The Revellers Part 37

Betsy was duly warned by the Coroner that she might be charged with the wilful murder of George Pickering, notwithstanding the sworn deposition read in court. She could exercise her own judgment as to whether or not she would offer testimony, but anything she said would be taken down in writing, and might be used as evidence against her.

She never raised her eyes. Not even those terrible words, "wilful murder," had power to move her. She stood like an automaton, and seemed to await permission to speak.

"Now, Mrs. Pickering," said Dr. Magnus, "tell us, in your own words, what happened."

She began her story. No one could fail to perceive that she was reciting a narrative learnt by heart. She used no words in the vernacular. All was good English, coherent, simple, straightforward. On the Monday morning, she said, she received a letter at Hereford from Fred Marshall, ostler at the "Black Lion Hotel."

"Have you that letter?" asked the Coroner.

"Yes," interposed Mr. Stockwell. "Here it is."

He handed forward a doc.u.ment. A buzz of whispered comment arose. In compliance with Dr. Magnus's request, Betsy identified it listlessly.

Then it was read aloud. Apart from mistakes in spelling, it ran as follows:

"Dear Miss Thwaites.--This is to let you know that George Pickering is carrying on with your sister Kitty. He has promised to meet her here on Monday. He has engaged a bedroom here. You ought to come and stop it. I inclose P.O. for one pound toward your fare.--Yours truly, Fred Marshall, groom, 'Black Lion,' Elmsdale."

The fact that this meddlesome personage had sent Betsy her railway fare became known now for the first time. A hiss writhed through the court.

"Silence!" yelled a police sergeant, glaring around with steely eyes.

"There must be no demonstrations of any sort here," said the Coroner sternly. "Well, Mrs. Pickering, you traveled to Elmsdale?"

"Yes."

"With what purpose in view?"

"George had promised to marry me. Kitty knew this quite well. I thought that my presence would put an end to any courts.h.i.+p that was going on. It was very wrong."

"None will dispute that. But I prefer not to question you. Tell us your own story."

"I traveled all day," she recommenced, "and reached Elmsdale station by the last train. I was very tired. At the door of the inn I met Fred Marshall. He was waiting, I suppose. He told me George and Kitty were at the bottom of the garden."

A quiver ran through the audience, but the police sergeant was watching, and they feared expulsion.

"He said they had been there ten minutes. I ran through the hotel kitchen. On a table was lying a long knife near a dish of grouse. I picked it up, hardly knowing what I was doing, and went into the garden.

When I was halfway down Kitty saw me and screamed. George turned round and backed away toward the middle hedge. I remember crying out--some--things--but I do not--know--what I said."

She swayed slightly, and everyone thought she was about to faint. But she clutched the back of a chair and steadied herself. Mr. Jones offered her a gla.s.s of water, but she refused it.

"I can go on," she said bravely.

And she persevered to the end, substantially repeating her sister's evidence.

When Mr. Dane rose to cross-examine, the silence in court was appalling.

The girl's parents were pallid with fear. Kitty sat spellbound. Mr.

Stockwell pushed his papers away and gazed fixedly at his client.

"Why did you pick up the knife, Mrs. Pickering?" was the first question.

"I think--I am almost sure--I intended to strike my sister with it."

This was another bombsh.e.l.l. Mr. Dane moved uneasily on his feet.

"Your sister!" he repeated in amazement.

"Yes. She was aware of my circ.u.mstances. What right had she to be flirting with my promised husband?"

"Hum! You have forgiven her since, no doubt?"

"I forgave her then, when I regained my senses. She was acting thoughtlessly. I believe that George and she went into the garden only to spite Fred Marshall."

Mr. Dane shook his head.

"So, if we accept your statement, Mrs. Pickering, you harmed no one with the knife except yourself?"

"That is so."

He seemed to hesitate a moment, but seemingly made up his mind to leave the evidence where it stood.

"I shall not detain you long," said Mr. Stockwell when his legal opponent desisted from further cross-examination. "You were married to Mr. Pickering on Thursday morning by special license?"

"Yes."

"He had executed a marriage settlement securing you 400 a year for life?"

"Yes."

"And, after the accident, you remained with him until he died?"

"Yes--G.o.d help me!"

"Thank you. That is all."

"Just one moment," interposed the Coroner. "Were you previously acquainted with this man, Marshall, the groom?"

"No, sir. I saw him for the first time in my life when he met me at the hotel door and asked me if I was Miss Thwaites."

"How did he obtain your Hereford address? It appears to be given in full on the envelope."

"I don't know, sir."

Fred Marshall was the next witness. He was sober and exceedingly nervous. He had been made aware during the past week that public opinion condemned him utterly. His old cronies refused to drink with him. Mrs.

Atkinson had dismissed him; he was a pariah, an outcast, in the village.

His evidence consisted of a disconnected series of insinuations against Kitty's character, interlarded with protests that he meant no harm. Mr.

Stockwell showed him scant mercy.

"You say you saw Mrs. Pickering, or Betsy Thwaites, as she was at that time, seize a knife from the table?"