The Scandal at 23 Mount Street (An Angela Marchmont Mystery Book 9) (18 page)

It was evident as they stood in the witness-box that they were worried they would get into trouble, but Mr. Travers did his best to reassure them that the case was quite the opposite, and that they were doing the right thing by appearing today, for their evidence might well save a woman’s life. At this they looked suitably impressed and straightened up, waiting for the questions to begin.

‘Now, Sam,’ said Mr. Travers to the eldest boy. ‘Do you remember exactly at what time you began letting off the fireworks?’

‘Not exactly, sir, no,’ said Sam. ‘It was late.’

‘Well, then, do you remember whether it was before or after midnight?’

Sam looked at his brother and they both said together, ‘After midnight.’

‘You are sure of that?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Sam. ‘We set an alarm clock to go off at twelve o’clock. Aunt goes to bed at half past eleven, and we thought that would give her enough time to fall asleep.’

‘Very good,’ said Mr. Travers. ‘Now, you say that when you arrived in Mount Street you swiftly discovered that most of your fireworks had got damp—not surprising, of course, for it had been raining heavily that week. Can you tell us how many dry ones were left?’

Sam screwed up his face to think but Ernest spoke up immediately.

‘Nine or ten,’ he said. ‘There was a rocket and three penny Roman candles, and a few whizz-bangs.’

‘Whizz-bangs?’ said Mr. Travers.

‘Yes. They go “whizz-bang,”’ said Ernest, as though it were obvious.

Here there was an appreciative chuckle from the court, and Mr. Travers said, ‘Ah, yes, of course. Now, I don’t suppose you remember which one you let off first?’

‘The rocket,’ said Sam promptly.

‘The rocket,’ repeated Mr. Travers. ‘And did it make a loud bang?’

‘I’ll say,’ said Ernest, and they both giggled.

‘And what came after that?’

‘The Roman candles,’ said Sam.

‘Did they make a noise?’

‘Not to speak of,’ said Sam. ‘They fizzed a bit, but not very loudly.’

‘Then after that came the—er—whizz-bangs, yes?’

They nodded.

‘And did they make the noise you expected?’

‘No,’ said Ernest in disgust. ‘They whizzed all right, but they hardly banged at all.’

‘They hardly banged at all? Are you quite certain of that?’ said Mr. Travers.

‘Yes, sir,’ said Sam, nodding. ‘They made a bit of noise, but it was more of a crackle than a bang.’

‘So, then,’ said Mr. Travers, who had maintained a straight face throughout. ‘Just to be sure I have got this correct, you set
all
the fireworks off after midnight, and only one of them made a loud bang. The others merely fizzed or crackled.’

‘That’s right, sir,’ said Sam.

‘Did you hear any other fireworks while you were in Mount Street? Or any other bangs?’

‘No, sir,’ they said.

Sir Benjamin had no questions and they were allowed to go, looking somewhat relieved that they were not to be locked up immediately. Mr. Travers hoped that he had planted a seed of doubt into the jury’s mind as to the time of the killing, for if the noises Mrs. Trumpington had heard after midnight were all fireworks, then the bang she had heard at just after ten o’clock must have been the sound of the gun going off, and for that time Angela Marchmont had an alibi.

The court then adjourned for lunch, and everybody filed out in pleasant anticipation of what was to come, for they knew that the defence case would continue that afternoon with the testimony of Angela Marchmont herself, and all were curious to hear what the prisoner would have to say.

Sure enough, when they returned, the clerk called for Mrs. Angela Marchmont to take the oath, which she duly did. Alas for the dedicated pursuit of justice, Mr. Travers got no further than asking her to confirm her name before a juror was assailed by a fit of such explosive sneezing that proceedings were halted for a minute to allow him to recover. The sneezing was, however, followed immediately by a copious and impressive nose-bleed—an affliction to which the man was particularly prone, he explained. Handkerchiefs were brought out and handed along, but by that time the unfortunate juror was a gory sight, and one of the female jury members had begun to feel faint at the sight of the blood and asked if she might go home. Seeing that things were getting out of hand, the judge suggested that they adjourn for the day and return refreshed on Monday, since the prisoner herself was about to give important evidence and it was vital that the jury be in a frame of mind to concentrate on what she said.

