Devil in My Arms (31 page)

Hil bristled at the comment. “I hardly think it immoral to fall in love with a courageous and kind woman,” he snapped. “And, regardless of my personal feelings, I am Sir Hilary St. John. I have the utmost respect for the law, and for those who carry it out and maintain it. Truth and justice are at the center of all I do and have done in the past to help the authorities maintain order and protect the innocent.” He wouldn’t go so far as to say he’d never lie to protect anyone. He would, and had. But in this case it wasn’t required.

“Thank you,” Roger said and sat down.

Mr. Burns immediately stood. “If I may, Sir Hilary?”

“Of course.” Hil was on guard. Burns wasn’t the best prosecutor in London, but he wasn’t the worst, and Hil had already proven today he was not completely in control of his mental faculties, due to his worry over Eleanor and lack of sleep.

“Your relationship with Mrs. Enderby progressed from protector to lover rather quickly.”

“If by lover you mean the woman I love, then yes,” Hil answered, maintaining his temper by force of will. “I was not long in her company after becoming reacquainted with her that I realized what a brilliant, kind, irresistible woman she is.”

“When she arrived at your house the night of the murder, once again dressed in boys’ clothing and on the run from her husband, was it the first time she had done so?”

The question was worded poorly. Technically, Hil could answer yes, because the other times she had not been on the run from Enderby, nor had she been wearing boys’
clothing. “Yes.” Hil’s answer was curt. He feared embellishment would trip him up, and he needed his wits about him for this cross-examination.

“You had not been intimate with Mrs. Enderby prior to that night?” Mr. Burns pressed.

“Yes, we were intimate.” He wanted to protest but couldn’t. Roger had opened up this line of questioning.

“With Enderby’s death, you and Mrs. Enderby are now free to pursue your relationship, are you not?”

“I plan to marry her, if she’ll have me.”

Eleanor gasped and put a hand over her mouth. She shook her head as tears fell down her cheeks. Women in the gallery were openly weeping.

“A future you would be unable to pursue if Enderby still lived,” Mr. Burns observed. “Surely you and Mrs. Enderby had spoken of this before?”

“I wished to marry her as Mrs. Fairchild. I had not a care for whether or not a piece of paper had been signed when she was a mere girl giving her to a man who was undeserving, nay, more than that—vile and reprehensible. Our legal status had no bearing on our feelings for one another. The only reason for a marriage was so that she could live in my home and society would not ostracize her, as they would if we were not legally wed. We could have married without revealing her identity.”

“But you didn’t,” Mr. Burns said, watching him closely. “Why?”

“She was too frightened,” Hil answered honestly. “Because of her experience with Enderby, she feared being under the control of any man, even one who loves her as I do. We fought over it and she sent me away.”

“And yet, before Enderby’s body was cold, she was at your door again,” Burns said snidely. “His death was very convenient for her change of heart.”

“I don’t believe there was a question in your remark,” Hil replied haughtily. “But I shall answer to it, if not answer it directly. Eleanor’s appearance at my home was not to say she’d had a change of heart, but to say good-bye. She was leaving London because of Enderby’s pursuit. She felt she put all of us at risk by remaining. He had gone mad, from what I understand. His behavior was not sane when he threatened Mrs. Enderby at the opera and tried to take her.”

“That is speculation,” Mr. Burns said quickly, turning to the jury. “Sir Hilary was not present.”

“Nor were you,” Hil said, to the delight of the crowd. “If you can take the word of credible witnesses, so can I.” The gallery erupted in laughter.

“Do you know for a fact the whereabouts of Mrs. Enderby prior to her arrival at your house on the night of the murder?” Mr. Burns asked.

“Yes,” Hil answered, stepping forward in the witness box and gripping the rail as he glared at Mr. Burns. “She was running through the streets of London, risking her life to say good-bye to the man she loved, because she was fleeing from a man who had tortured her in the past and was trying to kill her again.”

“Sir Hilary!” the magistrate shouted as the gallery erupted in cheers and hollers both for and against Eleanor, in response to his heated answer. “You will limit your answers to the facts and not speculation.”

“I do not speculate,” Hil declared staunchly. “If that is what Eleanor said she was doing, then that’s what she was doing.” He pointed at Mr. Burns. “Did it escape your notice that she did not have blood on her hands or her person when she was arrested? Enderby was stabbed before he was shoved down the stairs, correct? Where is the knife? It was not found on her person or in her effects.”

