Minor Corruption (19 page)

Marc stood up, adjusted his wig and as Dick
Dougherty had done in the past, pretended to consult the notes in
front of him. He realized that he must tread carefully with this
witness, who had gained the jury’s sympathy immediately. He needed
to probe without seeming to inflict further pain on a grieving
father.

“Mr. Thurgood, we have a witness-statement
that claims that while your daughter did speak the words ‘Seamus,
Seamus,’ there was a third word in her response to your wife’s
question. Do you recall that word?”

Thurgood set his lower jaw, determined to
resist any onslaught from the defense counsel. “She might’ve
mumbled somethin’ between the two ‘Seamuses.’”

“But you don’t recall the word?”

“No.”

“In what tone of voice did Betsy deliver
these final, fateful words?”

“I don’t know what ya mean!”

“No need to get upset, sir. I just meant was
there a hint of accusation in her naming of the father? Or a
tenderness, perhaps?”

Neville Cambridge moved smoothly to his feet.
“Milord, counsel is leading the witness.”

“Let the witness find his own words,” the
judge said to Marc.

“Mr. Thurgood, was your daughter not
suffering from loss of blood and a severe fever?”

Thurgood looked away, struggling to keep his
natural belligerence in check. “’Course she was. Mrs. Cobb was set
to wrap her with cold cloths.”

“And is it not usual for people experiencing
a high fever to become delirious and disoriented – not quite sure
where they are or who they’re talking to?”

“I ain’t no doctor.”

“Isn’t it possible that Betsy, in her fever
delirium, did not hear or did not register the meaning of Mrs.
Thurgood’s question?”

“Why would she answer it, then? Right
off?”

Marc backed off, having pushed far enough and
planted some doubt in the jury’s mind. Dora Cobb would be up later
to expand upon this doubt.

“Sir, let’s move to your testimony about Mrs.
Trigger’s hasty exit. You said she waved a five-pound note at you
and referred to your daughter’s ‘miscarried’ babe?”

“That’s right. Bold as brass, she was.”

“Do you know for a fact that the banknote was
given to Mrs. Trigger by your daughter in payment for what proved
to be a botched and fatal abortion? Yes or no, please.”

Thurgood scowled. “No,” he mumbled.

“For all you know, Mrs. Trigger could have
pulled it out of her apron, couldn’t she?”

“That ain’t likely.”

“Perhaps she was feeling guilty about what
happened and wanted to make it look like a normal transaction for
her visit and assistance in a genuine miscarriage?”

“The coroner said she was butchered with a
knittin’ needle. And I saw the needle before she hid it away!”

“Mr. Thurgood,” the judge said, more in
exasperation than anger, “
please
restrain yourself.”

Marc rushed on. “Perhaps she wanted to make
it look as if the abortion was your daughter’s idea right from the
start and that money had changed hands when it actually
hadn’t?”

“Milord,” said Cambridge evenly, with just a
hint of sarcasm, “Mr. Edwards is beginning to fantasize.”

“I agree,” said the judge. “Move on, Mr.
Edwards.”

“When Betsy, earlier in the evening, told you
she might be pregnant but, being an innocent, did not know for
sure, whose idea was it to call in Mrs. Trigger?”

Thurgood hesitated, head down. “It was mine .
. . and I deeply regret doin’ it.”

“So Betsy herself did not request a midwife?
She did not herself specifically request Mrs. Trigger, a woman with
a questionable reputation at best?”

“I don’t have money fer doctors! I sent fer
the midwife in our area. I did what I thought best. I ain’t rich
like the Baldwins!”

Marc felt the wave of sympathy from the
gentlemen of the jury.

“What I’m suggesting, sir, is that if Betsy
had a five-pound banknote hidden in her room and was angling for an
abortion, would she herself not have initiated the request for Mrs.
Trigger, whose reputation went before her as a potential
abortionist?”

Thurgood leaned against the railing and
glared across the room at Marc. “I don’t know. All I know is that
so-called gentleman up there done in my little girl!”

