Anne Perry - Midnight at Marble Arch

“Yes,” Hythe admitted again, his eyes on the papers as Symington lowered them. Everyone in the court could see that they were covered on one side with writing.

Symington looked at the judge. “My lord, I shall put these papers into evidence, and give them to Mr. Bower, if it is necessary. But as they are financial papers of some very private nature, I would prefer not to do that, as long as my client cooperates, and at last we can get to the truth.”

Bower stood up.

The judge held out his hand. “Mr. Symington, I am not going to allow you to dazzle the court with any of your parlor tricks. Show me what it is you have.”

Symington passed them to him without a murmur.

The judge read them, his face darkening. He passed them back and Symington took them again.

“Where did you get these?” the judge demanded grimly. “And if you do not tell me the truth, Mr. Symington, you are likely to find your legal career at an end. Do you understand me, sir?”

“Yes, my lord. I have obtained them from Her Majesty’s Special Branch, in the interests of justice.”

The judge rolled his eyes, but held out one hand to require Bower to take his seat again.

“Very well. Do you intend to call Commander Pitt of Special Branch to testify?”

“Not unless absolutely necessary, my lord.”

“Then get on with it. But I warn you, one toe over the line and I will stop you.”

“Yes, my lord. Thank you.” Symington turned again to Hythe.

From the front row of the gallery Vespasia could see that Symington’s hands were shaking. Hythe looked gray-faced. The jurors stared at Symington as if mesmerized. There was absolute silence in the gallery, not a movement, not a breath.

Symington began again.

“Did Catherine Quixwood tell you why she wished this information, Mr. Hythe?”

Hythe looked as if he was about to faint.

Bower had a slight sneer on his face.

“It is not a pleasant thing to hang, Mr. Hythe!” Symington said with a hard edge to his voice. “Not pleasant for those who love you either. I ask you again, why did Catherine Quixwood wish for this information? If you don’t answer, I can do it for you, and I will.”

This time Bower did rise. “My lord, Mr. Symington is bullying his own witness, possibly asking him to condemn himself with words out of his own mouth.”

The judge looked at Symington, his contempt clear.

Symington turned to Hythe.

Vespasia knew this was his last chance.

Hythe drew in a deep breath. “She believed that her husband had advised someone very badly on investments in Africa,” he said with a catch in his voice. “She wanted to prove either that it was true, or that it was not. And if … if it was true, she thought he might repay some of the terrible loss.”

“Voluntarily, or that he could be compelled to?” Symington asked.

Hythe gulped again. “That the damage to his reputation as a financial adviser would oblige him to … to keep the matter private,” he said hoarsely.

Symington nodded. “And that was the reason she sought you out, and saw you increasingly frequently, and with a degree of privacy, at places your conversations would not be overheard, and where her husband would not know of it?”

“That is what she said,” Hythe agreed.

“And have you any evidence that this is what she asked you to research for her?” Symington pressed.

“She was very knowledgeable in the matter,” Hythe answered. “You have the papers in your hand. You know exactly what she wanted, and that it all makes sense. If you look at the dates you will see it is cumulative. After understanding one piece she then asked for more, based upon that knowledge. She was … she was most intelligent.”

“Was she aware of the plans for the Jameson Raid before it took place?” Symington asked with interest.

There was a rustle of movement in the gallery. Several jurors looked startled, one leaned forward, his face tense.

“She was aware that something of that nature would happen, yes.”

“But not that it would fail?” Symington continued. “Or did she know that too?”

“She believed it would,” Hythe answered.

Symington looked surprised. “Really? Very perceptive indeed. Do you know why she believed that?”

Hythe hesitated again, glancing down.

“Mr. Hythe!” Symington said sharply. “What did she know?”

Hythe jerked up his head. “She observed the behavior of other people,” he said so quietly even the judge was obliged to lean forward to hear him.

“What other people?” Symington asked. “Did she have access to plans?”

“No,” Hythe said instantly. “She was aware of who was investing, and of who was not.” He looked exasperated. “The raid cost a fortune, Mr. Symington. People pumped money into it: for men, guns, munitions, other equipment. She watched and listened.” His voice caught suddenly. “She was a very intelligent woman and she cared deeply about the situation.”

“Indeed,” Symington said with sudden emotions thickening his voice. “Altogether a remarkable woman, and her violation and death is a tragedy that must not go unpunished.” He hesitated a moment before going on.

One of the jurors had tears on his face. Another pulled out a large white handkerchief and mopped himself as if he was too hot.

Even Bower sat still.

Symington cleared his throat and went on. “So Catherine Quixwood had gathered a good deal of financial information regarding the Jameson Raid, and about various people who had made or lost money that had been invested in guns, munitions, and other speculations in Africa?” he asked Hythe.

“Yes,” Hythe said simply.

“Could this have been damaging to anyone, financially or in reputation, had she made it public?” Symington was careful to avoid naming anybody.

Hythe stared at him. “Yes, of course it would.”

“Very damaging?” Symington pressed.

“Yes.”

“Financial reputations depend upon trust, discretion, word of mouth, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Is it then possible, Mr. Hythe-indeed, probable-that there is someone named in these papers,” Symington held them up, “who would be ruined if she were to have made them public … had she lived?”

“Yes.” Hythe’s voice was barely able to be heard, even in the silent courtroom.

At last Bower rose to his feet. “My lord, this is all supposition. If it were truly the case, why on earth would the accused not have said so in the first place?”

The judge looked at Symington.

Symington smiled. He turned back to Hythe. “Mr. Hythe, you have a young and lovely wife to whom you are devoted, do you not? If you are found guilty and hanged, she will be alone and defenseless, disgraced, and possibly penniless. Are you afraid for her? Are you specifically afraid that if you name the man Catherine Quixwood could have ruined, and whom her evidence could still ruin, that he will take out his vengeance on your wife?”

There was a gasp of horror around the gallery. Several of the jurors stiffened and looked appalled. Even the judge’s face was grim.

Hythe stood frozen.

Symington was not yet finished. “Mr. Hythe, is that why I have been obliged to force this information from you, with the help of Special Branch, and financial papers that should have been confidential? Are you willing to be found guilty of a crime you did not commit, against a woman for whom you had the greatest admiration, because if you do not then your own beloved wife will be the next victim?”

It was a rhetorical question. He did not need or expect an answer.

He turned to the judge.

“My lord, I have no way of forcing Mr. Hythe to reply, nor in any honorable way would I wish to. I hope were I in his situation, I would have the courage and the depth of loyalty and honor to die, even such a hideous death as judicial hanging, to save someone I loved.” His face was devoid of all his confidence and easy charm; there was nothing in it but awe, as if he had seen something overwhelmingly beautiful, and it had robbed him of pretense. “I have no more questions for him.”