Silence in Court (20 page)

“What else did she say, Mr. Harland?”

“Well, it was all on those lines. She said she was going to alter her will—she always did if she was annoyed with any of us—and that Hood had gone away with the draft. She said she would sign it next day. She was very worked up, and I was afraid she would make herself ill, so I did my best to soothe her. Then Miss Brayle came in and said of course she wouldn't be taking her evening off as my aunt was so upset, and there was a flare-up about that.”

“Mrs. Maquisten wished the nurse to go?”

“She insisted. In fact she went so far as to say that if she didn't do as she was told she could clear out altogether.”

“Was anything said about the sleeping-draught?”

“Yes—Miss Brayle said my aunt should have one. She gave this as a reason for staying in. My aunt was by this time so angry that I suggested that the sleeping-draught should be left ready, and that Ellen Bridling should bring it in and give it to her when she put her to bed.”

“Was this agreed upon?”

“Yes. It had been done before.”

“What happened after that?”

“I went down to the study.”

“Was anyone there?”

“Miss Silence was there.”

His voice was as cold as a March wind. She wasn't “Carey Silence” or “my cousin.” She supposed she might be thankful that he hadn't called her “the accused.” He hadn't looked at her once.

Mr. Lanthony was asking,

“Did you repeat to Miss Silence what had just taken place in Mrs. Maquisten's room?”

“Yes.”

“All of it?”

“Yes.”

“Did you tell her that Mrs. Maquisten was to have a sleeping-draught?”

“Yes.”

“Did you describe the method by which that sleeping-draught was prepared?”

There was a pause.

Dennis Harland said, “Yes.”

“Will you describe the method now.”

“My aunt couldn't swallow a tabloid. When she took one she had it dissolved and mixed with coffee.”

“Did you describe this method to Miss Silence?”

“Yes.”

“Did you tell her that the draught with this dissolved tabloid was to be left for Ellen Bridling to administer?”

“Yes.”

“Did you inform Miss Silence that Mrs. Maquisten had not told you who was to be cut out of her will?”

“Yes. She said she hadn't told her either.”

“How long were you and Miss Silence together?”

“Until half past seven, when we went up to dress for dinner.”

“What time was dinner?”

“It was late because we waited for my cousin Nora Hull. We sat down as soon as she came in, a little after eight.”

“‘We' being yourself, Miss Silence, Miss King, and Mrs. Hull?”

“Yes.”

Mr. Lanthony took him through the conversation at the dinner table.

“So when you rose from the table Miss Silence had been given to understand that Mrs. Maquisten had not named the person with whom she was angry?”

“Yes.”

He was asked about the order in which they went upstairs, and repeated what Nora had said.

“Who were in Mrs. Maquisten's room when you got there?”

“Miss Silence and Honor King.”

“Will you describe what happened after that.”

“My cousin Nora Hull joined us. Molly brought in the coffee and went away. I asked my aunt if she was going to scold us, and she said, ‘No—not tonight.' Nora Hull asked her if she would have coffee. She said, ‘I'm to take some wretched sleeping-draught, I believe, but there's no reason why I shouldn't have a decent cup of coffee as well.' Honor King asked if it wouldn't keep her awake, and she said that was her affair. She said she would take the sleeping-draught first—Magda had left it all ready. She told us to ring for Ellen. But when Ellen Bridling came she was in one of her cranky moods—she's a privileged old servant—and she tried to persuade my aunt not to take the draught. She wanted her to have a hop pillow instead. In the end she refused point-blank to get the stuff, and suggested that Nora or Miss Silence should do so.”

“Did she refuse abruptly?”

“Very abruptly. She said, ‘I'm not giving you any sleeping-draughts neither tonight nor any other night. What's the nurse for, if it isn't to give sleeping-draughts and suchlike? It isn't what I was engaged for!' Then she went out of the room, and my aunt told Miss Silence to get the sleeping-draught from the bathroom shelf.”

Carey sat there with her hands in her lap and tried not to listen, but every time he said “Miss Silence” it was like an open accusation. Nora Hull—Honor King—even Magda Brayle had her Christian name from him, but for Carey for whom his voice had been so warm and friendly, for Carey whom he had kissed, there was only that estranged “Miss Silence.” She tried not to listen, not to be made to go through that scene again. But she couldn't escape. She couldn't close her ears to Dennis's voice, not warm and friendly now, but cold and strange. Once again she saw herself come in with the medicine-glass in her hand. She saw Honor add the milk, the sugar, the coffee. She saw Honoria Maquisten put in the brandy, tip up the glass, and drink.

Dennis's voice which was the voice of a stranger went on.

“When my aunt had drunk the sleeping-draught she gave the glass to Miss Silence and told her to put it back on the shelf. Then she drank the cup of coffee which had been poured out for her and told us all to keep quiet, because there was something she wanted to say.”

“Had Miss Silence come back?”

“Yes. My aunt told her to sit where she could see her.”

“Will you tell us what Mrs. Maquisten had to say.”

“She said we were all to be there next day at a quarter to two. She said she had told my cousin Robert Maquisten to come. She said Mr. Hood would be bringing the draft of her new will, and that she would have something to say to us all before she signed it. She said, ‘I have made a great many wills, but this one is final. I shall fill in the names and certain details tomorrow, and sign the draft.' She added that she didn't intend to wait for Mr. Aylwin's return, as he might be delayed, and neither he nor anyone else would turn her from what was her decided purpose. Then she told us all to go, and to send Ellen to her. She said she was tired and wanted to go to bed.”

“Did you see Mrs. Maquisten again?”

Dennis said, “Not whilst she was alive.”

There came back to Carey the echo of his voice as he had turned at the bedroom door that night—“Sleep well, darling.” It hurt her quite unbearably. She knew suddenly that the same memory was hurting him.

Junior counsel for the defence, the tall, thin young man whose face she liked but whose name she couldn't remember, was on his feet now. Mr. Lanthony had sat down, looking as rubicund as if he breakfasted on beef and beer and had never heard of Lord Woolton.

“Mr. Harland—you were in Mrs. Maquisten's room for about twenty minutes on the occasion you have just described?”

“Rather less than that.”

“During that time Miss Silence was also there, except when she went to fetch the sleeping-draught and to take away the glass at Mrs. Maquisten's request?”

“Yes.”

“How long was she absent when she went to get the draught?”

“She went into the bathroom and came straight back again.”

“There was no delay?”

“None at all.”

“Would there have been time for her to have dissolved a tabloid, and to have added it to the draught in the medicine-glass?”

There was a pause. Dennis Harland said, “Not then.”

“There was not the slightest delay?”

“No.”

“Now, Mr. Harland—during the time when you were all together in Mrs. Maquisten's room, did you hear her address Miss Silence?”

“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.