CHAPTER LII

IN COURT

The day of the petty sessions at Newton followed closely in the same week, within two days, and whilst excitement was at its height. The court-house was packed, there was hardly standing room; and there was a full bench of magistrates.

Kate was brought in, looking pale; her broad white forehead like ivory, with the dark hair drawn back on either side; the dark eyebrows and long dusky lashes showing conspicuously on account of her pallor; and the lustrous blue eyes, so full of light, alone giving brightness to her face. Though pale, she was composed. She no longer trembled, and her lips were closed and firm.

The transparent purity, the innocent modesty of her bearing and appearance, impressed the court.

She wore a black dress, as she had been accustomed to wear since the fire at the Cellars, in which it was supposed her father had died, but the black was spotted with white, as a sort of concession to the supposition that he might be still alive.

Mr. Fielding was present. He had been courteously accommodated with a chair within the precincts of the bench; he caught Kitty’s eye, and raised his finger, pointing upwards. She understood him, and smiled reassuringly.

Far more anxious than Kitty was Walter Bramber, who had given a holiday to the school, with the rector’s consent, and had come into Newton to hear the case. He was not able to master his agitation; his pain to see Kitty in so conspicuous a position, and in such danger, labouring under an accusation which he was certain was unfounded.

Pasco Pepperill was present; he would have to appear in the witness-box. He had sent for his solicitor to conduct the prosecution.

As soon as the case was called, Mr. Squire stood up. He had, he said, a painful task imposed on him, and none felt it more deeply than his client, the plaintiff, who naturally shrank from taking a step of so grave a character, against one who was his wife’s niece, young in age, and who had been for many years an inmate of his house, and one for whom hitherto he had entertained an almost fatherly regard. Indeed, so deeply did the plaintiff feel this, that if possible he would have held back altogether, and have borne his loss in silence. But there were attendant circumstances which precluded him from adopting this course. He acted in the matter solely from a sense of duty he owed to himself and to the neighbourhood, and he might add, of humanity towards the unhappy individual placed before the bench under the grave charge of arson.

It was no secret’it could be no secret’that the most serious and damaging reports had been circulated relative to his client in connection with a recent fire at Coombe Cellars, reports most wounding to a man of high integrity and irreproachable character, peculiarly distressing to one of so sensitive and scrupulous a conscience as Mr. Pasco Pepperill, who was churchwarden of his parish, and had served in several important parochial offices, as guardian of the poor, waywarden and overseer, always to the satisfaction of everyone, and had borne, in all his dealings, the character of a straight and upright man.

Mr. Pepperill had formed his own opinions relative to the fire that had occurred on his premises previous to this last, but with them, he, Mr. Squire, would not trouble the bench. Suffice it to say that his view relative to the origin of that fire had impelled him to act with promptitude on the present occasion, not merely to bring to justice the perpetrator of this last atrocious deed, but also to exhibit to the neighbourhood the fact that he had harboured in his house one who was capable of such acts, for which he himself had been most unjustly and cruelly charged by the popular voice.

Moreover, in consideration of the fact that three cases of malicious burning had taken place within a twelvemonth in the parish of Coombe, Mr. Pepperill had thought himself morally bound, in the interest of the public, to prosecute in this last instance, where the criminal had been taken, so to speak, red-handed. And, lastly, he acted in her interest; for he felt, and felt with the most sincere conviction, that it was for the young girl’s own good in this world and in the next that a career so badly begun should be checked; and that by wholesome correction she might be induced to enter into her own heart and root out from it all malice and resentfulness which had been allowed, as it would appear, to harbour there and drive her to the commission of crime. In conclusion, Mr. Squire hoped to produce such witnesses’all most reluctant to speak’as would place the matter clearly before their worships, and leave them no choice but to refer the case to the Quarter Sessions. The case being one of felony, they were precluded from dealing with it as in a case of summary jurisdiction.

Then Mr. Squire proceeded to call Mrs. Zerah Pepperill into the witness-box. Zerah cast an appealing glance at Kitty, who acknowledged it gently, with a faint smile.