“Sir Hilary, you are not the prosecutor, nor is Mr. Burns the prisoner,” Sir Robert exclaimed. “It is not your duty to interrogate him.”

“It ought to be,” Hil said, earning more cheers from the gallery. “What about her size? She is a petite woman. How could she have attacked a man of Enderby’s size without sustaining injuries of her own? And why have you not questioned Mr. Unger, the watchman? I have. He told me some very interesting things, including the fact that he informed Inspector Vickery and yourself, Mr. Burns, that he saw another suspicious character in Ludgate the night of the murder, leaving The Bull and Mouth.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

“Where is Mr. Unger?” demanded Sir Robert.

“Here,” cried a voice from the gallery. Wiley shoved the watchman to the front of the crowd. Unger was raising his hand. “Here, sir.”

“You are dismissed, Sir Hilary,” Sir Robert said.

“I am not done questioning the witness!” exclaimed Mr. Burns.

“I will remain,” Hil said, “if further questions are warranted.”

Mr. Unger was ushered over to the witness stand as Hil stepped down. He smiled at Hil. “Well done,” he whispered.

“State your name, sir,” Sir Robert told him.

“As I am not to usurp your authority, sir, may I respectfully request that you not usurp mine. As crown prosecutor, I believe it is my duty to question the crown’s witnesses.”

“I thought you had forgotten, since we’ve been waiting on Mr. Unger so long,” Sir Robert drawled. “Might I remind the prosecutor that if I do not feel he is adequately doing his job, then as magistrate it is my job to rectify that, no matter how irregular the remedy is.”

“This trial has enough irregularities to have an inquiry called by the high court,” Mr. Burns protested.

“Do not place any wagers on that, Mr. Burns,” Sir Robert said in a hard voice. “Either interrogate your witness, or I will.”

Hil maintained a neutral facade, but inside he was crowing. The more unpleasant Mr. Burns made himself, the better for their side.

“State your name,” Mr. Burns said. Some members of the crowd chuckled, because he was just repeating what the magistrate had said, after he’d reprimanded Sir Robert for taking over. Mr. Burns maintained a stern visage and refused to look at the gallery.

“Mr. Charles Unger,” he said. “Watchman in the Ludgate district.”

“Please relate where and when you saw the prisoner on the evening of April fourth.”

“I saw her skittering past me on Blackfriars Road,” he said. “It was late evening, or early morning as you will, around four.”

“Can you describe her appearance and manner, please.”

“Well, she was dressed like a boy,” Unger said, “just as she was when she was arrested. And she was running. Well, walking fast, I mean, looking behind her. I knew she was running from someone. Didn’t see anyone after her, but you don’t always.”

“Was she near The Bull and Mouth, where Mr. Enderby was staying, and where he was killed?”

“Not far from there, two streets over by alley. She came from that direction.”

“When asked if you’d seen anything suspicious by the inspector, what was your first response?”

Mr. Unger hesitated a moment. “I told you about her first.” Very clever of Burns, Hil thought. No matter what Unger says after this, he’s admitted his first thought was of Eleanor.

“No more questions, sir,” Mr. Burns told Sir Robert.

“No more questions?” Sir Robert replied incredulously. He turned to Roger. “Mr. Templeton, I sincerely hope you have questions.”

“I do, sir, I do,” Roger replied, taking hold of a piece of paper that Lyttle was still scribbling on, and pulling it out from under his pen. “You say she came from the direction of The Bull and Mouth,” he began, reading from the paper. He looked up and smiled at Mr. Unger, and Hil could see that even the weathered old watchman was not unaffected by the force of his good looks and charm. “Did you actually see her
at
The Bull and Mouth?”

“No, sir,” Mr. Unger said with relief. “I did not.”

“Did she tell you she was at The Bull and Mouth?” Roger hammered away.

“No, sir, she did not.”

“Did she emerge from an alley whose only egress was directly into The Bull and Mouth?” Hil had to suppress a smile. Roger was going to beat the horse dead, apparently.

“No, sir, she did not,” Mr. Unger said. “Just came skittering down the alley, as I
said. But it ended about three or four buildings down from the inn, I think, not directly across.”

