you were so besotted with Mrs. Cardiff-Jones that you were willing to fight a duel over her. What I want to know is when your affection, your obsession, turned to hatred.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Macy cried, looking desperately at the judge.
“You discovered that the object of your affections was double-dealing with you, isn’t that right? She was seeing Lionel Trueman seriously. And you couldn’t forgive her for that, could you?”
“That’s nonsense. I loved her. I hated him.”
“Yet you were seen after the duel talking to Trueman in a most friendly manner. Had you both decided you were being played for fools? Was that why you decided to get even?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Did the police ask you to try on the glove that was found at the scene?”
“Yes.”
“And did it fit?”
“It was a little too small. And it wasn’t mine!”
“Where were you on the evening of the crime?”
Flustered, Macy managed to blurt out, “I was at home at seven-fifteen.”
“Can you prove that?”
“My maid Gladys was in the room next to my study. She can verify that I never left the house.”
“What if I were to tell you that we have an affidavit from your maid saying that she fell asleep and therefore cannot vouch for your alibi?”
“That doesn’t mean I’m not telling the truth, does it?”
“I suggest, sir, that you left your house and went to Rosewood to confront your faithless lover, outraged as your were by her behaviour. And threw acid in her face.”
“Milord!” McBride was teetering, his jowls a-flush, his tragedian’s eyes blazing. “Mr. Macy is not on trial here.”
“I agree,” said the judge. “Cease this line of questioning immediately. The jury will ignore that last remark.”
Ignore it? Marc thought. It was now seared into their memory.
“I apologize, Milord.” Marc said, then turned abruptly to Macy. “Did you know Mrs. Marion Stokes?”.
Macy looked puzzled, but said, “Of course.”
“Did you know that Mrs. Marion Stokes and Mrs. Cardiff-Jones were friends?”
“I did. We both moved in the same social circles.”
“Two more questions. Did the police ask you to try on the glove found at the scene?”
Macy looked smug as he said, “They did, and it fit. But it wasn’t mine. I don’t wear brown.”
“Finally, sir, do you have access to sulphuric acid?”
“You know I do. I’m a chemist.”
“No more questions,” Marc said.
“Mr. McBride?”
“Mr. Macy,” said McBride, “did you throw acid at Mrs. Cardiff-Jones?”
“I certainly did not.”
“Did you harbour any ill-feelings towards her?”
“None.”
“Were you at home all evening on the night of the crime?”
“I was.”
McBride smiled, but some of the smugness was gone. Marc had shown that a third party had been seen running from the front of the house near the time of the crime. Now he had a suspect with a motive and no alibi.
Marc’s next witness was Cecil Denfield.
“Mr. Denfield, you told the police that on the evening of the crime you were at home from six o’clock onwards.”
“Yes, I did.”
“You also told them your wife was home with you, and she verified that?”
“That is so.”
“But your maid also told the police that you were ill and went to bed.”
“That’s correct.”
“She told them as well that Mrs. Denfield went out to visit her cousin about seven o’clock.”
Denfield was taken aback, but recovered quickly. The galleries were leaning forward, intent. “I was in bed. She may very well have slipped out without me knowing it.”
“And your maid said she herself went to her room for the rest of the night.”
McBride rose. “Where is this meandering dialogue leading, Milord? And Mr. Edwards should bring this maid on if he wishes to use her testimony.”
“Get to the point quickly,” the judge said
to Marc.
“Yes, Milord. Mr. Denfield, is it not true that no-one can vouch for the fact that you were alone in bed during the time the crime was committed?”
“It would seem so. But I was, I swear.”
Marc looked down at his notes, then back up again. “Mr. Denfield, how long had you been Delores Cardiff-Jones’s lover?”
Sensation in the galleries. Then slowly all eyes turned to Audrey Denfield, seated in the left gallery. She stared ahead impassively.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Denfield sputtered.
“May I remind the witness he is under oath,” Marc said. “Please answer the question.”
Denfield looked down at his hands on the railing.
McBride interjected, having regained his aplomb. “What is the relevance of such an impertinent question?” he said.
