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‘She’s damn good, Miriam,’ was all Kitteridge said.
‘Yes,’ Daniel agreed, his throat too tight to say more.
Time seemed to stretch endlessly, but actually it was only just over half an hour when they were called back into the courtroom.
They wouldn’t hang her, would they? They couldn’t!
Daniel could scarcely breathe.
The foreman rose to his feet. He looked nervous.
‘Have you reached a verdict?’ the judge enquired.
‘We have, my lord.’
‘How find you?’
‘With respect, my lord, we find the accused not guilty.’
Daniel was almost numb with amazement, relief, joy. The first thing he was aware of was Kitteridge hugging him. He immediately hugged him back, and found his eyes were full of tears. It was seconds before he even saw Marcus and, behind him, his father and mother, smiling.
Epilogue
The second Sunday after the trial ended, Mercy Blackwell gave an afternoon tea party. Daniel was one of the first to arrive. The only two other people already present were Marcus fford Croft, looking faintly uncomfortable, and Miriam, who was sitting beside an unnecessarily large fire, for midsummer, and smiling.
‘Come in, Daniel! Come in,’ Blackwell invited expansively. ‘We are celebrating!’
Daniel felt a stir of anxiety. What had Blackwell been up to? ‘Really? What, in particular?’ The instant he said it, he regretted asking. He would probably be much happier not to know.
‘Everything.’ Blackwell smiled. ‘Graves has been sentenced to seven years for bigamy. I think the judge took a dislike to him. Very natural, after Miss fford Croft’s exposure of his wretched character. We shall take great delight in missing him, for a long time. But fortunately, since he is not dead, we do not need to be anxious as to who inherits his property, particularly his house.’
‘Houses,’ Mercy corrected him. ‘Tea, Daniel?’
‘Thank you,’ he accepted.
She poured him a cup, and cut a large slice of Madeira cake and put it on a plate for him. It was one of his favourites. She did not need to ask.
Daniel turned to Marcus fford Croft. ‘Will Ebony be able to live there? She is not his wife, nor does she wish to be.’
‘No, but Arthur is his son,’ Marcus fford Croft replied. ‘And he is more than willing that his mother and sister should live with him. And, of course, the full family staff. We are expecting them any minute. The purple chair should be comfortable for Arthur.’
‘How will he . . .?’ Daniel began.
‘Don’t fuss!’ Blackwell waved away the question. ‘Falthorne will carry him. It’s good he should see the outside world, for a change.’
‘And when Graves comes out?’
‘For heaven’s sake! We’ve got at least six years to settle that. Maybe all seven. Anything could happen. We’ll have to see that it does.’
There was a knock on the door and Blackwell went to open it. He came back triumphantly, leading Falthorne, who was carrying Arthur in his arms, followed by Ebony Graves and, behind her, Sarah.
Greetings were exchanged and Arthur settled comfortably and was provided with a nearby small table, and hot tea and slices of cake, and a tray of jam tarts.
Daniel went over to speak to Miriam, who seemed to be absorbed in watching the fire burn. Did she feel so alone here, away from her work and both its fascination and its safety? He could think of a dozen things he wanted to say to her, yet none of them came to his lips.
‘Is the Madeira cake good?’ she said with a wry smile. ‘Mercy made it especially for you.’
He looked at her plate and saw that she had none. ‘I’m sorry! How inconsiderate of me. Take mine.’ He offered it to her. ‘I’ll get some more.’
