Gillespie and I (57 page)

‘Well?' he demanded.

‘I'm sorry sir,' replied the Macer. ‘I spoke to Miss Smith myself, this morning, in the waiting room, but it seems that one of the caretakers noticed her leave the building soon afterwards—and she hasn't been seen since.'

Aitchison turned to the judge. ‘My lord, if I may—'

‘Advocate Depute,' interjected Kinbervie. ‘Can you produce your witness?'

‘No, my lord.'

‘Do you have another witness whom you wish to present?'

Aitchison was seen to bow his head, a fraction. Then, he looked up, his expression so full of bile that I thought he might spit.

‘Call Jessie McKenzie,' he announced.

You may or may not remember that Jessie had worked as the Gillespies' maid for about six months. Aitchison produced her as though he had just turned over a winning card. However, I saw MacDonald nod to himself, and smile. Evidently, he felt capable of dealing with McKenzie. It was no shock to learn that she was a witness: her name had been on the original list, and she had been precognosed, but I suppose that it was a slight surprise that, in the absence of Christina, Aitchison had called her. I had warned Caskie that Jessie had taken a dislike to me, simply because I was English, and I had told him about an incident that had turned out to be a misunderstanding on her part, but he was confident that, no matter what she said, we could discredit her testimony, because she was a thief.

Led by Aitchison, Jessie began to describe certain events that she claimed took place in the March of 1889: the aforementioned misunderstanding. MacDonald was soon on his feet.

‘My lord, I object to this line of questioning.'

The judge peered at him. ‘On what grounds, might I ask?'

‘On grounds of relevance, my Lord. This alleged incident took place weeks before the abduction, and appears to have little or nothing to do with this case. My learned friend is simply grasping at straws, to fill the gaping hole left in his case by his absconded witness.'

The judge glanced at Aitchison. ‘Advocate Depute?'

‘My lord, I assure you that Miss McKenzie's evidence will cast light upon the direct evidence in the case.'

‘Very well,' said Kinbervie. ‘Let's hear what the young lady has to say, and then we can decide whether or not it's relevant.'

Since Jessie's testimony is printed verbatim in Kemp's pamphlet, I will skip Aitchison's examination of her—which was interrupted continually by objections from MacDonald—and simply take the opportunity to make my denials here: for instance, if what she said was true, then why did she not challenge me, at the time, like any sensible person would?

MacDonald put this very question to her during his cross-examination, but she was evasive, saying that she had not wanted to confront me.

‘Miss Baxter was a friend of the family, sir. It would have been awkward.'

‘If, as you say, you spied upon her that day, can you explain why Miss Baxter failed to see or hear you?'

‘Well, sir, I didnae make any noise. Like I said, she went in the dining room, and I wondered what she was up to, so I crept across the hall, and the door was half open, so I peeked through the crack between the door and the frame.'

‘And afterwards, what did you do?'

‘Afterwards?'

‘After you'd spied on her.'

‘Just went back to the kitchen. And then later, when she'd went home, I had a look to see what it was she'd done.'

‘Ah yes,' said MacDonald, peering at his notes. ‘And please tell us what you found, exactly.'

‘I already said—'

‘Yes, but I'd like you to be more specific. What did you find on the wall?'

Thus far, both Aitchison and Pringle had dealt with the issue in quite general terms, though I cannot decide whether this was due to prudery on their part or a desire to avoid, in the minds of the jury, association with something so crude.

Jessie's cheeks had flushed. ‘It was—I'd rather not say in public, sir.'

‘You've already told us, have you not, that it was an obscene drawing?'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Done in red and black crayon—low down—on the wall.'

‘Yes, like I said.'

‘Anatomical?'

‘Sorry, sir—I don't understand the question.'

‘You said the drawing depicted a part of the human body—the male body?'

‘Aye, sir.'

‘Let's be clear—what you are claiming is that Miss Baxter—this lady you see before you now in the dock—got down on her hands and knees and—with a child's crayons—defaced the wall of her friend's dining room with an obscene drawing of the—excuse me, my lord, ladies, for this coarseness of terminology—the male private parts, executed in red and black?'

‘That's right, sir.'