So the court was cleared and everybody went about their business. As for Angela, she returned to prison in the full expectation that next week she would be found guilty and sentenced to hang. It was not a pleasant prospect, but she had had many years’ practice in the matter of suppressing unpleasant thoughts, so she appeared as calm as ever, and to look at her no-one would have ever supposed that she had anything particularly inconvenient to look forward to.

Just as Sam and Ernest were stepping into the witness-box to regale the court with their tales of mischief, anyone who happened to be observing the press bench at the time might have seen Freddy Pilkington-Soames glance around the court and suddenly fix his attention on something. He raised his eyebrows at whatever it was and seemed to indicate towards the door, then turned to whisper in Kathie’s ear. She nodded and looked round, and Freddy rose and crept out of the place as quietly as possible, leaving Kathie in the company of Harry, the old reporter with the collection of pencils, who had taken a liking to Mrs. Jameson over the past week—not least because she was married to a Scotland Yard inspector and might thus be a useful source of news.

Freddy emerged from the Old Bailey and looked about him. It was a frosty day and people hurried to and fro, huddled up inside their coat collars. To his right a young woman was walking briskly up the street. He followed her at a discreet distance as she crossed over Newgate Street and entered a church. Freddy waited a minute and then entered too. Marthe was sitting in a pew not far from the door, apparently engaged in quiet contemplation of the rather magnificent stained glass window above the altar. Freddy joined her and they sat in silence for some moments.

At last, without looking at him, she said, ‘Madame gave me notice this morning.’

‘Oh?’ said Freddy, surprised.

‘Yes. She said she knew my loyalty could not be doubted, but that she did not want me to disadvantage myself by waiting until the last minute to find a new situation, and so she has released me from her service with immediate effect. William she has also dismissed.’

‘Goodness me,’ said Freddy. ‘If she’s letting you go then that must mean she doesn’t hold out much hope of getting off.’

Marthe bowed her head.

‘I fear that is so,’ she said. ‘And can you blame her? I have sat in the court every day and heard them shame and humiliate her. They make it sound as though she were wicked and sinful, when I know she is nothing of the sort. They taunt her for the mistakes she made in the past, and say she was so desperate to get rid of her husband that she killed him. But people kill out of love or hate. Madame neither loved him nor hated him. She cared nothing for him any more. Then why should she kill him? I will not believe it.’

‘I don’t believe it either,’ said Freddy. ‘But then who
did
do it?’

‘I do not know,’ said Marthe. ‘I was not there. Had I not gone to France then none of this would have happened.’

There was bitterness in her tone, and Freddy regarded her sympathetically. Then she turned to him, and her next words surprised him.

‘I can do nothing about the past, but perhaps I can help her now,’ she said. ‘She told me not to give her away and I swore I should never betray her trust, even if it meant I had to stand by and break my heart as she let herself go to the gallows. But now that she has released me from her service, I am free to do as I please and need no longer keep silent.’

She gave him a look that dared him to contradict her.

‘I suppose that is true,’ he said after a moment. ‘Does that mean you have something to tell me about all this?’

She hesitated, as though still debating whether to speak.

‘I know the name of the man you saw with Madame on the night of her husband’s death,’ she said at last. ‘At least, I think I do. He came to see Madame on the day I went away, and I imagine it was he you saw.’

‘Who is he?’ said Freddy, and held his breath as he waited for her reply.

‘His name is Edgar Valencourt,’ she said. ‘He has many other aliases, but that is the one by which Madame knows him.’

‘Edgar Valencourt?’ said Freddy with a frown. ‘I seem to recognize the name.’

‘Yes. That is because he is wanted by the police,’ said Marthe in a matter-of-fact voice.

Freddy stared.

‘Good Lord!’ he exclaimed. ‘Yes, I remember now. I’ve heard of him. He frequents the watering-places of Continental Europe, relieving elderly foreign duchesses of their tiaras and other superfluous trinkets. What on earth is Angela doing mixing with his sort? Has she quite taken leave of her senses? I should have thought she’d have better taste than that.’

