Belgrave Square - Anne Perry [61]
P.C. Crombie stood to attention.
“I saw the accused sitting on the bench together with their arms ’round each other, sir.”
“And what were they doing, Constable?”
Osmar snorted so fiercely it was audible in the body of the court.
P.C. Crombie swallowed. “ ’Ard to say exact, sir. They looked like they was struggling over something, not fighting, like, just rocking back and forth—” He stopped, the color rising up his face with embarrassment.
“And what did you do, Constable?” the prosecution persisted, his face lugubrious as if his interest were barely engaged.
“P.C. Allardyce and me went up to them, sir,” Crombie answered. “And as we got close the gentleman rose to ’is feet and started to rearrange ’is clothes—sir—”
Again Osmar grunted loudly and Carswell glared at him. There was a murmur around the room among the few spectators.
“Rearrange?” the prosecutor asked. “You must be more specific, Constable.”
P.C. Crombie’s face was scarlet. He looked straight ahead of him at some point in the woodwork on the far wall.
“ ’Is trousers was undone, sir, and ’is shirt was ’anging out at the front. ’E tucked it in and did up ’is buttons, sir.”
“And the young lady, Constable?” The prosecutor was merciless, his beautifully modulated voice cutting the silence like a silver knife.
P.C. Crombie closed his eyes.
“She was doin’ up ’er blouse, sir, at the—” He raised his hands and held them roughly where his bosom would have been, had he one. He was a young man, and not married.
“Are you saying she was in a state of indecency, Constable?”
The Q.C. rose to his feet and there was a sharp rustle of interest around the room. Osmar smiled.
“My lord, the prosecution is leading the witness,” the Q.C. said with injured gentility. “He did not say Miss Giles was indecently dressed, merely that she was fastening her blouse.”
“I apologize to my learned friend,” the prosecution said with a touch of sarcasm. “Constable, how would you describe the state of dress of Miss Giles?”
“Well sir—” Crombie glanced at Carswell, uncertain now how to proceed in what he was permitted to say. His face was burning red.
Osmar shifted in the dock, his face shining with satisfaction.
The prosecution smiled drily.
“Constable, did her state of dress embarrass you?”
“Yes sir! That it did!”
Beulah Giles hid a smirk less than satisfactorily.
The Q.C. was on his feet again. “My lord, that is surely irrelevant?”
“No it is not,” the prosecution insisted, still smiling. “P.C. Crombie is part of the general public, and his reaction may be an acceptable indication of what other passersby might have felt when they saw this spectacle of a man and woman in such a degree of intimacy on a park bench for all to see.”
“My lord, that has yet to be proved!” The Q.C. simulated outrage. “It may be argued that P.C. Crombie’s susceptibilities are the sole issue here. It was he who arrested my client, and therefore he has something of an interest in the outcome of this case. He cannot be considered an unbiased witness. The prosecution’s argument is circular.”
Now the spectators in the room were agog, every face staring, bright with attention.
Carswell looked at the prosecution.
“Is this all you have, Mr. Clyde? If so, it seems very thin.”
“No sir, there is also P.C. Allardyce.”
“Then you had better call him.”
Accordingly P.C. Crombie was excused and P.C. Allardyce was called. He was an older man by some three or four years, and married. He was less easily embarrassed, and as soon as he spoke the Q.C. realized it. He did not challenge his evidence but let it remain. He made no counterclaim when Allardyce described the struggle Horatio Osmar had made upon his arrest, his less than gentlemanly language and his arrival purple faced and furious at the police station, nor Miss Giles’s similar state of dishabille.
He began his defense by calling Horatio Osmar himself to testify. He yanked his clothes straighter, stretched his neck as if to settle his collar, then faced Carswell directly for a moment before turning to the prosecution