Anne Perry - The Twisted Root

"I went to Cleo this morning," she whispered, leaning close to him. "She knows Miriam will hang and there is nothing you can do unless the truth is told. She knows only a part of it, but she cannot bear to lose Miriam, whomever else it hurts-even if it is Lucius and Miriam never forgives her."

"What part?" Rathbone demanded. "What truth does she know? For God’s sake, Hester, tell me! I’ve got nothing!"

"Put Cleo on the witness stand. Ask her how she first met Miriam. She thinks it is something to do with that- something so terrible Miriam can’t or won’t remember it. But there’s nothing to lose now."

"Thank you." Impulsively, he leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek, not giving a damn that the judge and the entire court were watching him.

Tobias gave a cough and a smile.

The judge banged his gavel.

Hester blushed fiercely, but with a smile returned to her seat.

"Are you ready to proceed, Sir Oliver?" the judge asked courteously.

"Yes, my lord, I am. I call Mrs. Cleo Anderson."

There was a murmur of interest around the gallery, and several of the jurors shifted position, more from emotional discomfort than physical.

Cleo was escorted from the dock to the witness stand. She stood upright, but it was obviously with difficulty, and she did not look across at Miriam even once. In a soft, unsteady voice she swore to her name and where she lived, then waited with palpable anxiety for Rathbone to begin.

Rathbone hated what he was about to do, but it did not deter him.

"Mrs. Anderson, how long have you lived in your present house on Green Man Hill?"

Quite plainly, she understood the relevance of the question, even though Tobias evidently did not, and his impatience was clear as he allowed his face to express exasperation.

"About thirty years," Cleo replied.

"So you were living there when you first met Mrs. Gardiner?" Rathbone asked.

"Yes." It was little more than a whisper.

The judge leaned forward. "Please speak up, Mrs. Anderson. The jury needs to hear you."

"I’m sorry, sir. Yes, I was living there."

"How long ago was that?"

Tobias rose to his feet. "This is old history, my lord. If it will be of any assistance to Sir Oliver, and to saving the court’s time and not prolonging what can only be painful, rather than merciful, the Crown concedes that Mrs. Anderson took in Mrs. Gardiner when she was little more than a child and looked after her with devotion from that day forward. We do not contest it, nor require any evidence to that effect."

"Thank you," Rathbone said with elaborate graciousness. "That was not my point. If you are as eager as you suggest not to waste the court’s time, then perhaps you would consider not interrupting me until there is some good reason for it?"

There was a titter of nervous laughter around the gallery, and distinct smiles adorned the faces of at least two of the jurors.

A flush of temper lit Tobias’s face, but he masked it again almost immediately.

Rathbone turned back to Cleo.

"Mrs. Anderson, would you please tell us the circumstances of that meeting?"

Cleo spoke with a great effort. It was painfully apparent that the memory was distressing to her and she recalled it only as an act of despair.

Rathbone had very little idea why he was asking her, only that Hester had pressed him to, and he had no other weapon to use.

"It was a night in September, the twenty-second, I think. It was windy, but not cold." She swallowed. Her throat was dry and she began to cough.

At the judge’s request the usher brought her a glass of water, then she continued.

"Old Josh Wetherall, from two doors down, came beating on my door to say there was a young girl, a child, crying on the road, near in hysterics, he said, an’ covered all over in blood. He was beside himself with distress, poor man, and hadn’t an idea what to do to help." She took a deep breath.

No one moved or interrupted her. Even Tobias was silent, although his face still reflected impatience.

"Of course, I went to see what I could do," Cleo continued. "Anyone would, but I suppose he thought I might know a bit more, being a nurse and all."

"And the child?" Rathbone prompted.

Cleo’s hands gripped the rail in front of her as if she needed its strength to hold her up.

"Josh was right, she was in a terrible state…"

"Would you describe her for us?" Rathbone directed her, ignoring Tobias, leaning forward to object. "We need to see it as you saw it, Mrs. Anderson."

She stared at him imploringly, denial in her eyes, in her face, even in the angle of her body.

"We need to see her as you did, Mrs. Anderson. Please believe me, it is important." He was lying. He had no idea whether it meant anything or not, but at least the jury were listening, emotions caught at last.

Cleo was rigid, shaking. "She was hysterical," she said very quietly.

The judge leaned forward to hear, but he did not again request her to raise her voice.

No one in the body of the court moved or made the slightest sound.

Rathbone nodded, indicating she should continue.

"I’ve never seen anyone so frightened in my life," Cleo said, not to Rathbone or to the court, but as if she were speaking aloud what was indelibly within her. "She was covered in blood; her eyes were staring, but I’m not sure she saw anything at all. She staggered and bumped into things and for hours she was unable to speak. She just gasped and shuddered. I’d have felt better if she could have wept."

Again she stopped and the silence lengthened, but no one moved. Even Tobias knew better than to intrude.

"How was she injured?" Rathbone asked finally.

Cleo seemed to recall her attention and looked at him as if she had just remembered he was there.

"How was she injured?" Rathbone repeated. "You said she was covered in blood, and obviously she had sustained some terrible experience."

Cleo looked embarrassed. "We don’t know how it happened, not really. For days she couldn’t say anything that made sense, and the poor child was so terrified no one pressed her. She just lay curled over in my big bed, hugging herself and now and then weeping like her heart was broken, and she was so frightened of any man coming near her we didn’t even like to send for a doctor."

"But the injuries?" Rathbone asked again. "What about the blood?"

Cleo stared beyond him. "She was only wearing a big cotton nightgown. There was blood everywhere, right from her shoulders down. She was bruised and cut…"

"Yes?"

Cleo looked for the first time across at Miriam, and there were tears on her face.

Desperately, Miriam mouthed the word no.

"Mrs. Anderson!" Rathbone said sharply. "Where did the blood come from? If you are really innocent, and if you believe Miriam Gardiner to be innocent, only the truth can save you. This is your last chance to tell it. After the verdict is in you will face nothing but the short days and nights in a cell, too short-and then the rope, and at last the judgment of God."

Tobias rose to his feet.

Rathbone turned on him. "Do you quarrel with the truth of that, Mr. Tobias?" he demanded.

Tobias stared at him, his face set and angry.

"Mr. Tobias?" the judge prompted.

"No, of course I don’t," Tobias conceded, sitting down again.

Rathbone turned back to Cleo. "I repeat, Mrs. Anderson, where did the blood come from? You are a nurse. You must have some rudimentary knowledge of anatomy. Do not tell us that you did nothing to help this blood-soaked, terrified child except give her a clean nightshirt!"

"Of course I helped her!" Cleo sobbed. "The poor little mite had just given birth-and she was only a child herself. Stillborn, I reckoned it was."

"Is that what she told you?"

"She was rambling. She hardly made any sense. In and out of her wits, she was. She got a terrible fever, and we weren’t sure we could even save her. Often enough women die of fever after giving birth, especially if they’ve had a bad time of it. And she was too young-far too young, poor little thing."