For Better For Worse. Pam Weaver

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       Eight

      The courtroom in Lewes was on the High Street. When Annie first saw it, she thought it an imposing building. It dated from Victorian times and was made of Portland stone with a portico of four pillars which covered the steps leading to the three doors at the top. Above the steps, a single Victorian lamp lit the way. Lewes had had its share of famous trials and most notably had gained notoriety as the place where Patrick Mahon was tried for the murder of Emily Kaye in the infamous Crumbles murder case, a case which had been handled by none other than the famous forensic pathologist, Sir Bernard Spilsbury. Annie only knew all this because there had been a lot in the paper about him when Spilsbury had died at the end of 1947.

      With the castle itself as a backdrop, Annie wished she was here as a tourist rather than a wronged woman. Flanked by her parents, she was hustled through the doors and into a waiting area where she sat down. Her father prowled the corridors, jangling the coins in his pocket, and her mother, a bag of nerves, kept going to the toilet. Their drive to Lewes had been uneventful, and although she knew it really worried her mother, Annie had little to say. She found her silence acted as a defence mechanism because talking only encouraged her father’s constant ranting about Henry and how he knew all along that he was a bad lot who would eventually come to a sticky end. It took all her willpower not to react but she refused to kowtow, knowing that this was by far the best way. With only a month to go of her pregnancy, Annie no longer had the energy to argue or defend herself, but at least she had the satisfaction of knowing how much her refusal to respond irritated her father.

      She had been there about ten minutes or so when she saw the woman who had come to her house on that fateful day and accused Henry of being her husband. This time, dressed in a brown suit with patchy velveteen cuffs, she was on her own. The two of them made eye contact and as the woman gave her a nod of recognition, Annie turned her head away before working her mouth into a thin half smile. They sat apart, the woman sitting primly with her handbag clutched tightly on her lap and Annie staring at the floor.

      ‘You’d think they’d have a proper waiting room,’ her father complained. ‘How much longer have we got to hang around here?’

      Annie didn’t see Henry until she was in court about an hour later. As she stood in the witness box, he sat opposite the judge in the dock. He looked pale but he was smartly dressed in his best suit. Her heart lurched and as she looked at him he mouthed, ‘I love you.’ She felt slightly bewildered.

      The inside of the courtroom was even more imposing than the outside, although the wood panelling behind the judge’s seat and along the walls made it seem rather dark. The ornate vaulted ceiling gave the room a kind of conservatory feel. In the centre under the judge’s bench was a large table where a woman stenographer sat listening to and recording the proceedings. The jury sat in front of her. Annie scanned their faces. They were all men and, judging from their dress, from all walks of life. Three of them seemed very old and one man sported a huge walrus moustache.

      As she was sworn in, Annie recognised Mr West, but the man who spoke up for Henry was new to her. Somewhere along the line she had been told his name was Mr Collingwood, King’s Counsel for the defence. She was asked to give her name and then before Mr Hounsome, the KC for the prosecution, began his questioning, the judge interrupted.

      ‘If the jury are at times constrained to think that there might be an element of humour about bigamy, they should remember that there is another side to the case which is more important and has no humour whatsoever.’

      Annie drew her grey and black swagger coat around herself and the members of the jury stared at her with concern. Turning to her, the judge said in a less severe tone СКАЧАТЬ