The Scandal at 23 Mount Street (An Angela Marchmont Mystery Book 9) (21 page)

‘Only that I know the prisoner to be innocent of the crime with which she has been charged. I know she did not kill David Marchmont.’

‘Oh? And how exactly do you know that?’

‘Because I killed him myself,’ said Valencourt.

At that a tumult broke out which could not be contained for some minutes. As the court officials did their best to maintain order, Edgar Valencourt continued to look straight ahead of him, apparently unmoved by the sensation he had created—not least among three of the spectators, who had had not the faintest idea that this was coming. Freddy’s jaw dropped, and he looked across at Marthe and William, who were staring at one another, dumbfounded. The revelation of Valencourt’s previous conviction for murder was surprise enough, but this was even more astonishing. They had expected him to give Angela some sort of alibi—perhaps a false one that did not reveal the true nature of their relationship—but they had never dreamed that he would go to the lengths of confessing to the murder. Kathie was frantically nudging Freddy in the ribs, and he glanced towards Angela, who looked as though she did not quite know where she was. As they watched, they saw her visibly pull herself together, although her hands still rested on the edge of the dock as if for support.

When calm was finally restored, the questioning continued.

‘That is a surprising confession to make, Mr. Valencourt,’ said Mr. Travers. ‘Especially in view of the fact that we are here today to try someone else entirely for the crime in question. Can you support your assertion with evidence?’

‘Yes, I can,’ said Valencourt.

‘Then will you tell us of the circumstances which led to your killing David Marchmont?’

‘Certainly. I met David Marchmont on the seventh of November last, in some bar or other in Soho—I don’t recall the name. We were playing cards in a private room late at night, and he subbed me when I nearly lost everything after making a silly mistake, which saved me from losing a pretty large sum. He rather attached himself to me after that, and since I was grateful to him I didn’t object. We spent a couple of nights going to various places to play and very soon I found myself subbing
him
, although he promised to pay me back. After a day or two I began to realize I’d made a mistake and that he was the sort of fellow who liked to latch on to people and take advantage of them. By Friday he owed me rather a lot of money, and since I knew he was in funds by then I asked him when he was going to pay me, but he laughed and made some excuse and said he’d pay me the next day. On Saturday I met him at his club and we had words outside, which I gather were overheard.’

‘Did you drop a glove when you spoke to Mr. Marchmont that day?’ said Mr. Travers.

‘I think I must have. I didn’t notice it at the time, but I missed it later.’

A glove was produced and handed to the witness.

‘Is this it?’

‘It looks very like it,’ said Valencourt.

‘This is the glove that was found in the pocket of David Marchmont,’ said Mr. Travers to the jury. ‘We have here also another glove which Mr. Valencourt gave me on Saturday. Please be so good as to examine the two gloves.’

The jury did so. They were quite clearly a pair. Mr. Travers invited Valencourt to continue.

‘I hadn’t intended to see the fellow again but that evening I bumped into him, and against my better judgment agreed to go for a drink with him, as he said he wanted to talk to me—I assumed about the money. We had quite a few drinks and neither of us was particularly sober when I brought the subject up again. He said he didn’t have the money on him but he could get it for me quite easily. I agreed to go with him, and he took me to an address in Mount Street, which he told me was his wife’s flat. She was very wealthy, he said, and she’d give him whatever he wanted.’

‘Did he mention that they were separated?’ said Mr. Travers.

‘No,’ said Valencourt. ‘Evidently they didn’t live together, but since he let himself in with a key I assumed they were on good terms and that she wouldn’t object to his turning up.’

‘You did not think it odd that he should bring a friend with him when he went to ask his wife for money?’

‘I wasn’t thinking about very much at all,’ said Valencourt. ‘As I said, I’d had rather too much to drink.’

‘I see. At what time did you go to the flat?’

‘I think it was about a quarter to ten.’

‘And what happened when you got there?’

‘There was nobody at home, so Marchmont said his wife must be out and that we’d have to wait. I sat down and he said we might as well make ourselves at home and began looking in cupboards for drinks and suchlike. Then he said perhaps she kept some cash lying around in the flat. He looked in the desk drawers but found nothing. After that he went over to the window, opened the top drawer of a little chest there and brought a gun out. He showed it to me and said something like, “Look—this is how much my wife trusts me,” and then laughed and put it back. Then he went and stood behind the sofa and looked out of the window, to see if he could see her coming, he said. While he was doing that I went to the chest of drawers and took the revolver from the top drawer out of curiosity.’

