Mightier Than the Sword (The Clifton Chronicles 5)

“I believe he may have done so.”

“Now why would he have done that, I wonder?” said Sir Edward, his voice heavy with sarcasm. Emma continued to stare at him, well aware that he wasn’t expecting her to reply. “Could it have been that he didn’t want you to add libel to the slander you had already committed?”

“I wanted my words to be on the record,” said Emma.

Trelford bowed his head, as Sir Edward said, “Did you indeed? So we have established, have we not, Mrs. Clifton, that you took against my client on the day you met her, that this intense dislike was compounded when you were not invited to your brother’s wedding, and that years later at your company’s AGM, in front of a packed audience of the shareholders, you sought to humiliate Lady Virginia by suggesting she was not a decent ordinary person, but someone who wanted to bring the company down. You then went on to overrule your company secretary in order to ensure that your slanderous words were repeated in the minutes of the AGM. Isn’t the truth, Mrs. Clifton, that you were simply seeking revenge on an ordinary decent human being, who is now asking for nothing more than retribution for your ill-considered words? I think the Bard best summed it up when he said, He that filches from me my good name, robs me of that which not enriches him, and makes me poor indeed.”

Sir Edward continued to glare at Emma, while holding onto the lapels of his ancient, well-worn gown. When he felt he had created the desired effect, he turned to the judge and said, “I have no more questions, my lady.”

When Trelford looked at the jury, he thought they might burst into applause. He decided that he would have to take a risk, one that he wasn’t sure the judge would let him get away with.

“Do you have any further questions for your client, Mr. Trelford?” asked Mrs. Justice Lane.

“Just one, my lady,” said Trelford. “Mrs. Clifton, Sir Edward raised the question of your mother’s will. Did she ever confide her feelings about Lady Virginia to you?”

“Mr. Trelford,” interrupted the judge before Emma could reply, “as you well know, that would be hearsay, and inadmissible.”

“But my mother recorded her opinion of Lady Virginia in her will,” said Emma, looking up at the bench.

“I’m not sure I fully understand you, Mrs. Clifton,” said the judge.

“In her will

, she spelled out her reasons for not leaving anything to my brother.”

Trelford picked up the will and said, “I could read out the relevant passage, my lady. If you felt it might help,” he added, trying to sound like an innocent schoolboy.

Sir Edward was quickly on his feet. “This is undoubtedly nothing more than another libel, my lady,” he said, knowing only too well what Trelford was referring to.

“But this is a public, notarized document,” said Trelford, waving the will under the noses of the journalists sitting in the press box.

“Perhaps I should read the words concerned before I make a judgement,” said Mrs. Justice Lane.

“Of course, my lady,” said Trelford. He handed the will to the clerk of the court, who in turn passed it up to the judge.

As Trelford had only highlighted a couple of lines, Mrs. Justice Lane must have read them several times before she finally said, “I think on balance this piece of evidence is inadmissible as it could well be taken out of context. However, Mr. Trelford,” she added, “if you wish me to adjourn proceedings so that you can argue a point of law, I will be happy to clear the court in order that you may do so.”

“No, thank you, my lady. I am happy to accept your judgement,” said Trelford, well aware that the press, several of whom were already leaving the court, would have the relevant passage on their front pages in the morning.

“Then let us move on,” said the judge. “Perhaps you would like to call your next witness, Mr. Trelford.”

“I am unable to do so, my lady, as he is currently attending a debate in the House of Commons. However, Major Fisher will be available to appear at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”

39

HARRY WATCHED from his wooden bench in the third row as Colonel Marinkin entered the makeshift courtroom. He stood to attention in front of the state prosecutor, saluted, and remained standing.

Marinkin was dressed in a smarter uniform than the one Harry remembered from the time he was arrested; the one for special occasions, no doubt. The six buttons on his tunic shone, the crease in his trousers was sharp, and his boots were so finely polished that had he looked down, he would have seen his reflection in them. His five rows of medals would have left no one in any doubt that he had stared the enemy in the eye.

“Colonel, could you tell the court when you first became aware of the defendant?”

“Yes, comrade prosecutor. He came to Moscow some five years ago as the British representative at an international book conference and gave the keynote speech on the opening day.”

“Did you hear that speech?”

“Yes I did, and it became clear to me that he believed the traitor Babakov had worked for many years inside the Kremlin and was a close associate of the late Comrade Stalin. In fact, so persuasive was his argument that by the time he sat down almost everyone else in that hall also believed it.”

“Did you attempt to make contact with the defendant while he was in Moscow?”