Marc sat down, and Thurgood was helped from
the witness-stand. His final
cri de coeur
had struck the
jury hard, and Uncle Seamus had flinched and rocked back on his
heels, the first visible signs that he was following the
proceedings. The bailiff’s deputy was steadying him and, without
the fellow’s assistance, Uncle Seamus could not have continued
standing upright in the dock. Marc was annoyed at Thurgood’s
manipulation of the jury – with and without the connivance of the
prosecutor – but when the dust settled, he trusted that he had made
some dents in the Crown’s armour. He had definitely weakened the
link between Betsy and the five-pound note and the Crown’s
contention that Betsy plotted to have the abortion with the aid of
her seducer. He could have embarrassed Thurgood regarding his
choice of Mrs. Trigger, whose drunkenness was well known, and even
hinted that father and mother knew full well what she would get up
to and perhaps themselves had supplied that “five pounds” (or a
dollar or two) in order to secure an abortion for their daughter.
Also, Robert had mentioned Thurgood’s clumsy attempt at blackmail,
but to use it simply to discredit a grieving father would, like an
accusation of securing an abortion, more likely than not have
backfired. Moreover, he could use these angles later, if he chose,
when Thurgood was recalled. All in all, Marc was satisfied with his
first cross-examination: he felt the ghost of Dick Dougherty
smiling over his shoulder.

The Crown had put Auleen Thurgood on their
witness-list but only as insurance against some failure in her
husband’s testimony. Thurgood, however, had done well and Auleen
might not fare as well as he under the defense’s cross, and so she
was, for the time being, passed over in favour of Dora Cobb, the
Crown’s “objective” witness to the naming of the father.

Cambridge was well aware from the record of
Cobb’s interview with his wife that Dora had some differing and
less useful interpretation of Betsy’s last words, but he needed
someone besides Mom and Dad to nail down the naming of the
defendant. So he treaded carefully. He led Dora through her
night-ride to the Thurgoods and her professional efforts to save
the girl’s life. He wanted the jury to respect and admire her. And
they appeared to, not a few of them having benefited themselves
from her expertise in past years.

“Now, madam, we come to Betsy’s last moments
on God’s earth. Did you hear Mrs. Thurgood ask her daughter who
fathered her child?”

“I did, sir, even though I was busy swabbin’
the girl’s loins to try and stanch the blood.”

“And did you hear, almost immediately, an
answer to the question?”

“Well, sir, her words come right after the
question, if that’s what you mean?”

“It is, and thank you. Now try to recall
those exact words, if you will.”

“I don’t need to recollect them. I’ll never
ferget them. She said, ‘Seamus . . please . . . Seamus’.”

“She pronounced ‘Seamus” twice?”

“She did. But real pleadin’ like, not – ”

“Please, just answer my questions, Mrs.
Cobb.”

“But the girl – ”

“Mrs. Cobb, wait for the question. You are
not to do anything more than respond to queries put to you by
counsel,” said the judge.

“My apologies, Yer Lordship.”

“Did you know to whom she was referring?”

“No, I didn’t. I thought it might be one of
the neighbourhood lads.”

“So you didn’t know that Betsy worked up at
Spadina and was in daily contact with a Mr. Seamus Baldwin?”

“I ain’t ever been to Spadina, sir.”

Marc winced. Cambridge was indeed slick and
subtle. There was no way that Marc could object, but the prosecutor
had managed to refocus the jury’s attention on the defendant and
the “logical” inference about which particular Seamus was being
alluded to. Dora was now turned over to Marc.

“I’d like to go back to young Betsy’s last
words. We heard earlier testimony that she did speak three words,
and you have kindly given us the third one. It was ‘please’ set
between the two ‘Seamuses,’ is that right?”

“It is.”

“Would you try and repeat the whole phrase as
close as you can to the pace and rhythm of Betsy’s own voice?”

“Milord!” Cambridge was up quickly, but
without ruffling his silk gown. “What is the purpose of this bit of
cheap theatrics?”

“Mrs. Cobb was there, sir. It might be easier
for her to demonstrate than to describe, don’t you think?” the
judge said. “Go ahead, Mrs. Cobb.”

“I’ll try. She was somewhat delirious, so her
voice was slow and syrupy. She said ‘Seamus . . . please . . .
Seamus’.”

“Did that sound like an accusation to you? Or
a confession?”

Cambridge seethed – elegantly – but did not
intervene.

“No, sir. I thought it sounded more like she
was pleadin’ with us. Perhaps to go and fetch Mr. Seamus.”

