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She handed him another picture.
He looked at it, then at her. ‘What’s this? This is not a hand.’
‘No, my lord. It is a clavicle, a collarbone, if you like. And this leading off here,’ she pointed, ‘is a shoulder blade, and you can see the spine behind it.’
‘And these white marks?’ he asked, frowning at her.
‘Here and here?’ She looked at him. ‘They are places where the bones have been broken. And here. This one was some time ago, it is now healed. This one was more recent. That, I should judge, was less than a year ago.’
He looked startled. ‘Good God, what happened to her?’
‘I believe she was systematically beaten and abused, my lord.’
‘What on earth kind of life did she lead? No wonder she sought to relieve it by making claims on Mr Graves!’
Miriam cleared her throat. ‘These are not pictures of Winifred Graves’ bones, my lord. These are pictures of the right shoulder and arm of Miss Cumberford – Mrs Graves, as she believed she was, until Winifred turned up. That is when Ebony took the chance to escape, even at such cost to her reputation, her wellbeing, and the temporary loss of
her children.’
The judge stared at her, for a moment wordless.
‘If I may offer an opinion, my lord,’ Miriam continued before the judge could speak. ‘I do not think that these shoulders of Miss Cumberford would have had the physical strength to fight Winifred. There are many other injuries, both to fingers and toes, in addition to two broken ribs, a broken ulna – the lower arm – and a broken fibula in the left leg. All of them are healed, but over a space of approximately twenty years.’
‘Good God!’ exclaimed the judge. ‘And do you swear to this, Miss fford Croft?’
‘Yes, my lord, but if you have any doubt they can be X-rayed again. The results will be the same.’
‘I recall breaking my heel once, when I was a young man. The pain was extraordinary. This woman must have suffered . . . beyond my imagination.’
‘Yes, my lord. And been very afraid. I found two broken ribs in Miss Sarah, also. I did not examine Mr Arthur.’
‘Show these images to the jury,’ said the judge. ‘If they have any questions, answer as best you can.’
Daniel remained standing, swinging between hope and despair, while the jury examined the X-rays with fascination. Each, at one time or another, looked across at Graves, then at the white-faced figure of Ebony.
Grisewood started to make some protest, but then thought better of it.
Daniel wondered what it would be, and how he would contain it. Would Graves say he was not responsible? It was preposterous that some other man was systematically beating his first wife, and then his second wife, and then his daughter, and he had not known of it.
Miriam left the X-rays with the jury and returned to the witness stand. The judge offered Grisewood the chance to cross-examine Miriam but he had no questions for her.
The jury stared at her, but in admiration and delight at the complicated and beautiful pictures of bones. Daniel saw at least two of the jurors hold up their own hands and gaze at them, as if marvelling at their beauty, as if they could imagine what existed beneath the ordinary flesh.
The judge requested summations, and they were both brief. Grisewood concentrated on the broken law and the fact that Ebony had acted a lie. But for Daniel, she would have allowed her husband to be hanged.
Daniel rose to his feet. He still had all to win – or lose. He looked at Graves, at the sweat on his face. He must beat him! Not only for Ebony, but for Sarah and Arthur, and for the family of servants. Most of all to him, he must discredit him for his own father’s sake, and Narraway, and Aunt Vespasia. And of course, for Kitteridge – and for himself.
‘Gentlemen of the jury, which of you has children?’ He saw most of them nod. Some smiled. ‘When they were young, you would do anything to protect them. When they became older, did you love them any less? If a man threatened your daughter, would you not leap to defend her, and perhaps think afterwards?’ Daniel spoke softly, although his voice carried in the silence. ‘And her mother? Have you ever tried to tear a child from its mother? Have you not seen a woman labour all day to care for her child, sit up all night to nurse them when they are sick, defend them when they are criticised, rightly or even wrongly? Have you not seen her go without food, and taking her portion to her child? Of course, you have. So have I. As children, we would not survive if our parents did not defend us when we were too small and too weak to defend ourselves. Even a grown man in terror or despair, in unbearable pain, will think of his mother.’
He had said enough and he knew it.
‘Ebony Cumberford knew of the beatings, indeed she took most of them herself. But on the day Winifred turned up, and made a lie of Ebony’s marriage, the safety of her children, and the future of Sarah’s chance at a decent marriage – and more importantly, of Arthur’s continued medical treatment without which he couldn’t survive – good manners, common sense, consequences to herself vanished. She was a mother defending her children – in Arthur’s case, a crippled child who could not possibly defend himself.’ He looked at the face of each juror in turn.
‘Winifred died trying to attack Ebony,’ he continued. ‘It was an accident. She fell back on the hearthstone. No one could have attacked her from behind at that angle. She fell down on the stone; it could not have been raised up to strike her. Certainly, Ebony took advantage of the situation and disfigured her and redressed her, so she would be taken for Ebony. And yes, although she did not foresee it at the time, it would not be perceived as the accident it was, but as murder. And Russell Graves was charged with it, and found guilty.’ He shook his head. ‘Ebony did not plan that. All she planned was to escape the beatings before he finally went too far and killed her. Or one of her children. If she were dead, then who would care for Sarah and Arthur?’ Falthorne would do what he could. But Russell Graves could get rid of him with a word, and he would! Then who would look after Arthur? He is in a wheelchair, helpless to care for himself, and Sarah has not the strength to do it alone. Yes, Ebony was wrong. But which of you would do less? She is guilty of having disfigured a dead body. She is not guilty of murder. She came forward before her tormentor was hanged. She let him suffer – perhaps he was even as afraid for a few days as she was most of her life with him. But she did not let him die. I ask you to find her not guilty, certainly of killing Winifred Graves or of knowingly committing bigamy by marrying Russell Graves, only of damaging a corpse, and defending her children with all of her strength.’
The jury retired.
Daniel paced the floor in the hallway outside the courtroom. He could not bring himself to leave, even for a cup of tea or a glass of ale. Kitteridge waited with him. Seemingly, he cared just as much.
