Don Gutteridge - Minor Corruption

“Did Betsy ever confide in you that it wasSeamus Baldwin she admired and was in love with?”

“No, sir,” Edie, mindful of Robert Baldwin’sadmonitions, said with some reluctance. “I did ask, but shewouldn’t tell.”

“Did you ever see Betsy and Seamus Baldwin ina romantic embrace?”

“No, sir. Just the teasin’ and stuff. And itwas a crowded house. There ain’t any secrets in it.”

“What about outdoors? Could they have met onthe grounds?”

Edie pushed out her dainty lower lip,reflected a moment and said, “They could’ve, though Uncle Seamusonly went outside to play his pipes at picnics or to go fishin’ upby the mill in the little ravine there. Sometimes he told us he’dgo up to the other pool, past the dam, but Mr. Whittle liked tofish there even though he was forbidden to, and Uncle Seamus likedhis privacy.”

“Privacy, eh? At the trout pool below themill? The one we’ve already heard about? And the same mill whereBetsy took her father’s lunch every day?”

“That’s right.”

With images of forbidden rendezvous in softgrasses beside still trout pools floating through the minds of thejurors, Neville Cambridge sat down, much pleased.

Marc stood up. “Miss Barr, that is a loveletter you have in hand, is it not? A love letter to a whiteknight?”

“Sounds that way,” Edie said, curling herlip. She did not appear apprehensive, but rather looked as if shewere anticipating yet another scene in the drama she hadenvisaged.

“Did you ever write a letter like this?” Marcsaid sternly.

Edie hesitated.

“May I remind you that you are underoath.”

“Might have.”

“More than one?”

More curling of lip. “Maybe. I guess so. Yes .”

“You have several lovers, then, do you?”

There was a collective intake of breath atthis abrupt accusation.

Edie flinched but held onto the railing. “No,sir, I do not. I’m a proper lady.”

“Then why and under what circumstances wouldyou have penned a love letter like the one written by Betsy?”

“I don’t know. I can’t remember. You’reconfusin’ me.”

“Did you and Betsy read romances? Fairytales?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember.” Edie hadpushed her lower up and over her upper one.

“Don’t young girls when they’re learning towrite, often practice penning letters, letters they have nointention of sending to anyone?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Edie scowled at Marc, herjaw set.

“Milord, I’d like Miss Barr declared ahostile witness.”

The galleries were shocked. After all, Ediewas only sixteen and very blond and, surely, innocent.

“Granted,” said the judge. “Miss Barr, you must answer Mr. Edwards’ questions if you know theanswer.”

Edie hung her head, uncertain of what was tocome but braced for the worst.

“I suggest, Miss Barr,” Marc said with asharp edge to his voice, “that you and Betsy, as young girls willdo, sat together in your room and wrote many letters of thisnature, practising the epistolary lessons that Seamus Baldwin sokindly offered to you girls. Isn’t that not so?”

Edie nodded gloomily.

“Please answer yes or no,” the judgesaid.

“Yes,” Edie mumbled.

“And you two did read romance novelsgenerously supplied to you from the Baldwins’ extensivelibrary?”

“Yes.”

“And you talked about and fantasized a whiteknight in shining armour who, like those in the fairy tales, wouldcome and rescue you from your daily toil?”

“Yes.”

“And I put it to you, Miss Barr, that you andBetsy sat together and composed this letter, and that you did morethan read it over for errors. Is that not so?”

Edie began to tremble. “I did read it ferspellin’!”

“But you also helped to write it, didn’t you?You made suggestions as you went along?”

Edie hung her pretty head. “Yes,” shebreathed.

“You may even have had Uncle Seamus in mind,eh? Not because Betsy was romantically attracted to him, butbecause you yourself were! It was you who were in love with UncleSeamus, wasn’t it? And when he failed to return your love andseemed to be grieving overly much at Betsy’s death, you gave thisletter to the police to spite him.”

“No! No! Stop! Please .”

The cry came not from the witness-box butfrom the dock, and Uncle Seamus. The courtroom was stunned. Thejudge looked up sternly, but did not have to speak. Uncle Seamushad slumped into the arms of the deputy bailiff, all passionspent.

Edie Barr burst into tears, devastating herblond prettiness.

“Counsellor, that is enough,” cried thejudge. “You’ve overstepped your bounds. And you’ve made yourpoint.”

“No more questions, Milord.”

Cambridge glanced over at Marc, then peeredover at the jury. They did not look pleased with the defensecounsel’s performance, having been moved, like the spectators, byUncle Seamus’s heartfelt cry.

“I have no further questions of thiswitness,” he said.

Behind him, Marc heard Robert whisper, “Marc,you cannot keep doing it this way.”

“We’re almost there, Robert.”

But where was there ?

***

Just as Marc was expecting the judge to adjourn thecourt until the afternoon, when the defense would begin presentingits case, Justice Powell called the two attorneys to the bench. Itwas Neville Cambridge who spoke, however.

“Milord, some new evidence pertinent to theCrown’s case has just been handed to me. I’d like to look it overand make a decision as to whether to call another witness.”

“Is that witness available?”

“Yes, sir. It would be Dr. WilliamBaldwin.”

Marc paled. What on earth was Cambridge upto? Was he calling Dr. Baldwin deliberately to blunt Marc’sintention to use him as a character witness? But Cambridge could goat him at leisure in his cross examination. Character testimony waswide open. More importantly, what was this new evidence?

“I’d like to see this evidence,” Marcsaid.

“Of course,” Cambridge said cheerfully. “Butonly after I’ve assessed its probative value. Its precise use, I’mafraid, will only be made clear when Dr. Baldwin responds to myquestions concerning it.”

“Then, as it may affect the presentation ofmy case,” Marc said to the judge, “I’ll need extra time toprepare.”

“If you do, sir, we’ll postpone defensewitnesses until tomorrow morning.”

With that, Marc was left to fret and stewover the long, long lunch-hour.

***

Horatio Cobb was still steaming. He had had anear-sleepless night as his conscience fought with his indignationfor supremacy. To make matters worse, he had had to sit through themorning session and watch Marc Edwards further dismantle theCrown’s case. The Chief had ordered Cobb to attend the entiretrial, feeling that Cobb as a future detective ought to sit andobserve what happened to evidence when barristers got hold of it.It was not a pretty sight. The only positive thing to come out ofthe morning, though, was the fact that Marc had gone too far, hadbeen hoist on his own petard.

Still, Marc’s accusation in the wig-roomrankled, not so much the charge that he was driven by ambition(because he simply was not) but the claim that he had not done hisjob properly. After a night of arguing with himself, he had startedto accept, grudgingly, the possibility that he had indeed begun hisinvestigation with a prime suspect in mind and had set out merelyto prove or disprove that assumption. What if he had ignored JakeBroom and started with the opposite notion: that someone other thanUncle Seamus had committed the rape? Would he still not haveeliminated the six-foot Sol Clift, the slicked-down redhead, JoeMullins, and of course Jake Broom himself who was not stupid enoughto get himself hanged by going to the police and accusing aprominent gentleman of a crime no-one had reported.