Marc knew how dangerous this remark might
prove to be, but he had to get the notion of a plea into the jury’s
thinking. After all, he hoped, through Dr. Baldwin much later, to
show that Uncle Seamus was Betsy’s tutor and confidant, not her
seducer.

“One final question, ma’am. How many Seamuses
do you know?”

“Milord – ”

The judge held up his right hand.

Dora paused to think. “Oh, at least six or
seven. And most them is in Irishtown.”

Several jurors tittered.

“No more questions,” Marc said, and sat down,
satisfied.

The Crown then called two gentlemen from the
better part of town to testify about an August soirée at Spadina:
Mr. Samuel Leigh, a banker and onetime Tory member of the
Legislature, followed by Mr. Ralph Broadhead, a jeweller and close
friend of Bishop Strachan and other prominent persons of the Tory
persuasion. The Baldwins, father and son, though passionately
political, were not consumed by politics or personal power, nor did
they limit their friends and acquaintances to members of a single
party. They were likewise generous with invitations to their grand
house, Spadina.

So it happened that these gentlemen had
attended a dinner and evening’s entertainment on that great estate
in late August. And part of the entertainment had been a
ventriloquist performance by Seamus Baldwin, in which he was
costumed like a leprechaun and the live dummy on his lap was
intended to be an Irish peasant girl, complete with ruffled skirt
and low-cut peasant blouse. The only positive thing from Marc’s
point of view during this otherwise devastating testimony, was that
the dummy had been Edie Barr, not Betsy Thurgood. But much damage
was done nevertheless. Both gentlemen were shocked at the
spectacle. Seamus Baldwin had placed his right hand in the bun that
formed the back of the girl’s hair as if it were a string on a
dummy’s mouth, and while he tried unsuccessfully to keep his lips
from moving, Edie’s lower jaw dropped and rose – dummy-like – and
appeared to engage in a putatively comic dialogue with the
leprechaun. The “dummy,” without corsets or stockings, was perched
as plump as you please on the old fool’s lap.

Marc chose to cross-examine only the first of
these two witnesses.

“Mr. Leigh, did you not laugh at the
entertainment? Remember, sir, you are under oath.”

The question caught Leigh by surprise, but he
said grudgingly, “Once or twice. It would’ve been comical if it
hadn’t been improper.”

“Have you ever been to the theatre, sir?”

“Well, yes. Once or twice.”

“Ever see a comedy or a French farce?”

“One or two.”

“Ever see actors, male and female, doing
things on stage that you might in your own home consider a bit
naughty or ‘improper’ even?”

“Yes, but that was on a stage!”

“Were Mr. Baldwin and Miss Barr in
costume?”

“Well, yes.”

“Were they on a platform in Dr. William
Baldwin’s drawing-room?”

“Well, yes, they were. Just a little
one.”

“Was each of them playing a role other than
their own selves?”

“Well, yes – ”

“So what was improper, sir? You were being
entertained
, were you not? By a pair of costumed actors? Mr.
Seamus Baldwin was not
fondling
the girl, was he? The girl
did not look distressed, did she? Or as if she were being
coerced?”

Leigh had rocked back under this barrage, and
Cambridge had just reached his feet when the witness mumbled, “No,
sir. None of those things.”

Sitting on the rear bench near the back doors
next to the bailiff, Cobb felt the heat rise up through his collar.
What on earth was Marc up to? Was he out to cut up every witness,
every honest citizen who stepped up to the stand to do his duty?
How far would his friend go to dismantle this airtight case?

Marc’s rapid-fire examination of Samuel Leigh
did much to blunt the subsequent testimony of Ralph Broadhead. So
Marc declined to cross-examine.

The last witness of the morning was Beth
Edwards. She had watched several dramatic trials in the past two
years, but she had never been on the witness-stand herself. She was
nervous but did her best to appear calm. She had not been
interviewed by Neville Cambridge, but she was anticipating the
worst. Few people in the room did not know she was the wife of the
defense attorney. If she had compelling testimony to offer the
Crown, it would weigh mightily with the jury. Marc caught her eye,
and she smiled grimly. Marc had studiously avoided discussing the
possible questions she might be asked, as she was an official
prosecution witness. Even so, she was better left to her own
devices, which were considerable.