“I see,” Roger said, looking meaningfully at the jury. “So you cannot, with any authority, say she was most definitely at The Bull and Mouth that evening.”

“No, sir, I can’t.”

“Were there any other suspicious characters who were seen at The Bull and Mouth that evening?” Roger asked after glancing down at Lyttle’s notes again.

Unger nodded. “Yes, sir. Saw a gentleman who was dressed in ladies’ clothes. Actually saw him before I saw her.” He pointed to Eleanor. “That’s what made me pay attention to her, you see. I thought it must be some sort of party or lark, dressing up as what you ain’t.”

“Please describe the man you saw.” Roger looked very grave, and eyed the jury with alarm, as if the man were one of them. They shifted uneasily in their chairs. “I beg you, do not leave out any detail, no matter how small.”

“Yes, sir,” Mr. Unger said, equally as grave. “He was about five foot five, maybe a little taller, but not much more than me. A thin man, too, not an ounce of fat on him. Wore a flowered dress with a little cape over it. Slightly worn, looking the worse for wear. I thought—” He broke off and cleared his throat after glancing at the gallery. “Well, I made some assumptions from her—I mean his—clothing at first glance, if you know what I mean.”

“I do. Go on,” Roger encouraged him.

“I realized after just a few seconds it weren’t no dove,” Unger continued. “Walked funny, unsteady on his feet, but not like he was drunk. Like his shoes were too small. And with big steps, not like a woman walks, all dainty.” The crowd guffawed at that. “Anyways,” Unger said, clearly offended, “he kept looking back, too, and he was clutching his little reticule, not carrying it like a lady does, but like a satchel of sorts. He had it clutched in his fist.” Mr. Unger made a fist with his meaty hand to demonstrate. “He had on a bonnet, but I could tell his hair was short under it, like hers. No wig. And he didn’t seem jolly, as if he’d been to a party. He was very furtive and suspicious, like. He hurried past me and I let him go.” He shrugged. “There was no reason to stop him, no hue and cry behind him, just like her.”

“Why did you not think of him first?” Roger asked. Hil had to give Roger credit. He jumped right into the murky questions the jury was asking themselves, rather than ignore the obvious. It was another bold move.

“I saw her last, didn’t I? Forgot about him at the moment. But I did tell them about him after, when my mind was clearer. And then they told me there were witnesses who saw the lady arguing with the deceased earlier that night, and so I assumed they’d gotten the culprit.”

“I see,” Roger said. “Upon examination, the court has heard testimony that Mrs. Enderby was in fact
never
seen arguing with the deceased.”

“Well she wasn’t exactly seen at the scene of the crime, either,” Mr. Unger said flatly. “Lot of almosts, but no exactlys.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself, Mr. Unger,” Roger agreed with a thankful smile he shared with the jury. When some of them smiled back at him, Hil wanted to weep for joy. This jury would never convict her. Never.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

After Mr. Unger stepped down, Roger entered some drawings as evidence. Mr. Unger had identified the man in the drawings, the one who’d pushed Hil on Leicester Street, as the same man he’d seen dressed as a woman. Roger then called on Eleanor again. “We have already heard from the prisoner,” Mr. Burns rushed to protest.

“Nevertheless, I shall allow it,” Sir Robert said.

“Of course,” Mr. Burns said sarcastically, then sat down with an irritated flip of his robe.

“Mrs. Enderby,” Roger asked gently, “did you kill your husband?”

Eleanor shook her head. She was quite choked up, all of a sudden. She recognized what was going on. Roger was trying one last time to sway the jury in her favor. This was it, then. “No, I did not,” she managed to say with a slight catch in her voice.

“Do you know who did?” he asked.

“No, I do not,” Eleanor told him with a shake of her head.

“How long had it been since you’d last seen him before he attacked you at the opera?”

“Nearly a year. A little over eleven months, to be exact.”

“And you had no contact with him during that time? You did not return to Derbyshire?”

“No, I did not. I did not want to have contact with him ever again. That was the purpose of running away from him. I simply wanted to be gone from him, forever.”

“Did you at any time since your marriage attempt to injure or kill the deceased?”

“No!” she denied vehemently. “I did not. It is quite obvious that I would not have been the victor in a physical match between the two of us.”

Mr. Burns looked as though he was going to say something, but closed his mouth and shook his head instead.