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“He came to tell me about Cross.”
“Cross…” Kitteridge repeated, and then fell silent.
Daniel said nothing. Clearly, the man was formulating some idea.
“Could Morley Cross have attacked Rebecca?” Kitteridge said with disbelief. “Then he set up Sidney with the embezzlement charge?”
“I hadn’t even thought of that,” Daniel admitted, a wave of nausea coming over him. How had he not considered that?
“Oh, great heaven!” Kitteridge said slowly, the color draining out of his face. “And they are thinking Cross’s murder happened before Sidney left Washington?”
“That’s just it,” Daniel said wretchedly. “It’s too close to say…yet.”
CHAPTER
Twelve
THE TRIAL CONTINUED. On the second day Jemima sat in the gallery beside Patrick and watched Hillyer proceed to call his witnesses. It was all boringly predictable, but Jemima could not drag her attention from it because, surely the moment she did, something interesting would be said, something on which the whole case might turn.
Was it going to turn? Which way? She and Patrick had spoken about it little, and not at all since yesterday. He did not seem to want to, and she realized she was actually afraid. Why? Frightened that justice would not be done? That Sidney would escape? She felt confused about her feelings: a man was being tried for a crime he probably didn’t commit to expose one that he probably had, but which she wasn’t even sure she wanted to be made public.
She looked sideways to her right, across the aisle, where Bernadette Thorwood was sitting, pale-faced, next to Rebecca. Tobias was not present.
Bernadette had her hands folded in her lap. They looked relaxed, except that every now and then she would twist her ring. The large diamond would catch the light, and then disappear again.
Why had they brought Rebecca to this? Did they fear that perhaps this was all the justice she was going to see? Jemima had not spoken to Rebecca alone since their meeting in the park. Jemima had called again, but both times either Bernadette or Tobias had been present and the meetings had been awkward.
Jemima tried to think what it would be like to waken in the night and find a man in her bedroom, perhaps sifting through her belongings looking for money or, more likely, jewelry. Had she sat up? Called out to him, perhaps? Why had he not run while he still could? That seemed stupid to Jemima. Had the light caught the pendant at her throat, and he had gone after it, as a magpie after all that glitters? Regardless of losing his chance to escape?
Or had she herself been the object of his breaking in, theft not the motive at all? Was Rebecca telling the truth about how well she really knew Philip Sidney?
Jemima hated herself for that thought. She owed her friend more loyalty than that. How hurt she would be were it the other way around, and Rebecca had disbelieved her! And yet she did doubt. Something was mi
ssing from the account. It might be something perfectly innocent, just private, but left out of all this. She sensed that Patrick knew more than he was revealing, but had chosen to say nothing. Why? To protect her from knowing something bad about Rebecca?
She looked across at Philip Sidney. What was he guilty of? A series of errors? Or something darker? He was nice-looking, in a mild, semi-humorous sort of way. As if he could see the joke, even when it was so much against him. But he was frightened. She could see that after a moment or two. He was breathing too deeply. He kept looking at Daniel, as if aching to find reassurance, and then turning away again just as quickly, before he could see that there was none.
Daniel, of course, she knew much better. Although in the four years she had been in America, he had changed in so many indefinite ways. He was certainly far more sure of his opinions, and less compelled to defend them. That was part of growing up, and she admired it. The air of innocence he always had was still there. Maybe it always would be. But now she saw beneath it. He had known victory and defeat. Much less could take him by surprise.
Hillyer finished questioning the witness, someone who had known Sidney before he had gone to America, and disliked him. He had attempted to hide it, to seem so scrupulously fair that the whole account sounded artificial. Would Daniel pick that up? It wasn’t the facts, it was the emotions. Would he see that?
Daniel began to question the witness, a man by the name of Edgeley.
Jemima’s fingernails were digging into her palms. How could anything so boring also make her so tense? It was like a firing squad! Why wouldn’t someone just shoot and get it over with?
“You say that Sidney was careless at times, Mr. Edgeley. He made mistakes and allowed you to take the blame for them?” Daniel asked calmly, as if he were only checking the facts.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“A nasty habit.” Daniel pulled his mouth into an expression of distaste. “In fact, I would call it a mixture of cowardice and dishonesty.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Edgeley agreed.
Jemima thought he was insufferably smug. She glanced at Sidney and saw his distress, but of course he could not speak. It was the ultimate horror of the mind, to have to sit there and listen to people say things about you, and not be able to protest, or explain, not defend yourself at all! Like being tied up while people hit you, unable to move, let alone strike back. They would also be watching your face to see if it hurt enough, and judge you on that, too. You could not even deal with your pain privately.
She looked at the jurors and saw them staring one minute at Edgeley, the next at Sidney. A decent man would want to turn away, as you would if you had accidentally intruded on someone naked. But it was their job to judge him. They were obliged to look!
“It must have upset you,” Daniel was continuing. “Did you ever suffer actual punishment on any of these occasions, Mr. Edgeley, such as the loss of an opportunity? A promotion, perhaps? Or the handling of a particular visit?”