‘You had no intention of shooting Mr. Marchmont then?’

‘None at all, at that point. I just wanted to take a closer look at the gun. Then Marchmont said something or other and I went to join him at the window. I can’t remember how the row began, but he made some remark that irritated me, and I snapped back at him. Then he said perhaps he wouldn’t pay me after all, and mentioned something that made it perfectly clear he knew the police were looking for me—although I don’t know how he found that out, because I certainly didn’t tell him. After that he said that perhaps I ought to pay
him
instead for his silence. He had the most insufferable grin on his face when he said it, and I’m afraid I rose to the bait. I said something about how it was unwise to try and blackmail a man with a gun, but he just laughed and said I wouldn’t dare. Then he called me a coward and said, “Look, I’m turning my back on you,” and practically invited me to do it.’ Here he paused. ‘So I did,’ he said simply.

The silence in court was almost complete as everyone listened, rapt, to Valencourt’s story.

‘Do you mean you shot him?’ said Mr. Travers.

‘Yes.’

‘At what time was this?’

‘Just after ten o’clock, I think.’

‘Then what did you do?’

‘I left the place in a hurry. I wiped the finger-prints off everything I’d touched, and then went out.’

‘Did you lock the door as you left?’

‘Yes. Marchmont had left his keys in the lock and I thought it would be better not to arouse suspicion by leaving the door open.’

‘What did you do with the keys?’

‘I got rid of them somewhere. I can’t remember where.’

‘And what did you do with the gun?’

‘I took it with me.’

‘Is this it?’ said Mr. Travers, producing a little revolver.

‘Yes.’

Mr. Travers turned to the jury. ‘Mr. Valencourt handed this gun to me when he came to me on Saturday,’ he explained. ‘I looked inside it and found that it was almost fully loaded except for one bullet, which was missing. The empty cartridge was still inside. Dr. Menzies has examined the gun and the bullets at my request, and I shall shortly ask him to give evidence to confirm that this is the same gun that was used to kill David Marchmont. In the meantime, I should like to ask Mrs. Marchmont if she can identify this as her gun.’

He handed the revolver to Angela, who looked caught by surprise.

‘Mrs. Marchmont, is this your revolver?’

She glanced down at it.

‘Yes,’ she said after a moment, for it was useless to deny it.

‘The one that went missing from your flat?’

She confirmed it with a nod, and Mr. Travers took the gun and turned back to Valencourt.

‘Are you acquainted at all with Mrs. Marchmont?’ he said.

‘No,’ replied Valencourt. ‘I had only the slightest acquaintance with her husband, and I had no idea he was even married until the night I killed him.’

‘Then you have never met her before?’

‘No, never.’

‘Mr. Valencourt, you are by your own admission a convicted murderer and escaped prisoner, who has successfully eluded capture by the police for ten years or more. Why are you confessing now to the murder of David Marchmont?’

‘Because I never intended that anyone else should be blamed for it. I had no idea that his wife would be put on trial for what I did. I may be wicked, but I am not so wicked as to allow someone else to hang for a crime I committed. I killed Mrs. Marchmont’s husband, but it was in a moment of anger, and I cannot stand by in cold blood and watch her be tried and convicted of it.’

‘Thank you,’ said Mr. Travers. ‘Now, if you will permit me.’

He turned to Angela.

‘Mrs. Marchmont, this man claims he murdered your husband. Did you know anything of this?’

‘No,’ said Angela with perfect truth.

‘And you have never met Mr. Valencourt before?’