‘The red crayon, presumably, used to draw the outline of the male organ—is that correct?'

‘Yes.'

‘And the black?'

‘For the—for the hairs, sir.'

‘In your opinion, Miss Baxter would do this for what reason?'

‘Like I said before, sir, I don't really know, but she must have wanted to get Sibyl into trouble, because Sibyl was always in trouble, at that time, for doing things like drawing on walls, and hiding things and breaking them.'

‘You didn't confront Miss Baxter, at the time, and you didn't express any concern to your employers?'

‘No, sir.'

‘Why did you not tell them? Surely that would have been the thing to do?'

‘Miss Baxter was their friend. She was always at the house. They spoke well of her—I didn't think they'd believe me.'

‘Miss Baxter was helpful to your employers, wasn't she?'

Jessie gave a shrug of her shoulders. ‘She certainly made herself useful.'

‘And she was fond of the children?'

‘Rose, aye. Poor Sibyl, she's not an easy bairn—you have to indulge her.'

‘Did Miss Baxter indulge her?'

‘Sometimes.'

‘And the children liked Miss Baxter?'

‘I suppose so. She gave them lots of presents.'

‘Were you jealous of Miss Baxter, Miss MacKenzie? Of her friendship with the family, her relationship with the children?'

‘No, not at all. I'm not jealous of her, no, I'm not, I'm quite happy, so I am.'

MacDonald raised an eyebrow, eloquently conveying the thought that must have been going through the minds of all present. He might have remarked: ‘The lady doth protest too much', but instead, he simply asked: ‘You're sure of that?'

‘Aye, sir.'

‘Now, tell me—think very carefully, back to that day—did you see the crayons in Miss Baxter's hand, at any point?'

‘… No, sir.'

‘Did you see her, in fact, make any mark on the wall with a crayon?'

‘No, sir, she had her back to the door, and I couldn't see, exactly. I just saw her crouched down in the corner, and then, after she left, I went and looked at what she'd drawn.'

‘That was your assumption—that she'd been drawing on the wall.'

‘There was a drawing, where she'd crouched down. It wasnae there before.'

‘Prior to that afternoon, how long was it since you entered the dining room?'

‘I don't know—a day or so? The previous night, it might have been.'

‘And the children had access to the room in that time?'

‘Well—yes.'

‘Could one of the children, then—could Sibyl not have done the drawing?'

‘Well—I suppose so. But I saw Miss Baxter right there.'

‘Yes, but you didn't actually see her make any marks on the wall, did you?'

‘No, sir.'

‘Your own action, at the time, once Miss Baxter had gone, was to wipe away the drawing. Why did you do that?'

‘Because I knew Sibyl would get in trouble for it. She was always getting into trouble, and it wasn't her that done it—not this time, anyway.'

‘Did it not occur to you, at any point, that Miss Baxter might have been trying to do exactly the same thing—that she might have been trying to wipe away the drawing, to get rid of it, in order to protect Sibyl, just like you'd done. Did that not occur to you?'

‘No, sir.'

‘Was the drawing smudged at all?'

‘Not much—a wee bit.'

‘You mentioned that you wiped away the drawing with a scrubbing brush, and soap and water. Could you have wiped it off with your bare hand?'

‘I don't think so—not very well.'

‘You've stated that, a few days later, you spoke to Miss Baxter, in private, and asked her what she'd been doing in the dining room. How did she respond?'

‘Well, like I said, she denied it.'

‘Denied?'

‘That she'd even been in the room. Then when I said I'd seen her crouching down, she said that she remembered.'

‘What did she remember?'

‘She said she'd seen the picture on the wall and kneeled down to try and clean it away, with her hand, but it wouldnae come off.'

‘With her hand?'

‘Aye.'

‘Did she seem angry, that you had accused her?'

‘No really, sir, not on the surface, but she was always very nicey-nicey.'

‘And, moving on—as you told my learned friend, the Advocate Depute—you were dismissed a few weeks later, for stealing a brooch.'

‘I never stole it.'

‘As you told the Advocate Depute—' The lamps had been lit, long since, and MacDonald had to peer down as he consulted his notes. ‘You said: Miss Baxter must have stole it and then went and put it under my mattress, so I'd get the blame. She wanted shot of me, in case I told about what I'd seen.'

