The Sins of the Wolf - Anne Perry [127]
“Mrs. Murdoch,” Gilfeather said softly, as if he were addressing an invalid or a child. “We are deeply sensible of your courage in coming to testify in this tragic matter, and of the cost it must have been for you to travel this distance in your present state of health.”
There was a murmur of sympathy around the room and someone spoke his approval aloud.
The judge ignored this.
“I will not trouble you to relive your emotions at the railway station, Mrs. Murdoch,” Gilfeather continued. “It would distress you for no purpose, and that is the furthest thing from my intention. If you would be so kind as to tell us what transpired after you returned to your home, with your husband, knowing that your mother had died. Do not hurry, and choose your words exactly as you please.”
“Thank you, you are most kind,” she said shakily.
Monk, staring at her, thought how unlike her sisters she was. She had not the courage of either of them, nor the passion of character. She might well be far easier for a man to live with, less demanding, less testing of patience or forbearance, but dear heaven she would also be infinitely less interesting. She was uncertain, timid, and there was a streak of self-pity in her that Oonagh would have found intolerable.
Or was it all an act, an outer garment designed to appeal to the court? Did she know who had killed her mother? Was it even conceivable, in a wild moment of insanity, that they had all conspired together to murder Mary Farraline?
No, that was absurd. His wits were wandering.
She was telling Gilfeather how she had unpacked Mary’s cases and found her clothes and the list of items, and in so doing had failed to find the gray pearl pin.
“I see.” Gilfeather nodded sagely. “And you expected to find it?”
“Certainly. The note said that it should be there.”
“And what did you do, Mrs. Murdoch?”
“I spoke to my husband. I told him it was missing and asked his advice,” she replied.
“And what did he advise you should do?”
“Well, of course the first thing we did was to search thoroughly again, through everything. But it was quite definitely not there.”
“Quite. We now know that Miss Latterly had it with her. This is not in dispute. What then?”
“Well—Connal, Mr. Murdoch, was most concerned that it had been stolen, and he …” She gulped and took several seconds to regain her composure. The court waited in respectful silence.
Behind Argyll, Rathbone swore under his breath.
“Yes?” Gilfeather encouraged.
“He said we should be wise to call in our own doctor to give another opinion as to how my mother had died.”
“I see. And so you did exactly that?”
“Yes.”
“And whom did you call, Mrs. Murdoch?”
“Dr. Ormorod, of Slingsby Street.”
“I see. Thank you.” He turned with a disarming smile to Argyll. “Your witness, sir.”
“Thank you, thank you indeed.” Argyll uncurled himself from his chair and stood up.
“Mrs. Murdoch …”
She regarded him warily, assuming that he was essentially inimical.
“Yes sir?”
“These clothes and effects of your mother’s that you unpacked … I take it that you did it yourself, rather than having your maid do it? You do have a maid, I imagine?”
“Of course I do!”
“But on this occasion, possibly because of the uniquely tragic circumstances, you chose to unpack them yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
There was a rustle of disapproval around the room. One of the jurors coughed sharply. The judge frowned, seeming on the edge of speech, then at the last moment restrained himself.
“Wh-why?” Griselda looked nonplussed. “I don’t understand.”
“Yes, Mrs. Murdoch,” Argyll repeated, standing grim and motionless, every eye fixed on him. “Why did you unpack your mother’s belongings?”
“I—I did not wish the maid to,” Griselda said chokingly. “She—she was …” She stopped, knowing that the sympathy of the court would finish it for her.
“No, madam, you have misunderstood me,” Argyll said carefully. “I do not mean why did you not have the maid