Farriers' Lane - Anne Perry [75]
“What was he going to do about his wife?” Charlotte asked, refraining from making another judgment.
“I don’t know.” Tamar shook her head, but her eyes did not leave Charlotte’s face. “I only learned after his death that he was married. If he meant to marry me, then I suppose he was going to leave her. Or perhaps he didn’t mean to marry me, he only promised in order to keep me. But the point is, Aaron didn’t know that either. He thought Kingsley was free, and would marry me.”
“Are you sure?” Charlotte said softly. “Is it not possible he learned that Mr. Blaine was married, and that is why he killed him? That would be an excellent reason.”
“It would be, if it were true. I saw Aaron just before he left the theater, and he didn’t know then, any more than I did.”
“Would he have told you—honestly?”
“Probably not, but he would not have spoken to Kingsley as he did. He was a good actor—but not good enough to deceive me like that. I knew him too well.”
“You did not say that at the trial, did you?”
Tamar gave a bitter little laugh, more a choking on her own breath.
“No—Mr. James said no one would believe that Kingsley really intended to marry me, and it would only make me look ridiculous, and even more of a victim than if I pretended I were the seducer and were playing with him. That way I would seem less vulnerable, and Aaron have less cause to avenge me.”
Charlotte could see the sense of it, and reluctantly she admitted it.
“I think had I been in his place, I might have done the same. It would not have helped to tell the truth.”
Tamar pulled a face. “Thank you for that!”
“Did you tell Judge Stafford?”
“Yes. I have no idea whether he believed me or not. He had the kind of face and manner I could not read.”
“Who else have you told?”
Tamar stood up and walked over towards the window, the sunlight harsh on her face, discovering every plane and line, and yet it made her more beautiful because of the honesty of her emotion.
“Everyone who mattered, who would listen. Barton James, the barrister for the defense, and before him Ebenezer Moorgate, Aaron’s solicitor.” She stared out of the window in front of her. “I even went to Adolphus Pryce. He said the same as Barton James. If I had said so at the trial, he would have made great capital out of it. I believed him. I saw the appeal judges as well—all of them. But none of them listened to me except Judge Stafford, poor man!”
“Why was he different?” Charlotte asked curiously. “Why was he prepared to look into the case again after five years?”
Tamar turned from the window and looked at her steadily. “I am not sure. I think he believed me about Kingsley, which no one else did. And he asked me several questions about the time Aaron left the theater, and the time Kingsley left, but he would not say why. Believe me, Mrs. Pitt, I have racked my brain to think why he was going to reopen it. If I knew that, I could take the evidence to Judge Oswyn. He seemed once or twice as if he might have listened, then his courage failed him.”
“Courage?”
Tamar laughed and there was harshness deep and hard in it. “It would hardly be popular to say now that Aaron had been innocent. Think of it! The disgrace, the embarrassment, the people who were wrong—the things that cannot be undone. And worse than all that, the disrepute of the law.” Regret overtook anger in her. “That is the worst thing about Stafford’s death—he was a brave man, and an honest one. He died for it.”
Charlotte looked at her passionate face and its blazing conviction. Was that what had moved Stafford: the power of her belief, rather than evidence? Or had he simply wanted to silence her once and for all, to save the shame she spoke of, the disrepute of the law?
“If it was not Aaron,” she said aloud, “who was it?”
Tamar’s face reflected laughter and pain at once.
“I don’t know. I cannot believe it was Joshua, although he and I had been … close.” She used the word delicately, allowing deeper meaning to be understood. “But it was over by then. It was really no more than propinquity