Now, I knew that Jessie had never been terribly keen on me, because I was from ‘down south' and so on, but I had no idea that she harboured such a low opinion of me that she would give voice, on the stand, to such terrible falsehoods. As if I would even conceive of doing anything that might result in Sibyl getting into trouble: the notion was preposterous. Of course, my lawyers had hoped that we could discredit Jessie's testimony with the revelation that she was a thief, but we little expected Aitchison to preempt us, rather cleverly, by introducing the subject of the stolen brooch himself, along with this far-fetched allegation that it was me who had hidden it in Jessie's room, deliberately, in order that she would lose her job. Pringle, in cross-examination, had fortified this picture of me as some sort of malign mischief-maker, and Kinbervie did nothing to stop this specious line of evidence.

MacDonald did his best to demonstrate that Jessie was motivated by ill will. Alas, her artless, couthy manner and lack of sophistication tickled the crowd, with the result that he was hard pressed to undo the damage that she had wrought.

‘Miss MacKenzie, what did you think of Miss Baxter?'

Jessie gave a shrug of her shoulders.

‘Did you like her?'

‘She was fine—a bit stuck-up, I suppose, that's what I thought anyway, until she done that drawing and dropped me right in the skink with thon brooch.'

The laughter which greeted this remark was immediately suppressed by His Lordship. MacDonald continued:

‘What about folk from England, in general—the English—do you like them?'

Jessie thought about this for a moment, and then resolutely shook her head. ‘No really, sir.'

This delighted so many of the spectators that Kinbervie threatened to clear the court, following which he turned to address my advocate.

‘
Tempus fugit
, Mr MacDonald. If you'd be so kind as to make haste.'

‘Certainly, my lord.' MacDonald turned back to the witness. ‘Miss McKenzie, if I might summarise, then: in your mind, this English lady—whom you admit to having disliked—drew an obscene picture on the wall, for which she knew Sibyl Gillespie would get the blame.'

‘Yes.'

‘And then, later, after you had confronted her, she engineered your dismissal, by stealing a brooch, and hiding it in your room, where she ensured that it was found by your employers. Would that be an accurate summary of what you believe to be the case?'

‘Aye, sir.'

MacDonald cast a disbelieving glance in the direction of the jurymen.

‘Is it not true that you're simply jealous of Miss Baxter, particularly her relationship with the Gillespie children whom you liked and who were fond of her?'

‘No, sir.'

‘I put it to you, Miss McKenzie, that there is nothing behind these claims and stories of yours.'

‘Oh, but there is, sir.'

‘I put it to you that they are nothing but a fiction: they are simply the product of your imagination.'

‘No, sir,' protested Jessie. ‘They cannae be the product of my imagination, because, you see, sir, I havenae got an imagination.'

Even His Lordship was seen to chuckle as he gathered his papers, preparatory to adjourning the proceedings for the day.

Thus ended the case for the prosecution. Christina's failure to appear was certainly fortuitous, as was the prohibition of the bank evidence, but so much else had gone wrong that I was in no mood for rejoicing. Back in the gloomy depths of the Parliament House, I sat, numb, and close to despair. Jessie's final comment had endeared her to the crowd. The only person who did not seem at all amused was Ned's sister. She had frowned as she stood up to fasten her coat, and I found it impossible to catch her eye before she turned and hurried out of the chamber. As far as I was aware, Mabel had heard all about Jessie's various accusations at the time of her dismissal but, presumably, she had scuttled off to tell her brother everything anew. My fear was that Jessie's words would now carry more weight, having been spoken from the witness box. In truth, the incident that she described never happened; or rather, it did happen, but Jessie misinterpreted what she saw.

The notion (as put forward by Kemp, in his pamphlet) that Jessie's testimony illustrated something profound about my nature—and therefore merited inclusion in the trial—is erroneous. Kinbervie should have interrupted Aitchison's examination, and dismissed the witness, since her evidence did not refer, in the least, to the abduction of Rose. As it was, the Crown was able to use the girl—her muddled mind and mistaken conclusions—to blacken my character, pure and simple.