P.C. Crombie stood to attention.
“I saw the accused sitting on the bench together with their arms ’round each other, sir.”
“And what were they doing, Constable?”
Osmar snorted so fiercely it was audible in the body of the court.
P.C. Crombie swallowed. “ ’Ard to say exact, sir. They looked like they was struggling over something, not fighting, like, just rocking back and forth-” He stopped, the color rising up his face with embarrassment.
“And what did you do, Constable?” the prosecution persisted, his face lugubrious as if his interest were barely engaged.
“P.C. Allardyce and me went up to them, sir,” Crombie answered. “And as we got close the gentleman rose to ’is feet and started to rearrange ’is clothes-sir-”
Again Osmar grunted loudly and Carswell glared at him. There was a murmur around the room among the few spectators.
“Rearrange?” the prosecutor asked. “You must be more specific, Constable.”
P.C. Crombie’s face was scarlet. He looked straight ahead of him at some point in the woodwork on the far wall.
“ ’Is trousers was undone, sir, and ’is shirt was ’anging out at the front. ’E tucked it in and did up ’is buttons, sir.”
“And the young lady, Constable?” The prosecutor was merciless, his beautifully modulated voice cutting the silence like a silver knife.
P.C. Crombie closed his eyes.
“She was doin’ up ’er blouse, sir, at the-” He raised his hands and held them roughly where his bosom would have been, had he one. He was a young man, and not married.
“Are you saying she was in a state of indecency, Constable?”
The Q.C. rose to his feet and there was a sharp rustle of interest around the room. Osmar smiled.
“My lord, the prosecution is leading the witness,” the Q.C. said with injured gentility. “He did not say Miss Giles was indecently dressed, merely that she was fastening her blouse.”
“I apologize to my learned friend,” the prosecution said with a touch of sarcasm. “Constable, how would you describe the state of dress of Miss Giles?”
“Well sir-” Crombie glanced at Carswell, uncertain now how to proceed in what he was permitted to say. His face was burning red.
Osmar shifted in the dock, his face shining with satisfaction.
The prosecution smiled drily.
“Constable, did her state of dress embarrass you?”
“Yes sir! That it did!”
Beulah Giles hid a smirk less than satisfactorily.
The Q.C. was on his feet again. “My lord, that is surely irrelevant?”
“No it is not,” the prosecution insisted, still smiling. “P.C. Crombie is part of the general public, and his reaction may be an acceptable indication of what other passersby might have felt when they saw this spectacle of a man and woman in such a degree of intimacy on a park bench for all to see.”
“My lord, that has yet to be proved!” The Q.C. simulated outrage. “It may be argued that P.C. Crombie’s susceptibilities are the sole issue here. It was he who arrested my client, and therefore he has something of an interest in the outcome of this case. He cannot be considered an unbiased witness. The prosecution’s argument is circular.”
Now the spectators in the room were agog, every face staring, bright with attention.
Carswell looked at the prosecution.
“Is this all you have, Mr. Clyde? If so, it seems very thin.”
“No sir, there is also P.C. Allardyce.”
“Then you had better call him.”
Accordingly P.C. Crombie was excused and P.C. Allardyce was called. He was an older man by some three or four years, and married. He was less easily embarrassed, and as soon as he spoke the Q.C. realized it. He did not challenge his evidence but let it remain. He made no counterclaim when Allardyce described the struggle Horatio Osmar had made upon his arrest, his less than gentlemanly language and his arrival purple faced and furious at the police station, nor Miss Giles’s similar state of dishabille.
He began his defense by calling Horatio Osmar himself to testify. He yanked his clothes straighter, stretched his neck as if to settle his collar, then faced Carswell directly for a moment before turning to the prosecution and waiting with polite inquiry for him to begin.
“Would you give us your account of this deplorable affair, please, Mr. Osmar,” the Q.C. asked courteously.
Pitt watched with interest to see how Osmar would dress it in some form of respectability. The whole thing had been a miserable and excruciatingly silly affair, but for his dignity Osmar could not admit it here. How much easier if he had simply pleaded guilty and accepted a fine. Carswell would surely not have given him more than a caution, and a sum to pay he would easily afford. Whoever had advised him to employ a Queen’s Counsel was either extremely foolish, or was secretly desiring his downfall.
Osmar put his shoulders back and stared defiantly at the spectators in the room, and they fell silent, not entirely out of respect, Pitt thought, but more largely so as not to miss anything.
Osmar’s whiskers bristled and he cleared his throat importantly and sniffed. Then he began. “Certainly sir, I shall do that. I was taking the air in the park when I encountered Miss Giles, a young lady of my acquaintance. I greeted her and asked after her health, which she informed me was excellent.”
The prosecution began to fidget and Carswell glared at him.
“Please continue, Mr. Osmar,” he directed with a tight smile.
“Thank you, sir. I shall.” He too glared at the prosecution, then straightened his tie ostentatiously.
There was a movement around the court and someone laughed.
Osmar began again. “I also asked after her family, as was only civil, and she began to tell me of their condition. I suggested that we might take a seat, which was nearby, rather than stand in the middle of the path. She accepted that it was a good idea so we adjourned to the bench upon which we were seated when the two constables saw us.”
“And were you struggling with Miss Giles, sir?”
“Certainly not!” Osmar sniffed and his expression registered his contempt for the idea. “I had asked after a nephew of hers, and she showed me a picture of the child which was in a locket around her neck. She had to fumble a moment to open the catch, it was very small and not easy to find.” He glanced around at the crowd. “I assisted her with it as it was quite naturally not in a position in which she could see it.”
Pitt’s opinion of Osmar’s invention went up, and of his veracity went down. He looked at Carswell to see how he took this vivid piece of fabrication, and was startled to see an expression of total sobriety on his face.
“An innocent enough pastime,” Carswell said with raised eyebrows and a look of irritation at the prosecution.
The prosecution looked puzzled, caught off guard, but it was not prudent for him to speak now and he knew it. He sat back in his seat, biting his lip.
“And was your dress in disarray, sir?” the Q.C. asked Osmar.
“Of course not!” Osmar said sententiously. “I am not a tidy man, as you may observe-” There was a titter around the room. “I had been searching my pockets for a note which I had mislaid,” Osmar went on. “I am afraid I was somewhat hasty in my efforts, and may well have looked in disarray when I was accosted by the constables, but I was untidy, not more-and that is not yet a crime against anything but good taste.”
The prosecution pulled a face of disbelief, the Q.C. smiled and Beulah Giles kept her face in a sober expression with obvious difficulty. For the first time Carswell looked faintly uncomfortable.
“And did you explain this to the constables, Mr. Osmar?” the Q.C. inquired, his eyes wide, his voice eminently reasonable.
“I attempted to.” Osmar looked hurt. “I told them who I was, sir.” At this his shoulders straightened even further back and his chin lifted. “I am not unknown in certain circles-I have a reputation, and many years of honorable service to my Queen and country.”
“Indeed,” the Q.C. said hastily. “But the constables would not listen to you?”
