Anne Perry - Midnight at Marble Arch

“Yes, my lord,” Symington said meekly. “Mr. Hythe, were you socially acquainted with Mrs. Catherine Quixwood?”

“Yes, sir,” Hythe said almost inaudibly.

“How did you meet?”

Vespasia watched with unnecessary anxiety as Symington drew out the growing friendship of Hythe and Catherine Quixwood. It seemed to be moving so slowly she dreaded that any moment Bower would object again and the judge would sustain him, and demand that Symington move on. She knew he was delaying until the luncheon adjournment in the desperate hope that Pitt and Narraway would come with something he could use. But the chances seemed more and more remote as the morning wore on. There was no sympathy for Hythe in the gallery, and nothing but loathing in the faces of the jurors.

Symington must have been as aware of it as Vespasia. Still, he plowed on. She could see no despair in his face, but his body was stiff, his left hand clenched by his side.

“Mr. Hythe,” he continued, “all these encounters with Mrs. Quixwood, which you admit to, took place in public. What about in private? Did you meet her in a park, for instance, or in the countryside? Or at a hotel?”

“No!” Hythe said hotly. “Of course I didn’t!”

“No wish to?” Symington asked, his eyes wide.

Hythe drew in his breath, stared desperately around at the walls above the heads of the gallery. The question seemed to trap him.

“Mr. Hythe?” the judge prompted. “Please answer your counsel’s question.”

Hythe stared at him. “What?”

“Did you not wish to meet Mrs. Quixwood in a more private place?” the judge repeated.

“No … I did not,” Hythe whispered.

The judge looked surprised, and disbelieving.

“Was that in case your wife should find out?” Symington asked Hythe.

Again Hythe was at a loss to answer.

Vespasia watched and felt a desperate pity for him. She believed that he had liked Catherine, but no more than that. It was Maris he loved, and he was trying now to protect her future. Symington was forcing him into a corner where he had either to admit that he had been seeking financial information for Catherine, or that it had been a love affair after all. He could not afford either answer.

Vespasia found that she was sitting with her hands clenched, nails digging into her palms. Her shoulders were stiff, even her neck was rigid, as if waiting for a physical blow to fall. Where was Narraway? Where was Pitt?

“Mr. Hythe?” Symington spoke just before the judge did.

“Yes …” Hythe said. His face was pinched with pain.

“Was your wife, then, unaware of your frequent meetings with Mrs. Quixwood?” Symington continued.

“No … yes …” Hythe was trembling. He could barely speak coherently.

“Which is it?” Symington was ruthless. “She knew, or she did not know?”

Hythe straightened. “She knew of some,” he said between his teeth. He regarded Symington with loathing.

“You were afraid she would suspect an affair?” Symington went on.

Hythe had committed himself to a path. “Yes.”

“And be jealous?” Symington added.

Hythe refused to answer.

“Is she a jealous woman?” Symington said clearly. “Has she had cause to be in the past?”

“No!” Now Hythe was angry. The color burned up his face and his eyes blazed. “I have never-” He stopped abruptly.

“Never deceived her?” Symington said incredulously. “Or were you going to say you have never allowed her to know of your affairs before?”

“I have had no affairs!” Hythe said furiously.

“Catherine was the first?” Symington asked.

Bower looked confused, unhappy because he did not understand what Symington was trying to do. Finally he rose to his feet.

“My lord, if my learned friend is attempting to cause a mistrial, or to give grounds for appeal because of his inadequate defense, I ask that-”

Symington swung round on him, glancing briefly at the clock, then launched into a denial.

“Not at all!” he said witheringly. “I am trying to show the Court that there is someone with more motive to kill Catherine Quixwood, out of jealousy, than any cause Alban Hythe might have had to kill a woman with whom he was, as my learned friend for the prosecution has demonstrated, having a romantic affair! Albeit, one in which the two parties never met in private.”

“That’s preposterous!” Bower said, the color scarlet up his cheeks. “Mrs. Hythe may well have been jealous, and it seems she had more than just cause, but Mr. Symington surely cannot be suggesting she raped Mrs. Quixwood and beat her almost to death? That is farcical, and an insult to the intelligence, not to say the humanity, of this Court.”

Symington steadied himself with an effort. “My lord, may I ask for an early adjournment in order to consult with my client?”

“I think you had better do so, Mr. Symington, and get your defense into some sort of order,” the judge agreed. “I will not have the trial made into a mockery for the lack of skill or sincerity on your part. Do you understand me? If your client decides to plead guilty it will make little difference to the outcome, but it may be a more graceful and dignified way to shorten his ordeal. The court is adjourned until two o’clock.”

It was half-past eleven.

Vespasia waited an agonizing half hour, watching the minute hand creep arthritically around the face of the clock in the hall. At five past midday she saw Pitt’s tousled head an inch or two above the crowd, and with no thought for dignity at all, she pushed her way toward him.

“Thomas!” she said breathlessly as she reached him and clasped his arm to prevent herself from being buffeted by those eager to pass. “Thomas, what have you found? The situation is desperate.”

He put his arm around her to protect her from the jostling of several large men forcing their way through, a thing he would never do in normal circumstances.

“I have papers,” he replied. “If the judge asks to see them they may stand up to scrutiny, or they may not. But they will at least give Symington something to use to persuade Hythe he knows the truth … if that is the truth, and we are right as to what he and Catherine were doing.”

“Thank God!” she said, not blasphemously but with the utmost gratitude. “Where is Victor?”

“I don’t know,” Pitt admitted. “He may arrive with more later. I thought you might not last much longer.”

“No longer,” she said. “This is our last stand. We had better find Mr. Symington.”

The trial resumed at exactly two o’clock. Symington rose to continue the examination of his client. He moved with a new vitality as he walked across the open space, papers in his hand, and looked up at Hythe.

“Circumstances have placed you in a most unfortunate position, Mr. Hythe,” he began smoothly. “You have an expertise that was sorely needed by a charming woman, with a conscience regarding financial honesty. I can call witnesses to testify to all that I am about to say, but let us begin by allowing you to testify to it first, and then if my learned friend, Mr. Bower, disagrees, we can proceed from there.”

He looked up at Hythe with a sunny smile. “Catherine Quixwood knew of your financial reputation and sought you out, is that correct?”

Hythe hesitated.

“Do not oblige me to repeat the questions, Mr. Hythe,” Symington said gently. “You know the answer, and so do I.”

Hythe gulped. “Yes.”

“Thank you. She sought you out and cultivated your acquaintance. She was a few years older than you, a beautiful woman of a slightly higher social rank, and she was troubled by a matter in which she very urgently wished for advice?” He held up the papers in his hand, still smiling. “Do not make me pull your teeth one by one, Mr. Hythe.”