Angela opened her mouth to speak. She had been struggling to maintain her composure at this latest turn of events, and had willed herself with every nerve in her body to show no sign of emotion at the awful revelations of the past half an hour. But now all she wanted to do was to speak out, to cry that none of it was true; that Valencourt had told lie after lie under oath; that he barely knew her husband and had had no reason to kill him; that on the contrary he knew
her
very well indeed, and that they had been together on that fateful night before he kissed her goodbye; that she had given him the gun with her very own hands so that he might protect himself from his enemies; that he was confessing to the murder out of some idiotic wish to save her and that it must not be allowed. All this she wanted to say and more. And yet somehow she could not, for everything else was drowned out by those terrible words, ‘
convicted of the murder of his wife…convicted of the murder of his wife
,’ which repeated themselves over and over again in her head with the inexorable rhythm of a drummer drumming some poor soul along the final road to his execution. She had always known he was a thief, but this—this was too much to bear. How could she have been so foolish as to place her trust in him? He was wicked through and through and she wished with all her heart that she had never met him. And yet now she must rely on him to save her.

Against her will, she found herself looking across the court-room at Valencourt. He was not looking at her, perhaps to make it easier for her to accept the great favour he had offered her. She hated the obligation under which it would put her, and which would burden her for the rest of her life, but what choice did she have? This was her only way out, and he knew it as well as she did. She turned back to face Mr. Travers. Had she ever met Edgar Valencourt before? That was the question. The court was waiting for her answer and she must give it or die.

‘No,’ she said firmly at last, and with that one word out of her own mouth damned both him and herself to perdition.

After that, Angela cared not what happened to her. She withdrew into herself and stared straight ahead as Dr. Menzies was produced and confirmed, as expected, that the gun which had been surrendered by Edgar Valencourt was indeed the one which had been used to kill Davie Marchmont. Then Jos McLeod was brought back, and identified Valencourt clearly as the man he had seen threatening Davie on the steps of Burkett’s club on the afternoon of the murder. By this time the mood in the court had changed palpably from what it had been only a few days earlier, for now that this dangerous escaped criminal had come forward to make his extraordinary confession it seemed perfectly obvious to all those in the public gallery that Angela Marchmont had had nothing to do with her husband’s death, and in fact had very nearly been the victim of a grave miscarriage of justice.

Sir Benjamin Hicks-Reddington had remained quiet while all this went on, and had made no move to cross-examine any of these latest witnesses for the defence. Many took this as a tacit admission that he had played his hand and lost—for whether he believed Valencourt’s story or not, it would surely have looked churlish to insist on pursuing his prosecution of the defendant when there was a perfectly good confession before the court which seemed to fit all the facts neatly enough. Angela Marchmont was generally popular with the public, and her husband had quite obviously been a bad lot whom no-one regretted except his mother, and so Sir Benjamin did not wish to be seen to be responsible for sending her to the gallows if there was any doubt about her guilt. Besides, there would be no damage to his reputation if he let the matter lie, for he had been sure of a win and it was only by pure coincidence that he had been foiled at last.

Mr. Travers, too, was no fool; he was experienced enough to suspect that this sudden confession was perhaps a little too convenient to be true, but was not about to delve too deeply into it, for it answered all his prayers. Whether he believed Angela’s assertion that she had never met Edgar Valencourt cannot be said, but he certainly had the good sense not to press the point. He was also careful not to appear to crow, for he saw the way the wind was blowing and had no wish to ruin things at the last minute by provoking his learned colleague into delving too deeply into Valencourt’s story. His main concern now was to bring a swift end to proceedings while everybody was still dazzled by the sensational developments of the morning, and to that end he announced that he should like to move for an immediate acquittal if His Lordship were quite amenable, since it seemed perfectly evident to him that his client had no case to answer and that she had already suffered quite enough. The judge harrumphed and glanced at the clock, and said it was nearly lunch-time and that the court would adjourn while he considered the matter.

Everybody duly rose and filed out, and Angela was taken to a side room to wait until proceedings recommenced. They had just reached the door of the room in question when the sound of footsteps was heard at the other end of the corridor and Angela glanced up to see Edgar Valencourt, his wrists handcuffed, approaching in company with two policemen. She did not look at him, nor he at her, but the corridor was a narrow one, and as he passed her his step faltered and he turned his head slightly towards her as though he wanted to say something. She looked at the floor. Then one of the policemen gave him a shove and they were gone, and she was left to the pleasure of her own thoughts. It would not be long now. Soon the whole thing would be over and she would know her fate, but for now she would concentrate merely on maintaining her composure. Whatever happened to her, she would never show weakness. She would not allow others to lick their lips at her pain; it should be hers alone.