AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He asked the question whose answer he did not want to hear and possibly he would not believe.
"Do you know who did?"
She answered instantly, her voice hard. "No, I don’t! Miriam told me nothing, except it wasn’t her. But she was in a terrible state, frightened half out of her mind an’ like the whole world had ended for her." She leaned towards him, half put out her hand, then took it back, not because the emotion or the urgency was any less, simply that she dared not touch him. "Never mind about me, Mr. Rathbone. I took the medicines. You can’t help me. But help Miriam, please! That’s what I want. If you’re my lawyer, like you said, you’ll speak up for her. She never killed him. I know her—I raised her since she was thirteen. She’s got a good heart an’ she never deliberately hurt anyone, but somebody’s hurt her so bad she’s all but dead inside. Help her—please! I’d go to the rope happy if I knew she was all right...."
He met her eyes and felt his throat choke. He believed her. It was a wild statement. She might have no real conception of what it would be like when the moment came, when the judge put on his black cap, and later when she was alone in the end, walking the short corridor towards the trap in the floor, and the short drop. Then it would be too late. But he still believed her. She had seen much death. There could be little of loneliness or pain that she was not familiar with.
"Mrs. Anderson, I am not sure there is anything I can do, but I promise I will not secure any leniency—or indeed, any defense—for you at Miriam Gardiner’s expense. And I will certainly do all I can to secure her acquittal, if she wishes it, and you do—"
"I do!" she said with fierce intensity. "And if she argues with you—for me—tell her that is my wish. I’ve had a good life with lots of laughter in it and done the things I wanted to. She’s very young. It’s your profession to convince people of things. You go and convince her of that, will you?"
"I can only work within the facts, but I will try," he promised. "Now, if there is anything more of that night you can tell me, please do."
"I don’t know anything else of that night," she protested. "I wish I did, then maybe I could help either one of us. I knew nothing until the police came because
someone had reported finding a body on the pathway."
"When was that, what time?" he interrupted her.
"About an hour after dark. I didn’t look at the clock. I suppose Miriam must have left the party in late afternoon, and it would be close on dark by the time the carriage got as far as the Heath. I don’t know where he was attacked, but I heard say he crawled from there to where they found him."
"And when did you see Miriam Gardiner?"
"Next morning, early. About six, or something like that. She’d been out on the Heath all night and looked like the devil had been after her."
"Like she’d been in a fight?" he asked quickly. "Were her clothes torn, dirty, stained with mud or grass?"
Something inside her closed. She was afraid he was trying to implicate Miriam. "No. Only like she’d been running, p’raps, or frightened."
Was that a lie? He had no way of knowing. He recognized that she was not going to tell him any more. He rose to his feet. The fact that she had withdrawn her trust, at least as far as Miriam was concerned, did not alter his admiration for her or his intent to do all he could to find some way of helping.
"I shall go and speak with Mrs. Gardiner," he told her. "Please do not discuss this with anyone else. I shall return when I have something to tell you or if I need to ask you anything further. You have my word I shall take no steps without your permission."
"Thank you," she answered. "I—I am grateful, Mr. Rathbone. Will you tell Mrs. Monk that, too ... and..."
"Yes?"
"No—nothing else."
He banged on the door, and the jailer let him out. He walked away along the dim corridor with a fluttering fear inside him as to what else she might have been going to say to Hester. She was a woman prepared to go to any lengths, make any sacrifice, for what she believed to be right and to save those she loved. No wonder Hester was keen in her defense. In the same place she might so easily have done the same things. He could picture Hester with just this blind loyalty, sacrificing herself rather than denying the greater principle. Was that what Cleo had been going to say—some instruction or warning to Hester about the medicines? Was it a request, or was Hester already doing it even now?
He felt sick at the thought. His stomach knotted and sweat broke out on his skin. What could he do to help her if she was caught? He could not even think clearly about Cleo Anderson, whom he had never seen before today.
Start with Miriam Gardiner, that was the only thing. Usually, he would have told himself that the truth was his only ally, always to know the truth before he began. But in this case he was afraid there were truths he might prefer not to know—though he was uncertain which they were. He would have looked the other way, if only he was certain which way that was.
Rathbone was allowed in to see Miriam, but not as easily as when he had been to see Cleo Anderson. The atmosphere was different. Cleo was in police cells, a local woman known to the men—by repute, if not personally—to be undoubtedly a good woman, one whose life they valued far more than that of any blackmailing outsider.
Miriam was in prison, accused of murdering her prospective mother-in-law in order to inherit money the sooner—or possibly because the unfortunate mother-in-law was aware of some scandal in her past which would have prevented the marriage. Greed was an altogether different matter.
Miriam was not at all as he had expected. It was not until he saw her that he realized he had pictured in his mind some rather brashly handsome, bold-eyed woman with accomplished charm, who would quickly try to win him to her cause. Instead he found a small woman, a little too broad of hip, with a fair, tired face full of inner quietness and a strength which startled him. She maintained a deep reserve, even after he had explained to her who he was and the exact circumstances and reasons for his having come.
"It is good of you to take the time, Sir Oliver," she said so softly he had to lean forward to catch her words. "But I don’t believe you can help me." She did not meet his eyes, and he was aware that in a sense she had already dismissed him.
If he could not appeal to her mind, he would have to try her emotions. He sat down in the chair opposite her and crossed his legs as if he intended to make himself comfortable.
"Have they told you that you and Mrs. Anderson are to be charged together with conspiracy in the murders of Treadwell and Mrs. Stourbridge?"
She stared at him, her eyes wide and troubled. "That’s absurd! How can they possibly think Mrs. Anderson had anything to do with Mrs. Stourbridge’s death? She was in their own prison at the time. You must be mistaken."
