Bluegate Fields - Anne Perry [65]
Vanderley smiled a little tightly.
“Married to a pleasant woman,” he went on. “Inquired into her reputation. Spotless.”
“No children?” Now Land took over, attempting to shake him. He pressed the point, as if it had some meaning.
“Don’t think so. Why?” Vanderley’s eyebrows went up innocently.
“Possibly indicative.” Land was not prepared to commit himself to something that might mar his case by being considered prejudicial. And of course he might also offend many others, dangerous others. “We are dealing with a man of most peculiar tastes!”
“Nothing peculiar about Mrs. Jerome,” Vanderley answered, his eyes still wide. “At least not that I could see. Looked like an average sort of woman to me—quiet, sober, well mannered, pretty enough.”
“But no children!”
“For heaven’s sake, man, I only met her twice!” Vanderley sounded surprised and a little irritated. “I’m not her doctor! Thousands of people don’t have children. Do you expect the to be able to account for the domestic lives of everyone else’s servants? All I did was inquire as to the man’s scholastic abilities and his suitable character. Both appeared to be excellent. What more do you want me to say?”
“Nothing, Mr. Vanderley. You may go.” Land sat down, recognizing defeat.
Giles had nothing to put in re-examination, and Vanderley, with a faint sigh, found himself a seat in the body of the court.
Maurice Jerome was the last witness to be called in his own defense. As he walked from the dock to the stand, Charlotte realized with surprise that she had not yet heard him speak. Everything had been said about him; it was all other people’s opinions, other people’s words, their recollections of events. For the first time, Jerome would be real—a moving, feeling creature, not a two-dimensional picture of a man.
Like all the others, he began with the oath and identification. Giles worked hard to present him in a sympathetic light. It was all he had: the chance somehow to create the feeling in the jury that this man in reality was a far different person from the one the prosecution had drawn; he was ordinary, decent, everyday—like one of themselves—and could not have been guilty of such obscene offenses.
Jerome stared back at him with a cold, pursed face.
Yes, he answered, he had been employed for approximately four years as tutor to Arthur and Godfrey Waybourne. Yes, he taught them in all academic subjects, and on occasion a little sports as well. No, he did not favor one boy above the other; his tone expressed disdain for such unprofessional conduct.
Already Charlotte found him hard to like. She felt, without real reason, that he would have disliked her. She would not have met his standards of how a lady should conduct herself. For a start, she had opinions, and Jerome did not look like a man who found opinions acceptable when they were not his own.
Perhaps that was unfair. She was leaping to conclusions with just the sort of prejudice she condemned in others. The poor man was accused of a crime not only violent but disgusting, and if he was found guilty he would lose his life. He was entitled to less than the best behavior. Indeed, there must be some courage about him, for he was not screaming out or in hysteria. Maybe this icy calm was his way of controlling the inner terror. And who could claim to do it better, with more dignity?
There was no point in skirting the subject.
“Did you ever, at any time, have an indecent physical relationship with any of your pupils?”
Jerome’s nostrils flared very slightly—the thought was distasteful.
“No, sir, I did not.”
“Can you imagine why Godfrey Waybourne should lie about such a thing?”
“No, I cannot. His imagination is warped—how or why I do not know.”
The additional comment did not further his cause. Any man asked such a question would deny it, yet the curling lip, the suggestion that somehow someone else was to blame engendered less sympathy than simple confusion would have done.
Giles tried