Midnight at Marble Arch - By Anne Perry Page 0,123

slightly against the railing to support himself. His dark hair was thick and tidy but his eyes were hollow and there was no color to his skin. He seemed thinner as well. His clothes hung on him. He wore black, as was appropriate for a man still in mourning for his wife. Looking at him as he faced Bower, no one could forget that he was the living victim of this terrible crime.

In the dock, Alban Hythe appeared like a man already sentenced to death.

When Quixwood was sworn in, Bower approached him with both respect and grave compassion.

“Mr. Quixwood, I regret having to call you to this ordeal at all, and I will make it as quick as I can so that you soon may be excused from this experience, which can only be a terrible suffering for you.” He said it quietly, but his voice carried in the utter stillness of the courtroom. No one stirred in the gallery. There was not even a whisper of movement. “Were there some other way, I would take it,” Bower continued. “But I promise you we will obtain justice for your wife, and it will not be much longer now.”

“I know that, sir,” Quixwood answered somberly. “You do only what is necessary, as justice demands. Please ask whatever you wish.”

There was a murmur of approval from the gallery, and several of the jurors nodded.

Bower inclined his head gravely, milking every moment for sympathy.

Vespasia had expected it, but she was still impatient. “Proceed with it, man,” she sighed under her breath.

As if he had heard her, Bower looked up at Quixwood.

“I have kept your testimony until last, Mr. Quixwood, because I want to give you the opportunity to sum up for the jury exactly what happened, as you are aware of it, and the desperate, even emotionally fatal blow that this terrible crime has dealt you. Let me begin at the beginning, so far as you are aware of it.”

He glanced up toward the dock, briefly. The eyes of all the jurors followed him to where Alban Hythe sat motionless, then back again at the silent, wounded figure of Quixwood.

As theater it was superb. Vespasia found herself clenching her teeth and wondering where on earth Narraway had got to and what he hoped to achieve now. Time was slipping away from them.

“Are you acquainted with the accused, Mr. Alban Hythe, sir?” Bower asked.

“Yes, I am. We have done business with each other on various occasions,” Quixwood answered.

“And do you know him socially also?”

“Much less so, but yes, we have attended the same functions from time to time.”

“Mr. Quixwood, were you aware of the friendship your wife had found with the accused, Mr. Alban Hythe? That they had met on a number of events over a matter of months, at lectures, museums, galleries, and so on, when neither you nor Mrs. Hythe were present?”

“I was aware they met on occasion,” Quixwood replied. “She mentioned something about his being very pleasant. I can’t remember any more than that.”

“Did you know that Mrs. Quixwood attended such events quite often?”

“Yes, of course I did. She had many interests, and friends. These were natural and very pleasant places to meet.” He sounded a little annoyed, as if Bower were tainting Catherine’s reputation gratuitously.

“But you had no idea that she was seeing him increasingly often, up to as much as two times in a week, toward the end of her life?” Bower went on.

Quixwood gripped the railing in front of him. “No.”

“Would you have acted differently had you known?” Bower asked.

“Naturally. I would have required an explanation from her, and then forbidden her to continue. It was foolish … and …” he swallowed convulsively, “… ill-considered, at best. As it turned out, it seems to have been tragic. I had no idea she was so … so emotionally fragile. I had not seen it in her character.”

Bower nodded sagely. “She had always been of good judgment until this … friendship?”

“Yes. Excellent. Catherine was a beautiful and gracious woman.”

“You were happy in your marriage?”

“Very. No one who knew Catherine would be surprised at it. Many men envied me my good fortune. And I held myself to be fortunate.” Quixwood stood quite still. Never once did his eyes stray up toward Hythe in the dock, or toward the jury.

“Did she ever give you cause to be concerned that she was forming a romantic attachment to another man? Please think carefully. I regret asking such an ugly question, but circumstances force me