“It goes to motive, Milord.”
“Well, tread carefully, Mr. Edwards,” said the judge. “Mr. Denfield is not on trial. The witness will answer the question.”
Denfield whispered, “Delores and I were lovers for almost three months.”
Again, Audrey Denfield stared straight ahead.
“And how was this affair managed?”
“We met several nights a week. I came secretly to her back door, and she or her trusted maid would let me in. I would always leave by midnight.”
“And as far as you were concerned, this was a secret affair?”
“Yes. Delores wished it and so did I.”
“When did you discover Mrs. Cardiff-Jones was being courted by other men?”
“I didn’t know that!” Denfield stammered.
“You weren’t aware that Mrs. Cardiff-Jones went riding with Lionel Trueman and entertained Horace Macy during the afternoons?”
“No, sir. I thought I was her lover.”
“So you didn’t become jealous of her behaviour? You didn’t find your affection turning to anger and outrage at the way she was playing with your affections? You were not angry enough to decide to seek revenge?”
“Milord, Mr. Edwards is badgering the witness. And he is accusing him of murder! Does he intend to accuse every adult male in Toronto? Including the bailiff?”
“Mr. Edwards, you have had your questions answered. Please refrain from embellishment and unsubstantiated accusations. The jury will ignore defense counsel’s remarks.”
“No more questions, Milord,” Marc said. But he sat down, well-pleased that he had produced another candidate for that third party. A man with motive and no alibi. Moreover, he had an even more likely candidate in the offing: Lionel Trueman.
McBride went through the motions of having Denfield deny he had thrown acid at the widow, and the court adjourned for lunch.
THIRTEEN
Lionel Trueman stood up ramrod-straight, and stared across the courtroom at the defense attorney – waiting. Marc fiddled with his notes, then looked up.
“Were you a suitor for the hand of Mrs. Cardiff-Jones?” he said.
“I was. We often went out in her carriage in the mornings.”
“Only in the mornings?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
“Was that because the afternoons were reserved for Mr. Horace Macy and the evenings for Mr. Cecil Denfield?”
“Milord,” McBride said, rising. “How is the witness supposed to know the intimate habits of Mrs. Cardiff-Jones?”
“If he doesn’t,” said the judge, “he can say so.”
“We preferred the coolness of the mornings,” Trueman said. “And I was under the impression that I was the only suitor.”
“Did you propose marriage to Mrs. Cardiff-Jones?”
“Several times.”
“And how did she reply?”
“She put me off.”
“She refused you?”
“Yes.”
“And this frustrated and angered you?”
“It left me impatient.”
“And suspicious, didn’t it? For you subsequently learned that Horace Macy was a rival for the lady’s hand.”
“I did find that out, just recently.”
“And you insulted Macy and occasioned him to challenge you to a duel?”
“Yes.”
“I suggest, sir, that your emotions were running high. You were angry at Macy and angry at the lady for double-dealing.”
“My anger was directed at Mr. Macy.”
“Then why were you seen being friendly with him after the duel was interrupted and stopped?”
“We both realized we had been foolish. I apologized.”
“I suggest you both realized the lady was faithless, that she was toying with your affections, and that your love for her quickly turned to resentment and hate.”
“That is not true. I loved her.”
“Where were you on the evening of the crime?”
“I was home, alone. Waiting for a friend.”
“You were initially at the Reverend Ogilvie’s, playing cards?”
“Yes, but I got called away to go home and wait for a friend. But he never showed up.”
“What time was this?”
“It was around seven o’clock when I started back for the Reverend’s place.”
“And, according to a witness I can produce, you went past Rosewood. In fact, you were observed just after seven o’clock on the front porch of Rosewood having an argument with Mrs. Cardiff-Jones, weren’t you?”
Trueman looked daggers at Marc, and said, “What if I was?”
“Tell the court, please, the nature of that argument.”
“We argued about Horace Macy.”
“And her seeing him as well as you?”
“Yes.”
“How did the quarrel end?”
