but she said it showed discourtesy to neighbours who were."
Hawkins glances down at his notes. "Is it not true that you were turned out by the admiral after you made an indecent attempt on Teresa Borg, a maid?"
Duff's face contracts, which pleases Helen. "I discharged myself voluntarily. There was no truth in it; the Borg woman called me into her room herself and only accused me afterwards. She's a Maltese," he says, appealing to the jury.
Hawkins makes another of his lightning changes of tack. "Can you specify the time, or date, or year, even, of any of the alleged incidents involving Mildmay or Anderson?"
A shrug. "I had no reason to make a note."
"But you claim you were disturbed by them. Surely it was a dereliction of duty, then, not to inform the admiral?"
"I—" Duff pauses, blinking, like a burglar interrupted on the job. "I didn't think it was my place."
"How so?"
"Well, he must have known how often those two officers came to his house."
Hawkins's patrician face brightens. "Ah. You believed the admiral turned a blind eye to his wife's friendships with these men, or encouraged them even? Perhaps in order to furnish grounds for a divorce?"
Condonation, connivance, Helen lists in her head. Her barrister's not just a highly attractive man but also something of a genius.
Bovill's glaring at his witness: Duff scrambles to recover. "I never said any of that."
"No, your lips were sealed tight until petitioner's agents tracked you down in France a few weeks ago. May I ask, what compensation did they offer you in exchange for your spontaneous recollections?" Hawkins asks witheringly.
"Just the expenses of the voyage. Steerage," he insists.
"One final question, Duff. Did you ever, with your own eyes, see any actual misconduct take place between Mrs. Codrington and any male person?" Hawkins speaks one word at a time, as if to an imbecile.
"I suppose not."
"A simple no will suffice."
Once Duff's stood down, Bovill gets up again. "Thus matters went on." Helen's beginning to recognize it as his catchphrase, intoned a touch more grimly every time. He now reads the depositions of a number of witnesses taken under a commission in Malta. The accumulation of suggestive detail depresses Helen. The two women in front have clearly found her out; they keep turning to glance at her, whispering to each other. This wretched veil is like a sign over her head, marking her out as the one with something to hide. But she'll hear this out, as long as it takes.
She can't believe her eyes when the next witness turns out to be none other than Mrs. Nichols, the housekeeper who served Helen a late, singed breakfast this morning. The double-dyed treachery!
"Would you describe it as a Christian household?" Bovill is asking.
"Well." A small sigh. "The admiral reads prayers with the children every morning, but the mistress doesn't attend. And she doesn't go to church above twice a year."
To think I've kept her on all these years, though she boils the meat to leather...
"During summer months, on Malta, where did the family sleep?"
"Oh yes," Mrs. Nichols says, nodding eagerly. "Admiralty House was in a pestilential spot, so the admiral took the girls and us staff to sleep on board the Azoff, but the mistress insisted on going home every night. Said she slept better there." A sardonic curl of the mouth.
"Now, please tell the court about the trip to Cormayeur, a resort on the Franco-Italian border, in August of 1860."
Helen's stomach tightens; she forgot this had to be coming.
"The party was composed of Mrs. Codrington, her parents, the two girls, myself, and a maid," lists Mrs. Nichols, like a schoolgirl repeating her lesson. "After a few days, Lieutenant Mildmay turned up to stay at the same hotel, as if by accident. I heard the mistress introduce him to a new acquaintance as her cousin!"
"Did she ask you to take a letter to his room?"
A nod. "And when I objected she said, 'Well, Mary will take it, then, silly.'"
Did Helen really say that? She might have done.
"Back in Valetta, did you ever see the respondent and the lieutenant together in private?" asks Bovill.
"Once he was in her room for ten minutes while she was in bed," says Mrs. Nichols with relish. "I was going in and out all the while."
"She was wearing what, a nightgown?"
"With a jacket over it," she concedes reluctantly. "She had purchases from Naples and Leghorn spread all over the counterpane. She was asking him to take the handkerchiefs to England to get them embroidered."