The Many Sins of Cris De Feaux (Lords of Disgrace 3)

There was a whispering of excitement and speculation in the court. ‘Stolen, you say? It must be a valuable piece, why has no reward been offered for it?’

‘Because its loss has only just been discovered.’ As soon as she spoke she felt a twinge of fea

r.

Sir James smiled. ‘Indeed? Constable, show the witness the contents of the black bag, then pass it to the jury.’

Tamsyn did not need to see the river of silver links that spilled into Dare’s calloused hand to know what this was, but she waited until he handed it to her and made a point of examining it carefully. ‘This is the hand and chain given to me by my late husband. It is engraved J and T with a heart.’ She let it run back into the constable’s outstretched hand and wondered if she should remove her handkerchief and permit herself a brave sniff and a dab at her eyes, but the thought of play-acting sickened her. Let them believe her or not, she would give them the truth and nothing else.

The coroner waited until the hand had been passed along the rows of jurors and returned to him. ‘This chain and the attached charm were found clasped in the dead hand of Lieutenant Ritchie as he lay on the beach at Cat’s Nose Bay. As you have heard, gentlemen of the jury, the witness has identified them as her property.’

Put there to incriminate me. The words were almost out of her mouth before she caught them. The jury did not need her to underline the conclusion they were being led to.

‘You know the cove in question, Mrs Perowne?’

‘Certainly. I visit it occasionally. I believe the last time this year was in March when a fishing boat belonging to me was washed up there.’ It felt like standing on a frozen pond, hearing the ice cracking, feeling it shift under her feet, wanting to run. But she had to stand there, stay calm, not defensive.

‘Mr Goode, return to the front of the court. Remember you are still on oath.’

The whispering increased as the thin man made his way forward and stood, perfectly composed in his respectable drabness, looking at the coroner.

‘You told the court that you saw a cloaked figure following Lieutenant Ritchie down to the beach. Can you describe that man?’

‘I can, sir. But it was no man, it was a woman. She was wearing a cloak, but the hood was down and I could see her plain in the moonlight. Quite tall she was.’

The whispering broke out into exclamations. Tamsyn’s hands hurt and she looked down to see them locked on the rough bar at the front of the stand. A split ran all along the seam of the right index finger of her glove.

‘Silence in court! And can you see that woman in this courtroom?’

Goode hesitated, bit his lip. ‘It bleaches the colour out, does the moonlight.’

A nice touch, she thought, wondering at her own detachment.

‘Try, Mr Goode,’ the coroner said with an encouraging smile.

The man turned to the stand and made a show of studying her. She made herself stare back, expressionless, while her stomach seemed to drop into a pit and her heart rate kicked up to a gallop.

‘Er…if the lady could turn sideways to me?’

‘Mrs Perowne, please do as the witness asks.’

She made her feet move although her legs were trembling, turned to face Sir James, lifted her chin and met the coroner’s gaze steadily.

‘That’s her! That’s the lady I saw. I couldn’t mistake that profile, the moonlight lit her up, clear as day.’

Tamsyn turned back slowly to face him. ‘Liar,’ she said without emphasis, wondering if she was about to faint. The coroner’s words to the witness were a blur of sound as she focused on breathing, on keeping the blackness at the edge of her vision from moving in.

‘Mrs Perowne, you heard the witness. What have you to say?’

‘He is either lying or he is mistaken. I was not at the cove, I was at home at Barbary Combe House.’ As she spoke the reality hit her. She had been at home, but not in the house. She had been in the lookout with Cris, making love, lying in his arms, tiptoeing back into the house at three in the morning.

Something must have shown in her face, for Sir James leaned forward. ‘Are you certain of that, Mrs Perowne?’ When she nodded he smiled, thinly. ‘And can you prove it?’

‘No,’ she said bleakly.

‘Yes,’ said Cris Defoe, coming to his feet.

Sir James narrowed his eyes at him. ‘You wish to present evidence, sir?’