“She said she wasn’t ready to marry. And she would see as many gentlemen as she wished.”
“And you left – very angry.”
“I was upset. I thought she would marry me.”
“And angry at her perfidy?”
The galleries were mesmerized by this testimony. There was a hushed awe in the courtroom.
“So angry that you did not go home?”
“No, I went straight to the card party, though my evening was spoiled.”
“I submit, sir, that you were outraged, that you went home, less than five minutes away, brooded about what had happened, and forged a note as being from Marion Stokes, whom you knew to be a close friend of Mrs. Cardiff-Jones. You had it delivered to Rosewood, and taking a vial of acid, you hid at the side of house until Mrs. Cardiff-Jones came out, whereupon you hurled the acid in her face – ”
“Milord, this is outrageous,” cried Austin McBride.
“I agree,” said the judge sternly. “Mr. Edwards you must refrain from making wild accusations If you do not, I will hold you in contempt of court. Let the jury draw their own inferences.”
“I have no more questions, Milord. The defense rests.”
McBride, ruffled and flushed, rose to ask Trueman if he had indeed tossed acid at Mrs. Cardiff-Jones, and was satisfied with his denial. But a lot of damage had been done. A man with a clear motive had been placed at the scene fifteen or twenty minutes before the murder. Was he also the third party seen scuttling afterwards along the east wall of Rosewood? Marc was now convinced that the jury would acquit his client. Court was adjourned. Closing arguments would be heard the next day.
***
“Why the long face?” Cobb said to Marc later that day when they had come to Briar Cottage to mull over the events of the trial. “I think you got the jury on your side.”
“Yes,” said Beth, “you couldn’t have done more, Marc.”
“”Well, I’ve certainly got enough to spin a powerful closing argument,” Marc admitted. “I’ve got five people with much stronger motives than Gilles Gagnon, and I’ve shown they had the opportunity. I’ve placed a third party at the scene of the crime. I’ve shown that Gilles couldn’t have forged that note, that the glove didn’t fit him, and did fit sever
al of the others. But I did not succeed in breaking down the real criminal on the stand. For sure as I’m sitting here, one of those five did the deed.”
“My money’s still on Macy, the chemist,” said Cobb. “He could get his hands on the acid anytime he pleased.”
“And Beth, you still favour the woman, Constance Brown?”
“This is definitely a woman’s crime of vengeance,” Beth said. Then she added as if she had just thought of it, “but there’s one woman we haven’t looked at.”
“So there is,” Marc said, smiling broadly. “So there is.”
***
Over Austin McBride’s strenuous objections, Marc got permission to call one more witness, a woman who was still in the courtroom: Audrey Denfield.
The galleries were abuzz with anticipation.
“Mrs. Denfield,” Marc began. “How long have you been married?”
“Ten years,” said Audrey, biting her lip to control her emotions. She looked like a trapped rabbit, staring at the stoat.
“And your husband was always faithful to you?”
She looked down. “Yes. Always.”
“So it must have come as a shock to hear you husband admit in open court that he had committed adultery three times a week for three months.”
“Of course it did,” she snapped.
“I suggest, however, that you knew of this affair well before this trial. Is that not so?”
“No!” she cried. “I did not!”
“I submit that you discovered his affair, but that your anger was directed not so much at your wayward husband as the wayward woman who had seduced him.”
“No, that’s not true.”
“Is it not true that merely seeing him dance with Mrs. Cardiff-Jones at the Charity Ball caused you to faint dead away?”
“I – I was feeling dizzy from all the smoke.”
“You were outraged at the flirtatious behaviour of Mrs. Cardiff-Jones, weren’t you?”
“I just felt dizzy and fainted.”
“Bringing your husband to your side immediately, and out of the clutches of that awful woman. I submit that even then you knew or greatly suspected he was having an affair with her. And your husband’s excuses for being away until midnight three times a week must have grown thin and threadbare.”
“No, I never suspected!”
“You did not dislike Mrs. Cardiff-Jones? Did not disapprove of her dissolute behaviour?”
“Of course I did. Everybody did.”
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