The solicitor then questioned Mrs. Pepperill.

“You are, I believe, the aunt of the accused?”

“Yes, sir?”

“And you are greatly attached to her?”

“Very greatly. I have known her from a babe.”

“Then we may be quite satisfied that you are most unwilling to say anything to her prejudice; and that only an overwhelming sense of duty and responsibility induces you to give witness’and true witness?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, Mrs. Pepperill, will you look towards the Bench and tell their worships, in order, the events of the evening of the 16th ultimo.”

Zerah was silent for a while.

“Do not be afraid; speak out,” said the chairman.

“Well, sir,” began Zerah, “it was supper’we mostly has our supper at seven, or thereabout. Sometimes we can’t be exact. That clock of ours ain’t over partic’lar to a minute, and us sets it by the Atmospheric, and the Atmospheric is most irregular of all. Then us took the clock to Mr. Ford, to Newton, to have ’n put to rights, and us paid ’n seven and six, and he sent ’n home worse than he was afore. He used to go, reg’lar, right on end till he runned down, tho’ he didn’t always keep time exact-ly. But after Mr. Ford took ’n in hand, then he began to stand still, after he wor winded up, out o’ pure wickedness; and if you gentlemen would make Mr. Ford pay me back that there seven and six”’

The chairman interrupted her. “Come to the point, please, Mrs. Pepperill.”

“Is it the leg o’ pork you mean?” asked Zerah. “I’m comin’ to her direct-ly. You see, sirs, ’twern’t cured proper, not as I likes it, and so the maggots got to the bone. Which do your worships like, gentlemen’rubbin’ in the salt dry, or soakin’ in brine? I hold to the dry rubbin’’that is, if it be well done; but to have a thing well done you must do it yourself. You can’t trust nobody now. And so the maggots”’

“Never mind the maggots, my good woman.”

“So I sed to Pasco. Us can’t waste thickey leg o’ pork; us must eat ’n, and so I’ll get ’n out as well as I can, and you go and take plenty o’ exercise and work up a cruel strong appetite, and you won’t make no count o’ there having been maggots in the leg o’ pork.”

The chairman again intervened, and requested Mr. Squire to extract what was necessary to be known from this good woman by interrogation. If allowed her own course, she would not know where to stop, like the clock before taken in hand by Mr. Ford, and run clean away, as was threatened by the leg of pork.

“Mrs. Pepperill,” said Mr. Squire, “you seem to be diffusive in your evidence. However engrossing may be the interest attaching to your clock and leg of pork, still we are not concerned, thank goodness, with either’specially, thank goodness, we are not here to discuss that same leg of pork.”

“The leg ought to ha’ been turned in the brine twice a day, and her wasn’t. If her had been, her’d ha’ been famous.”

“I rather think, Mrs. Pepperill, this leg of pork is likely to become famous now, as I see a local reporter present, and it will appear in the paper. But this leg is blocking our way; let us lay it on the shelf and proceed, as the French say, to our mutton. Where were you at seven, or, may be, half-past seven, on the evening of the 16th ultimo?”

“I don’t think I was nowhere.”

“What! nowhere three days ago?”

“That wor the 16th August.”

“Well, I said so.”

“Beg pardon, sir, you asked for the 16th of Ultimo, and I never heered tell o’ that month. It ain’t in the calendar.”

“Come; on the evening of the 16th last, were you at supper with your husband and others?”

“Yes.”

“And those others were”’

“Rose Ash and Noah Flood. They came in”’

“Never mind that. Answer shortly my questions. Where was Kate Quarm?”

“She had her supper, too.”

“And when she had done, did she go into the back kitchen to clean up?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Was anyone with her then?”

“Yes, sir; Jane Redmore.”

“And when Jane Redmore went home, did your niece accompany her?”

“She said she was going with her.”

“Did your niece take a lantern?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And did you see there was a candle in the lantern?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sufficient to burn for an hour?”

“I don’t know that exactly.”

“Well, three-quarters of an hour?”

