Page 37 of The Heart’s Choice (Cotton Cops Mysteries #1)

Chapter 36

Trial

U pon arrival at the courthouse in Manchester, Lucinda hurried away to secure a seat in the gallery. Roger, Bea, and her father were led to an anteroom reserved for witnesses where they were instructed to wait. She recognized most of the people waiting in the anteroom with them. Thaddeus Barton was there, as was Sergeant Halliwell. Roger identified the man she didn’t know as the manager of the Westminster Bank where he dealt.

The one complete stranger eventually approached Bea’s father. “I assume you are Baron Belmont,” he said, extending a hand. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Adolphus Burgesse. I do hope this unpleasantness won’t deter you from continuing to deal with our firm.”

To her father’s credit, he stood, declined to return the gesture and said, “Unpleasantness doesn’t begin to describe what has gone on here. The trouble seems to have started with a lack of confidentiality in your offices.”

Burgesse peered over the top of his pince-nez. “Well, who was to know James Odlum would turn out to be …”

Bea’s father poked him in the chest. “You are expected to employ people who can be trusted with confidential matters, not murderers and thieves.”

Chastened, Burgesse mumbled an apology and regained his seat.

Bea linked arms with her father when he sat beside her, and patted his arm. “Living in the same house as Lucinda has evidently stiffened your backbone,” she teased, not surprised when his face reddened.

Her father mumbled when Burgesse was summoned to testify and left the room.

“We’ll be called one at a time,” Barton explained. “That way, it’s all independent testimony.”

What little courage Bea had fled. “I wanted to go together,” she told Roger. “I can’t face this alone.”

“We don’t have much choice,” he replied, meshing his fingers with hers.

The bank manager left next.

The knot in her stomach tightened further when first her father, then Roger were summoned to the courtroom.

* * *

Roger filled his lungs and stepped through the heavy oak door held open for him by a clerk. The scene that greeted him was even more intimidating than he’d expected. Paneled with dark wood, the courtroom was much bigger than he’d anticipated. Against the far wall, a robed and bewigged judge presided from a seat raised high above the room itself.

At least ten wigged and gowned men occupied three rows of tall desks on the main floor of the courtroom. Roger assumed they were barristers and their clerks. Arthur, Burgesse, and the bank manager sat on a pew-like bench beside the witness box. The public gallery was packed. Seated in the front row, Lucinda nodded her encouragement. He glimpsed Mrs. Pickering near the back. Joss Pickering was probably in an alehouse somewhere. It was to be hoped Bea’s aunt and uncle were not among the crowd.

The all-male jury sat in the jury box, every last one decked out in his Sunday best. They all looked prosperous, which Roger found reassuring.

His gaze finally settled on the man in the dock. Had he not known it was Peter Leigh, he wouldn’t have recognized the gaunt wretch with the shaved head.

Led to the witness box, Roger placed his hand on the Bible and swore to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

A portly clerk asked his name and occupation. “Roger Sandiford,” he replied, wishing he could spare Beatrice this ordeal. Neither of them had reason to be nervous, yet his breath caught in his throat when he added, “Master of Broadclough Mill in Bolton.”

A tall, middle-aged barrister questioned him first about the murder and the subsequent investigation. He sounded so bored with the entire affair, Roger assumed he was the Crown counsel tasked with prosecuting Peter. Next came questions about his frantic ride to rescue Beatrice. Eyes fixed on Peter, Roger supplied details about the accident. He mentioned Peter threatening him with a pistol, but was careful to omit details of Beatrice’s embarrassing predicament in the overturned carriage. Peter stared off into space as if the proceedings had nothing to do with him.

“I understand Mr. Leigh then stole your horse,” the barrister said with great conviction.

“Yes,” Roger replied, thinking that was the least of Peter’s crimes, yet the barrister seemed keen to make the jury aware of it.

His next interrogator was a younger, pox-faced chap who put Roger in mind of his sister’s husband. “Mortimer Featherstone, QC,” he announced.

Roger knew the type. He couldn’t resist bragging that he’d taken the silk and become a Queen’s Counsel.

