‘I wish to take the stand and swear to an alibi for Mrs Perowne.’
‘Very well. Mrs Perowne, return to your seat. Mr… Defoe, is it not? Take the stand.’
‘No,’ she whispered as Cris passed her. ‘It will ruin me.’
Cris took the oath. She stared, uncomprehending, as Gabriel Stone sat beside her muttering, ‘Bloody fool, he must know where this will end up.’
‘Give the court your name, if you please, sir.’
‘Anthony Maxim Charles St Crispin de Feaux of Avenmore Park and St James’s Square.’
‘The—’
‘Yes,’ Cris said abruptly and with emphasis. ‘I believe that is sufficient to identify me.’
‘I understand. Well, m…sir, what have you to add to the proceedings?’
‘I do not know who Mr Goode saw, but Mrs Perowne was with me that night.’
‘We are aware that you are a guest in the house and that you would expect your hostess to be there in her own chamber after the party had broken up and gone to bed. However, the shooting occurred at past one in the morning.’
‘When I say that Mrs Perowne was me that night, I mean that I was with her,’ Cris said, his face an austere mask. ‘We were together. All night. Do you require me to draw you a diagram, Sir James?’
The courtroom exploded into a hubbub. Tamsyn knew she had gone white, she felt as though there was no blood left in her head at all. What was he thinking? He had ruined her.
After much banging of the coroner’s gavel and shouting by the constable, order was restored.
‘Do I understand you to mean that Mrs Perowne is your mistress, my…sir?’
‘Certainly not,’ Cris snapped. ‘The lady is my affianced bride.’
Beside her Gabriel Stone was swearing under his breath, a litany of obscenities that, mercifully, she could hardly make out through her fog of relief, dismay and confusion.
‘Ah. In that case, naturally, it becomes apparent that Mr Goode must be mistaken. Mr Goode?’
The constable looked round wildly as people began to crane their necks. ‘He’s gone, sir.’
‘Then you must see that he was lying, that he had been put up to this by the real criminal—or that he himself was the murderer?’ Cris demanded.
Sir James hesitated, then snapped, ‘Constable, find that man Goode and arrest him! Gentlemen of the jury, you must disregard everything you heard from that witness. Thank you, sir, you may stand down.’
‘But I will not.’ Tamsyn found she could think, speak, and that she was on her feet. ‘Sir James, Mr Defoe has most gallantly spoken out to save me from this accusation, but the inference you have drawn from his words is incorrect, as he intended it to be. Yes, I spent that night in his company, late into the night, in fact. But we were up on the cliffs walking because I was distressed over a family matter and could not sleep, and Mr Defoe was protecting me with his escort when I insisted on going out so late.’
‘But he has said you are betrothed to him.’
‘What else could a gentleman say when he has, for the best of reasons, ruined a lady’s reputation? He was not lying—after all, having led you to believe the worst he obviously felt himself honour-bound to make me his wife, even though he has said nothing to me.’
‘I see. This is all most unfortunate. The witness may stand down and the court accepts that there is no stain on Mrs Perowne’s virtue and therefore no need for…er… Mr Defoe’s gallant action.’ For a moment Sir James appeared flustered, then he cleared his throat. ‘Gentlemen of the jury, you have heard the evidence, you must now decide your verdict.’
Tamsyn sat numb as Cris came back to the seat beside her. He had put himself in a position where, in order to safeguard her reputation, he had offered to marry her. Did that mean, could it mean, that he loved her? She hardly dared think beyond the burgeoning warmth that was defeating the numbness now
.
Nothing was said as the jurymen trooped out to debate their verdict. It took them all of ten minutes.
‘Your worship, we do find that Lieutenant Ritchie was foully and deliberately murdered by a gunshot fired by a person or persons unknown. And we are all agreed it ain’t likely to be a woman, neither, and specially not Mrs Perowne, who’s a lady we all know of and respect. And we agrees with you and Mr Defoe that that man Goode was lying. And that’s the opinion of us all.’ The foreman sat down with a thump and was patted on the back by his fellow jurors.
Cris stood, took Tamsyn by the arm and walked her out, Gabriel on their heels. He led them to the stables, stood in silence while their horses were brought, then boosted her up into the saddle, mounted himself and headed out of the stable yard at a trot that turned into a canter the moment they were clear of the street.