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‘The maid told me she was in her bedroom. I did not disturb her. I assumed she would come down when she was ready. I had notes to write up before I forgot any of the details that had been told me.’
‘Who discovered your wife’s body, sir?’ Daniel knew that Graves himself had. He could not even imagine how terrible that must have been, were he not guilty. But the jury had to see his emotion and now was not the time to spare his feelings.
A wave of anger crossed Graves’ face. ‘I cannot imagine, sir, that you do not know it was I!’ he said, his voice all but choking.
‘We are not here to observe either compassion or good manners, Mr Graves,’ Daniel answered. ‘This is a place where only the truth counts. Are you telling the court that you discovered the body of your wife?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why did you go to her bedroom, when you had not done so earlier?’
‘It was time for dinner.’
‘And you did not wish her to miss it?’
‘Of course!’ Graves’ patience was tissue thin.
‘And you found her? Where was she?’
Graves’ face was white now, and so stiff he had difficulties speaking clearly. ‘She was lying on the floor; her head was near the hearth.’
‘Did you know immediately that she was dead?’
Graves leaned forward over the railing, his body rigid, his skin devoid of all colour. ‘God Almighty, man! She was covered with blood and her face was burned until there were no features left! Nobody could have lived . . . through . . . that.’
Daniel hated doing it, but the jury would have to see something other than the cold, arrogant man who felt only anger that they dared to question him at all. ‘And you were naturally extremely distressed,’ Daniel concluded. ‘Horrified! Appalled?’
‘Yes . . .’ His voice was almost strangled.
‘Did you realise immediately what had happened to her?’
‘I . . . I don’t know. All I could think of was . . . how she must have suffered. Then I . . .’ His voice trailed off.
Was he going to lose the passion?
‘How would you tell your children?’ Daniel asked. It was cruel, but Graves’ life hung on it. ‘Your wife was very close to her children, was she not?’ Daniel had no idea if that was true, but it was probable. It sounded good. ‘I believe your son, Arthur, is an invalid. You must have feared terribly that the horror would kill him . . .’
Tranmere rose to his feet. ‘My lord, my learned friend . . .’ He hesitated. ‘My learned friend’s assistant is leading his own witness. Is this . . . torture . . . necessary?’
The judge looked at Daniel.
‘I apologise, my lord,’ Daniel said. ‘I fear Mr Graves is suffering a very natural distress . . . and needed some assistance. It is compassionate.’
The judge turned to Graves. ‘Are you able to continue, sir?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ Graves replied. The brief respite had been sufficient for him to regain his composure, perhaps even to realise what Daniel was doing.
‘Do you wish me to repeat the question?’ Daniel asked.
‘No, no, thank you. That is not necessary. God knows why, but you want me to tell you how I informed my children of their mother’s . . . death.’ And he proceeded to give a harrowing, even brutal account of telling each of them, and their deep distress. It was all that Daniel could have wished.
‘Thank you,’ he said quietly. ‘I have only one more question.’
Graves glared at him. He had been humiliated by having to expose his emotions to this staring, speculating, accusing public.
‘Did you kill your wife?’ Daniel asked.
‘No!’ It was an incredulous answer, almost a shout.
