“Of course, Sir Leslie. The bailiff will provide a chair for the prisoner.” The bailiff found a chair and set it in the dock for Allison, who thanked him sweetly, eliciting an unexpected smile.
Stone hoped that was a harbinger of things to come.
“The court will come to order,” the judge said. “I will hear from the minister of justice.”
Sir Winston stood, cleared his throat, and spoke. “Your Lordship, today we hear the case of the people of St. Marks against the prisoner Allison Manning, on a charge of murder. We are ready for Your Lordship to select the jury.” He sat down.
“Call the first juror,” the judge said.
“Call the first juror!” the bailiff cried.
A door opened at the rear of the courtroom and a man entered. He was elderly and thin and he was wearing a three-piece wool suit that fit him very well. He took the first seat in the jury box.
“State your name and occupation,” the bailiff said.
“I am Charles Kimbrough,” the man said. “I am a tailor by trade, and I am recently retired.”
“Mr. Kimbrough,” the judge said, “are you in good health and of sound mind?”
“I believe I am, Your Lordship.”
“Are you acquainted with the prisoner or any members of the court?”
“I am acquainted with Sir Leslie Hewitt and yourself, Your Lordship, as I have made suits for both of you in the past.”
“Anyone else?”
“I know Sir Winston, though I have never had the pleasure of his custom.”
“Yes. Have you heard anything about this case?”
“Oh, yes, Your Lordship,” the man said. “I have read all about it in the newspapers.”
“Have you formed an opinion of the prisoner’s guilt or innocence?”
“Well, Your Lordship, I think she might have done it, but then again, she might not have.”
“He’s okay with me,” Stone murmured.
“Keep your seat, Mr. Kimbrough,” the judge said. “You’re the foreman of this jury.”
Kimbrough sat down, and another man was brought in. He was not so finely dressed, but he was clean and neat. He was a bartender at a local hotel, and he was soon seated. He was followed by a taxi driver, an apprentice shoemaker, who could not have been more than twenty, a street vendor, and a white merchant, all of whom were briefly questioned and rapidly seated.
“We have a jury,” the judge said.
“Only six?” Stone asked Hewitt.
“It is all we need,” the barrister repli
ed.
Stone was dissatisfied with only the taxi driver, who looked at Allison with something like contempt, as if he had seen her kind before, but only in his rearview mirror. But on the whole, he thought, he had tried cases before worse juries.
“The foreman is good for us,” Hewitt whispered. “He is a very kind man and will not hang a woman lightly. The others will respect his opinion because he is so well dressed.”
Stone hoped so.
“The bailiff will read the charges,” the judge said.