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The trial began two days later. All the formalities were gone through, and Grisewood rose to open his case. He looked uncomfortable in his wig and gown, as if they had been made for somebody else who was an elegant shape. And yet he seemed confident enough. He strode out into the body of the court, bowed to the judge, and faced the jury.
‘Gentlemen, you are about to hear an extraordinary story about an ambitious woman, beautiful, clever, but of poor background, and ruthless self-control. I ask you not to look at her, not look at her tears or her smiles, not at the broken bones she claims to have suffered, nor those of her daughter, but at what I shall prove to you she had done to her.
‘My learned friend, for the defence, will tell you that this whole story is a series of huge accidents, with no thought of malice, only fear. No thought of material gain, only preservation for her children. No intended violence, or deceit, only circumstances beyond her control.’
He shook his head slowly. ‘I will show you a story of cunning, deceit, and ruthlessness, ending in violence, which has never been far from the heart of it.’
Daniel turned to Kitteridge. ‘What the hell is he talking about?’
Kitteridge looked puzzled. ‘No idea.’
‘The defence will try to tell you it was a sudden and unforeseen accident, gentlemen. I will show you that it was heartless and cold-blooded murder.’
It was Kitteridge who shot to his feet, while Daniel was still sitting up in shock. ‘My lord, the accused is charged with disfiguring a corpse, not murder! Perhaps our learned friend is in the wrong courtroom? I understand he’s not from around here.’
There was a murmur of laughter around the gallery.
Grisewood smiled, all teeth and no charm. ‘The law is no different in London from the rest of England, my lord. When you plan the death of any human being, and then bring it to pass, and run from the scene, that is murder, even in London.’ He looked at Kitteridge. ‘The charge has been amended. I did not apprise you of that. Perhaps you have not looked at your papers recently.’ He looked at Daniel. ‘Or your young friend has not – if he is indeed leading this case.’
With a flash of memory that was like a cold hand on his flesh, Daniel remembered Impney coming in with an envelope, still sealed, and putting it on his desk. It was handwritten, and he had taken it for a personal letter, possibly as Grisewood had intended. There was no point in arguing the issue now. It would cost time and give him nothing.
He rose to his feet quickly. ‘My lord, I did receive a handwritten note yesterday, which I’m afraid I did not open. I took it for personal correspondence. It makes no difference. The plea is still not guilty, as I will prove, in time.’
‘Very well, Mr Pitt. Do you require extra time, or are you prepared to proceed?’
‘I am prepared to proceed, my lord. The truth has not changed, nor has the evidence that proves it.’
‘Then you may address the jury, but please be brief.’
‘Thank you, my lord.’ Daniel turned to face the jurors. He had their total attention, and he thought he saw, in one or two, some trace of sympathy as well.
‘Gentlemen, this is a story of many emotions, as my learned friend has said. It starts with love on the one side, and deceit on the other. It goes forward to tolerance, and then abuse, and in shame, with a lifetime of betrayal and violence, but not by the perpetrators he suggests. It ends in terror, misjudgement, and then redemption. I shall prove it to you step by step.’
There was a murmur in the gallery, and the whisper of silk as people moved positions. No one spoke.
Grisewood called his first witness – Falthorne.
Daniel watched the butler, formally dressed in a dark suit and looking extremely ill at ease as he climbed the steps to the witness stand. He swore to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing else.
He gave his name, and his position in the home of Russell Graves.
‘And did you hold that position on the night Mrs Graves disappeared?’ Grisewood asked.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘In fact, you have held it for some twenty years, is that not so?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Falthorne was uncomfortable, and it was also clear that he disliked Grisewood. It might not have been apparent to everyone, but Daniel had had several encounters with him, and all but the first time, when there was great stress upon them, he had observed his manner, and he both liked and respected the man. He knew by the inflection of his voice, the rigid arms at his side, how deeply he despised Grisewood.
‘So, it was quite natural that when Mrs Graves found herself in a desperate situation, one with which she could not contend alone, she would ask your help, in the certainty that she would get it?’ Grisewood asked.
‘I hope so, sir.’
Grisewood treated Falthorne as an unwilling witness. Daniel wondered if he would say so openly. Did the jurors see the tension between them? They would judge it as loyalty, or obstruction, according to where their sympathies lay. Perhaps that would offer Daniel the chance to further expose the household dynamics?
Grisewood smiled. ‘Did she, in fact, turn to you when she found herself with the dead body of her victim, and no satisfactory explanation, indeed no legal one?’
Daniel stood up. ‘Objection, my lord. It has not been established that there was no legal explanation. In fact, we intend to show that there’s a perfectly legal explanation, and that the woman attacked Mrs Graves and, in so doing, slipped and fell.’