‘She is in love with him,’ said Marthe, as though that explained everything.

‘I should hope so,’ said Freddy, ‘because otherwise she has no excuse at all for being such a fathead. Where did she meet him?’

‘In Cornwall,’ said Marthe. ‘But she fell in love with him in Italy.’

‘Ah!’ said Freddy, remembering a certain conversation last summer. ‘Well, I only hope she counted her loose change before she came away. A criminal, of all people! What the devil can she have been thinking of?’

‘He makes her happy,’ said Marthe. ‘And he is charming—far more charming than her husband, who blackmailed her and was unfaithful.’

‘Well, I suppose even a jewel-thief would seem like a catch after that foul excrescence,’ said Freddy. ‘Poor Angela. And so you think she was with this Valencourt fellow on the night of the murder? No wonder she refused to tell anybody where she was. She could hardly use him as an alibi, could she? What choice did she have but to claim that she spent the night in her own bed, even though she knew it was a thin story? Why, none at all! I see now why she kept quiet. I say,’ he went on suddenly. ‘It doesn’t really help us to know this, does it? I mean, it’s not as though we can go and fetch the fellow and insist he come and give evidence in court. He’s hardly going to look upon the request too favourably if he’s on the run, is he? I don’t suppose you know where he is, by the way?’

‘I know where he might be,’ said Marthe. ‘That is why I came to you. You are right when you say that he is not the best person on whom to rely. Even if he agrees to come and speak in court to say that they were together that night—which is by no means certain, for they will arrest him immediately—still people will not believe that Madame
is innocent. All they will say then is that the two of them did the murder together, and that she is worse than they already believed her to be. And yet—and yet somehow I
know
he can help.’

‘But how?’

‘I cannot tell. Perhaps someone saw them together, or perhaps he has some piece of evidence that will prove Madame was not in the flat when her husband died—I do not know, but I am certain that he is our only hope now.’ She turned to him and fixed him with a fierce stare. ‘You say we cannot go and fetch him, M. Pilkington-Soames, but I say that if it is Madame’s only chance then we
must
do it.’

Freddy had never seen the girl so animated, and at that moment he could not doubt her devotion to her mistress.

‘You’re right, of course,’ he said. ‘It’s the least we can do for Angela. Where is he, then? You said you knew.’

‘There is a little town just outside Rheims,’ said Marthe. ‘I used to go and stay with my cousins there when I was a girl. M. Valencourt told me he knew the town well, and was planning to go there soon himself. Whether he went, or whether he is still there after all this time I cannot say, but it is all the information I have, and I should never forgive myself if I did not at least
try
to find him. I should like your help, but if you will not come then I will go myself and
make
him come back one way or another.’

‘Of course I’ll come with you,’ said Freddy, who was only too keen to be doing something.

‘Good,’ said Marthe. ‘But we must go immediately, for there is no time to lose. William will come with us.’

She nodded over her shoulder as she spoke, and Freddy turned to see the young American, who had just then come into the church and was looking at Marthe inquiringly.

‘He says he will come,’ said Marthe to William.

William nodded.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘I don’t mind tackling him by myself, but if we have to bring him back by force then the more the merrier, I reckon.’

‘I hope it won’t come to that,’ said Freddy. ‘Still, you may rely on me to do what I can.’

‘Then let’s go,’ said William.

There was a thin layer of snow on the ground, and dusk was falling when they finally saw a sign for Rheims and knew they were approaching their destination. They had been mostly silent throughout the journey, for each of them knew what a desperate and probably futile venture it was. Although Valencourt had mentioned a certain house to Marthe and she thought she knew where it was, the chances of finding him there were slim, to say the least, and had it not been for the fact that Angela’s life depended on it, they would never have dreamed of setting out on the journey at all.

Under Marthe’s instructions they turned off the road a few miles before they reached the city, and headed East. Here, the countryside was flat and barren, and the snow patchy and muddy, and the motor-car bumped along unfamiliar country roads bounded by vast fields, passing through the occasional hamlet or small village. At one point they stopped to allow Marthe to ask for directions, and then turned around and headed back the way they had come.

‘It is a long time since I was here,’ explained Marthe.