Don Gutteridge - Death of a Patriot

“I am saying, sir, that such a letter was not used in that way. As a blackmail threat, it was useless. Caleb may have kept it, thinking he could produce it as a last desperate measure to save himself. If so, he was deluded. And in the event, he did not live long enough to deploy it.”

Game, set, and match. Marc sighed.

Thornton, who knew when it was best to keep mum, did so. Almeda Stanhope was excused and walked past the jury with her head held high to sit beside her daughter in the gallery.

The rest of the morning was taken up with the Crown’s final witnesses. Knowing the value of leaving the jury with critical facts and phrases ringing in their collective ear, Thornton called both sentries who had followed Cobb into the duelling scene, and of course each was seduced into repeating the exact phraseology of Billy’s death threat. They were succeeded by Stanhope’s upstairs maid, who, with a modest prompt or two, was led to confess that, just before fainting, she did see Billy McNair tumble into the coats and thrash about, after which he tried to sprint out the front door.

Dougherty declined to cross-examine. Had he given up?

“Is the defense prepared to present its case after luncheon?” the chief justice said to a hushed chamber.

“No, milord,” Dougherty said quietly. “Before doing so, I would like to recall Gideon Stanhope.”

Marc walked with Beth to Smallman’s. He was deflated by the morning session, for which they had had such high hopes. It was inconceivable that Stanhope’s favourable treatment of his prisoner was based solely on notions of courtesy. If Bostwick were telling the truth, the duel had first been acceded to and then utilized by the colonel in a vain attempt to have Billy kill off the blackmailer for him. But why would he do so before being lionized at the Twelfth Night Ball? And if cuckoldry were not the basis of extortion, what was? More immediately to the point, if Stanhope, who had not heard his wife’s testimony and was ordered to keep away from her during the break, were to confirm his wife’s story of the phony love letter (and who knew what pillow talk had surfaced at Chepstow on Sunday?), Dougherty would be left with only the Hunters’ conspiracy as a defense strategy. Even if they could resuscitate Bostwick, whom would the jury believe, a desperate drunk or the Pelee Island Patriot?

Thus it was a glum luncheon at Smallman’s. Marc knew that he had to be back at the Court House to confer with his colleagues by one o’clock, but it was with reluctance that he kissed Beth on the cheek and pulled on his coat. Beth, bless her, had suggested that she and Dolly remain there, as a mountain of stitchwork might succeed where false cheer had failed.

At the door, Beth said, “One thing’s been puzzling me about Almeda this morning.”

“Oh?”

“Why didn’t the colonel just dictate the love letter or give her the gist of it? She’s a very smart woman, perfectly capable with words. Why would he ask her to copy out what he’d written down for her?’

“Maybe he just thought it would be too embarrassing for her to compose such a declaration of false affection.”

“A man’s more likely to blush at using intimate words than a woman.”

Marc pulled his copy of the letter out of his briefcase and read it again.

My Dearest C:

Come soon, my love, or I’ll be driven to find my own route

to your heart, with all the risks and fretful dangers to

our secret. And when you do, tucked in your strong arms

and safe in your embrace, I promise faithfully to supply

you with enough kisses to keep you forever attached

to me and our mutual goal. And should our reward

be in Heaven only, I’ll treasure those blessings received

already. But I must go-he’s had me watched since Saturday!

Ever yours,

D

“My God!” he cried, “that’s it!” And he dashed out into the street without saying good-bye or amen. His mind was racing. How could he have been so blind? Once you looked for it, it was clear as day. He now knew not only who the murderer was, but the motive as well. As he ran full out towards the Court House, he hoped that Clement Peachey had been able to get hold of the field reports Dougherty had requested and that Broderick Langford had not gone back to work at the bank. He might well possess the final piece to the puzzle.

Gideon Stanhope was not in uniform. Although he had sat in the witness room all morning to be available for recall, he had not really expected to have to take the stand again. As a result, bereft of his tunic, he seemed unexpectedly vulnerable. He was also edgy, not knowing what was to come.

“Since we last talked, sir,” Dougherty began, “new information has come to light that requires a response from you. Your absconding adjutant, Lardner Bostwick, has turned up and provided us with a sworn statement concerning the infamous duel in your garden, a document now in possession of the court.”

Dougherty paused to let that chilling fact do its work upon the witness. Stanhope licked his lips and kept his posture rigid. His expression did not change.

Dougherty continued. “You told us on Friday, sir, that you had no foreknowledge of the proposed duel between Sergeant McNair and Caleb Coltrane. Would you care to emend that statement before you are charged with perjury?”

Thornton made a gazelle-like leap to the balls of his feet, but the judge got in before him. “There will be no more of that, Mr. Dougherty, or it is you who may find yourself charged.”

“My apologies, milord,” Dougherty said, then moved his acid stare back to the witness. “Well, sir?”

“I was asked if I had advance knowledge of the duel. I did not, although I knew that the major had requested one. When Lieutenant Bostwick came to me about it, I told him I would not permit it.”

“Did you not give him access to your pistols?”

“He had a master key that gave him access to most parts of the house. He was my most trusted officer.”

“So you are saying that Bostwick went ahead on his own and arranged a duel that you, his commanding officer, had expressly forbidden?”

“He must have.”

“And you did not suggest that one of the pistols be loaded with a paper ball?”

Thornton interjected forcefully. “Milord, the witness has already testified as to the extent of his foreknowledge of the duel and clarified his earlier statement. Let the defense bring in Mr. Bostwick if they wish to further dispute the matter.”

“I agree. Mr. Dougherty, until you produce Mr. Bostwick, I must ask you to move along.”

So, Marc mused, it will come down to Bostwick’s word against the colonel’s. Still, there was the letter.

“In her testimony this morning, Mrs. Stanhope told us about how you and she responded to the blackmail threats from Caleb Coltrane. Again, she alluded to details that you in your testimony on Saturday failed to mention.”

“I answered all questions precisely as they were put.”

“Indeed. Now tell us, sir, about the letter you and she cooked up to try and thwart Mr. Coltrane’s extortion scheme.”

The colonel gave no indication of surprise. While neither he nor Almeda had known about its recovery in advance, perhaps they had discussed the possibility yesterday and prepared for it. But when a copy was handed to him, he gave it a wary glance, as if the words there were sheathed but lethal weapons.

“Did you ask your wife to write this as part of an elaborate ruse to deceive Coltrane and perhaps flush him out into the open?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And did you yourself write it out first and then ask her to copy it exactly as written?”