Midnight at Marble Arch - By Anne Perry Page 0,133

the color scarlet up his cheeks. “Mrs. Hythe may well have been jealous, and it seems she had more than just cause, but Mr. Symington surely cannot be suggesting she raped Mrs. Quixwood and beat her almost to death? That is farcical, and an insult to the intelligence, not to say the humanity, of this Court.”

Symington steadied himself with an effort. “My lord, may I ask for an early adjournment in order to consult with my client?”

“I think you had better do so, Mr. Symington, and get your defense into some sort of order,” the judge agreed. “I will not have the trial made into a mockery for the lack of skill or sincerity on your part. Do you understand me? If your client decides to plead guilty it will make little difference to the outcome, but it may be a more graceful and dignified way to shorten his ordeal. The court is adjourned until two o’clock.”

It was half-past eleven.

Vespasia waited an agonizing half hour, watching the minute hand creep arthritically around the face of the clock in the hall. At five past midday she saw Pitt’s tousled head an inch or two above the crowd, and with no thought for dignity at all, she pushed her way toward him.

“Thomas!” she said breathlessly as she reached him and clasped his arm to prevent herself from being buffeted by those eager to pass. “Thomas, what have you found? The situation is desperate.”

He put his arm around her to protect her from the jostling of several large men forcing their way through, a thing he would never do in normal circumstances.

“I have papers,” he replied. “If the judge asks to see them they may stand up to scrutiny, or they may not. But they will at least give Symington something to use to persuade Hythe he knows the truth … if that is the truth, and we are right as to what he and Catherine were doing.”

“Thank God!” she said, not blasphemously but with the utmost gratitude. “Where is Victor?”

“I don’t know,” Pitt admitted. “He may arrive with more later. I thought you might not last much longer.”

“No longer,” she said. “This is our last stand. We had better find Mr. Symington.”

THE TRIAL RESUMED AT exactly two o’clock. Symington rose to continue the examination of his client. He moved with a new vitality as he walked across the open space, papers in his hand, and looked up at Hythe.

“Circumstances have placed you in a most unfortunate position, Mr. Hythe,” he began smoothly. “You have an expertise that was sorely needed by a charming woman, with a conscience regarding financial honesty. I can call witnesses to testify to all that I am about to say, but let us begin by allowing you to testify to it first, and then if my learned friend, Mr. Bower, disagrees, we can proceed from there.”

He looked up at Hythe with a sunny smile. “Catherine Quixwood knew of your financial reputation and sought you out, is that correct?”

Hythe hesitated.

“Do not oblige me to repeat the questions, Mr. Hythe,” Symington said gently. “You know the answer, and so do I.”

Hythe gulped. “Yes.”

“Thank you. She sought you out and cultivated your acquaintance. She was a few years older than you, a beautiful woman of a slightly higher social rank, and she was troubled by a matter in which she very urgently wished for advice?” He held up the papers in his hand, still smiling. “Do not make me pull your teeth one by one, Mr. Hythe.”

“Yes,” Hythe admitted again, his eyes on the papers as Symington lowered them. Everyone in the court could see that they were covered on one side with writing.

Symington looked at the judge. “My lord, I shall put these papers into evidence, and give them to Mr. Bower, if it is necessary. But as they are financial papers of some very private nature, I would prefer not to do that, as long as my client cooperates, and at last we can get to the truth.”

Bower stood up.

The judge held out his hand. “Mr. Symington, I am not going to allow you to dazzle the court with any of your parlor tricks. Show me what it is you have.”

Symington passed them to him without a murmur.

The judge read them, his face darkening. He passed them back and Symington took them again.

“Where did you get these?” the judge demanded grimly. “And if you do not tell me the truth, Mr. Symington, you are likely to find your legal