Looking over the top of his spectacles, Featherstone drawled, “It’s alleged my client and the unfortunate Mr. Odlum committed murder on your premises after breaking in.”

“Yes.”

“Tell me, if you can, why they would choose your mill to break into.”

Roger’s throat tightened. He’d wondered the same thing and had no answer. “I don’t know,” he replied.

The barrister sat. “No further questions, M’Lud,” he said, as he shuffled the papers on his desk.

Roger was dismissed. Perplexed, he took his place alongside his father-in-law as Sergeant Halliwell was brought into the courtroom.

Roger clamped his hands on his trembling knees while the policeman took the oath and identified himself. He was more nervous now he’d testified than before. Had he said the right things?

The prosecuting barrister led the sergeant through the stages of the investigation, from the discovery of the body to his conversation with Robbie Draper. He elicited information about the sergeant’s meetings with the authorities in Preston, and the laying of subsequent charges of murder, theft, kidnapping, and horse theft against Peter Leigh.

Roger was impressed with Halliwell’s professional demeanor. He never faltered once during the questioning, nor did he feel the need to consult his notebook. Nothing he said contradicted Roger’s testimony. The jury couldn’t fail to be impressed by him.

The policeman looked well pleased with himself by the time Peter’s defense barrister rose to question him.

“Tell me, if you can, Sergeant, why Messrs. Odlum and Leigh would choose Sandiford’s mill to break into.”

Halliwell didn’t blink. “Well, it’s an interesting question. One I asked myself. I was perplexed, until the accused actually answered it for me.”

Featherstone swallowed hard.

Complete silence reigned.

“Odlum had learned that Arthur Parker had inherited the mortgage on Broadclough Mill. He and Leigh conspired to make sure Mr. Sandiford’s mill failed by damaging machinery there. Malcolm Pickering saw them, so they had to silence him. After that, they decided it was too risky to attack other mills. They surmised the late baron had hoarded his money and they concentrated on the plan to find and steal the cache. On top of that, forcing Miss Parker to marry Leigh would then make any male offspring the heir to a barony.”

The sullen barrister muttered that he had no further questions.

Roger resisted the temptation to stand up and cheer.

Thaddeus Barton was sworn in next. Roger’s thoughts went to Beatrice. She must be a nervous wreck after all this time and now she was alone—the last person left in the anteroom.

Barton described Leigh’s capture with the stolen money in his possession. He corroborated everything Halliwell had said.

Barton’s testimony over, the prosecutor addressed the judge. “M’Lud, there is one remaining witness, Mrs. Beatrice Sandiford, née Parker, but I’m sure Your Lordship will agree there is no need to subject a refined young lady to the scrutiny of the court. Surely we’ve heard enough without forcing Mrs. Sandiford to relive the horror she experienced.”

“I agree,” the judge replied gruffly. “Bailiff, inform Mrs. Sandiford her testimony is no longer required. Members of the jury …”

Roger didn’t wait to listen to the instructions to the jury. He was confident they would fulfill their duty.

* * *

Fiddling with the lace cuffs of her gown, Bea startled when the bailiff entered the anteroom. Dread lay like a lead ball in her stomach. She’d hoped she wouldn’t have to face Peter, but the moment had finally arrived. Accepting the inevitable, she was about to rise when Roger burst through the door and took her into his arms. “The bailiff’s here to tell you that your testimony isn’t required,” he exclaimed.

“Your testimony isn’t required, Mrs. Sandiford,” the bailiff repeated with a smile before exiting the anteroom.

“I don’t understand,” Bea said.

“The jury heard all they need to know from the other witnesses. The judge didn’t want to subject a delicate young lady, such as yourself, to the ordeal of reliving the horror.”

“Delicate! I must say I’m relieved, but I could have done it, you know.”

“I know,” he replied. “You may be from Dorset, but you’ve acquired some Lancashire brass.”

“Which means?”

He kissed her cheek. “You’re fearless, and you’re mine.”

“Let’s go home and celebrate,” she said, already aware of her husband’s growing need of her.

“Amen to that,” he replied.