Twenty-One Days (Daniel Pitt #1)(85)

She took the witness stand and was asked to swear to her name.

‘You are Ebony Graves?’ Kitteridge asked.

‘No,’ she said very quietly. ‘I thought I was, but I discovered at the beginning of March this year that I am not. Our marriage was bigamous, all twenty years of it. And therefore, both my children are illegitimate. I am still Ebony Cumberford, as I was born.’ She was having difficulty controlling her emotions, and it showed in her face and a very slight unsteadiness in her voice.

‘But until then, you thought you were Ebony Graves?’ Kitteridge asked.

‘Yes.’

‘There was no one else by that name, to your knowledge?’

‘No.’

‘How did you discover this situation that you are in? Do I call you Miss Cumberford?’

‘I suppose you do. I have no other name – now.’

‘How did you discover your situation?’ Kitteridge repeated.

‘A woman came to visit me, at my home – or I believed it was my home. She introduced herself as Winifred Graves. Only when she was inside, upstairs.’

‘Upstairs?’ Kitteridge interrupted.

‘Yes, sir. I have a private sitting room upstairs, for family guests. It is less formal.’

‘I see. Please go on.’

‘At first I assumed she must be my sister-in-law. My husband had not spoken of his family; I knew that he had a sister.’ She drew a deep, shaky breath. ‘Only when we had been speaking some little while, and I had mentioned to her my two children, Sarah and Arthur, did she laugh and say it was a pity for them.’

‘What was she referring to?’

‘It was then she told me Graves was her married name. She was not my sister-in-law, she was my husband’s first and only wife. He had married her nearly thirty years ago, and the marriage had never been dissolved. She was still Mrs Russell Graves. And now that he had inherited a title, and considerable lands and money, she had decided to take her share of it – which, as far as I was concerned, was all of it. I, and my children, would be out in the street.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Kitteridge said with deep feeling. He waited a moment before continuing.

Daniel knew Kitteridge was tense. Not only did he want to win this case, as he wanted to win all cases, but his sympathies were very much with Ebony. Graves had been his client, and he had seen enough of him to dislike him heartily. She was, technically speaking, not his client: he sought her information in order to clear Graves.

‘That must have been a dreadful shock to you,’ Kitteridge resumed. ‘What did you do?’

‘I argued with her,’ Ebony replied. ‘I don’t remember exactly what I said. I told her I had two children, and the result would be to make them illegitimate. I have not the means to care for them without my . . . as I thought, husband. I appealed to her mercy . . .’ She stopped. The memory was clearly humiliating.

Kitteridge did not help her.

Daniel felt his body knotting tightly. He knew why Kitteridge was silent, but he also knew that had he intervened, it would have been wrong. Did the judge see her distress, and know that she had tried, and failed?

‘She laughed at me,’ Ebony said, lifting her head and staring straight back at Kitteridge. ‘She said she had had her years of being beaten and humiliated by him, and she was owed what she would get out of it now. Either she would tell everyone she was his legal wife, and she could prove it – I never doubted her – or he could pay her off every month for her silence and I could stay . . . and be abused by him, and pretend I didn’t know the truth: I was a kept woman, a mistress and not a wife. And – and my children had no claims on him for inheritance – or help of any sort. I . . .’ She stopped.

‘Is that important to you – inheritance – Mrs . . . Miss Cumberford?’

‘Yes. It is. My son, Arthur, is an invalid. He is confined to a wheelchair. His life depends upon regular medical attention. There is a treatment that might ultimately restore him to something like normality, but it is expensive. Without my husband’s providing for us, we would have no way of survival, let alone medical care. My daughter, Sarah, would have no prospect of a good marriage if she . . . she was known to be illegitimate.’

‘Not in your own society, perhaps,’ Kitteridge agreed. ‘But she might find a man who loved her for herself . . .’ His voice trailed off. That was irrelevant at this point, and he realised it. ‘Did you kill her, Mrs . . . Miss Cumberford?’

Her face was white. ‘Yes . . . I suppose I did. I did not mean to. She was very unkind in her language. She called me a whore, an adventuress, and my children bastards. I called her a few things in return. I don’t remember what, but it was equally unpleasant. She lashed out and struck me. I staggered backwards, and when I regained my balance, I slapped her back, open handed, across her face. She lost her balance and fell sideways. She struck her head on the hearth, and did not move again. I realised she was not breathing, and bleeding from her head.’

‘She was dead?’

‘Yes.’

‘But not burned?’

Her voice was barely audible. ‘No.’

‘Did you seek help? Call a maid, or the butler?’

She stiffened. ‘No.’

That was a lie, and Daniel could see it in her face, in the rigidity of her body. Did the judges see it as clearly as he did? Had Kitteridge meant to do that? Or was he unbelievably clumsy? Or worse than that, was he going to betray her by implicating Sarah, or Falthorne? He would have to! Anyone who defended her would have to. She could not have done it alone. But how far was he going to go? What more was necessary to prove that Graves was innocent?