“Perhaps so. I didn’t notice exactly how long the candle was.”

“Anyhow, it would have burnt for more than a quarter of an hour?”

“Oh yes.”

“Or for half an hour?”

“I daresay it would.”

“You know it would. Now be careful as to your statements, Mrs. Pepperill. You are quite sure it would have burnt for three-quarters of an hour, if not an hour?”

“Perhaps’I cannot say.”

“You can say it would have lasted three-quarters, but are not sure it would last an hour?”

“I suppose so.”

“It is not the way of candles, like legs of pork, to run away of themselves, is it?”

“I don’t understand you, sir!”

“I mean, that if you put a candle into a lantern, it will remain in the lantern till it is burnt out.”

“Unless someone takes it out.”

“Exactly! and when the lantern was brought back by Kate Quarm, was the candle there?”

“N’n’o.”

“It was not there. It was not burnt out, and it had not run away, eh?”

“I suppose so.”

“Then someone must have removed the candle. This is a point, your worships, I wish to establish, and that you should observe. Kate Quarm went out with a lantern in her hand, in which was a piece of candle that would certainly last three-quarters of an hour, if not an entire hour. When she returned, no candle was in the socket. I shall call other witnesses to establish this, and the fact that there were no signs of the candle having melted away; indeed, the lantern is here. Constable, please to produce it. If the Bench will kindly look at it, your worships will perceive that the candle was put in with a piece of brown paper wrapped about it. The paper is still there. The candle is gone. It was taken out. I will call the constable presently to testify that he took charge of the lantern immediately after the event, and that it has not been tampered with since. I now proceed to ask Mrs. Pepperill how long a time Kate Quarm was absent after she went out with Mrs. Jane Redmore. Now, Mrs. Pepperill, pray concentrate your mind and exercise your memory. How long was Kate absent?”

“What’washing up?” asked Zerah.

“No’we have nothing to do with the washing up. After that, when she went out with Jane Redmore.”

“I didn’t look at the clock.”

“About how long?”

“I can’t say.”

“Do you think it was half an hour?”

“It might be so.”

“Or less.”

“I really can’t tell.”

“Then she was absent for half an hour at the outside, possibly.”

“I suppose so.”

“You may go now. I shall want you again. I proceed to summon Jane Redmore.”

This poor woman was in such a nervous condition that she would have fainted, had she not been provided with a chair. Nothing but what was of absolute importance could be drawn from her; which was that Kitty had not accompanied her beyond the gate from the Coombe premises, a distance of hardly three hundred yards.

“This,” said the solicitor, “is what I require. I will not trouble this feeble and timorous creature any longer. We have ascertained that the defendant, Kate Quarm, went out with Mrs. Redmore, under the pretext that she was going to accompany her home.”

“I do not think this point was established,” said the chairman.

“I beg your worship’s pardon. You are right. The next witness I shall call will establish the pretext without a doubt. I summon Pasco Pepperill!”

“Stay a moment’what is this noise, this disturbance in the court?” called the chairman. “It is not possible for me or my brother magistrates to hear what is said. Unless the disturbance be allayed instantly, I shall give orders for the court to be cleared.”

The requisite stillness ensued.

“Now then, Mr. Pepperill, stand forward, take the book, and such answers,” etc.

Again there ensued a movement among the crowd outside the rails’exclamations, mutterings, and heaving and tossing, as though the mass of mankind there densely packed was boiling up from below.

“I insist on order in the court!” called the chairman.

Then Pasco, having kissed the Bible, turned his face to the Bench. He was elate, had spread his breast, and tossed back his head, a self-complacent smirk was on his countenance.

“I have felt it my duty,” he said, “to speak’to clear my own self, and to cut short the career of crime of the girl I have regarded as my niece.”

Again the agitation among the public; and now through the mob came a man, elbowing his way, till he had forced himself to the front, and stood face to face with Pasco Pepperill.

Pasco, disturbed in his pompous address, turned and saw before him’Jason Quarm!

He put his hand to his head with a gasp, staggered back, and fell senseless to the ground.