'My Lord, I must object. I cannot possibly see the relevance of this line of questioning. It's not the deceased's character which is on trial here.'
'I agree with you, Mr Scott,' answered Snipe, who wasted no time in turning on Tom's counsel. 'Mr Fenton, what on earth has this to do with your client's case?'
Fenton, thank God, wasn't of the school that quaked before Snipe's feet. 'If Your Lordship will be so good as to be patient, the relevance of this line of questioning will soon emerge.'
Patience, as far as Snipe was concerned, was a game for ageing spinsters. He snarled with exasperation and his jaw moved as if he was about to savage poor Fenton. Then for some reason it stopped as if he had thought better of it. 'Very well,' he grumbled. 'Continue for the moment, but be careful.'
'I'm much obliged,' said Fenton, dutifully bowing in feigned respect.
'And how did you discover this, Mrs Pryde?' was Fenton's next question.
'He told me himself, after the Gold Cup. I, or rather Freddie, had discovered a diary hidden in my husband's wardrobe and I challenged him about the entries. He boasted to me that the initials on a number of the pages were those of his victims and the figure against each set was the monthly sum the particular victim had to pay for his secret to remain just that.'
'Did he identify those victims?'
This time counsel for the prosecution flew the trap: 'My Lord, this just won't do. Is my learned friend seriously suggesting that this witness should tell the court about the contents of a diary no one has ever seen and in the process expose to the public gaze and obloquy a number of individuals who have no right of defence or reply?'
Snipe was with him all the way and now Fenton had become the hare. 'Mr Fenton, I sincerely hope you were not inviting this witness to name names. You are well aware that these courts frequently grant anonymity to the victims of blackmail and indeed in this case we have only the word of this witness that such blackmail ever took place. Tragically, her husband is in no position to defend himself against such an allegation.'
Two of the jury nodded in approval, and I could tell from the way he was swaying back and forward that Fenton was no longer relishing his present position.
'I hope to avoid any unnecessary naming My Lord. I will restrict myself to one individual, who it is intended to call to give evidence on behalf of the defendant.'
I couldn't control myself any longer: 'But that's unfair. That list of names includes the very people who would have a motive for…'
'Silence!' boomed Snipe, glowering at me through his spectacles.
I carried on defiantly: '… killing my husband, such as…'
'I said silence!'
I looked over at Tom with a sigh, and realised by his demeanour that I was doing more harm than good. I stopped talking and waited for Snipe to lay into me. I wasn't disappointed.
'If that happens again, I will have no hesitation in committing you to prison for contempt of court. Mr Fenton, continue and don't forget, one name only.'
'Have you seen this note before?' He handed up via the usher the piece of paper on which Corcoran had written out his confession.
'Yes, I found it amongst my late husband's possessions.'
'Would you tell the court whose signature appears upon it?'
'Yes, a Mr Michael Corcoran.'
'And who is he?'
'A stable lad who used to work until fairly recently for Mr Radcliffe.'
'Would you please read that note out loud to the court.'
I did as I had been asked.
'Do you know how your late husband came into possession of that note?'
'He told me he obtained it from Corcoran by a trick and since then had been blackmailing him with it.'
'I've no more questions of this witness, My Lord.' Fenton sat down and I picked up my crutches to stand up and leave. No more questions.
'May I look at that note, Mrs Pryde?' The counsel for the prosecution was again on his feet.
I handed it to the usher, who in turn delivered it to counsel. He read it and then said, 'Perhaps the jury would also like to see it, My Lord.'
'After I have,' snapped Snipe.
It passed up and down the two rows to the accompaniment of a great deal of muttering. I was now to be re- examined: 'You told My Lord and the jury that you found this piece of paper amongst your husband's possessions?' asked the prosecuting counsel.
'That's right.'
'Was that after his death?'
'Yes.'
'Why didn't you hand it over immediately to the police?'
'Because I knew they didn't believe me when I said my husband was a blackmailer.'
'So you gave it instead to the accused's legal advisers?'
'Yes. They asked me for it and I willingly handed it over.'
'You appreciate that you are under oath, Mrs Pryde?'
'I am very aware of that fact, sir.'
'You know Mr Corcoran in his capacity as a lad in the accused's yard at Wantage?'
'Yes.'
'How do you know that it is his signature on this note?'
'Because it is his name there.'
'Have you ever seen his signature other than on this document?'
'No.'
'So anybody could have signed it with his name?'
'No, you're wrong. Corcoran did. I know he did.'
'Then no doubt he will come to this court and tell us so himself.' And with those words he sat down.
I felt impotent and helpless. I walked slowly across the court, found a place on a bench near the back and wondered what on earth would happen next.
My interrogator rose again to his feet: 'That, ladies and gentlemen,' he announced dramatically, 'completes the case for the prosecution.'
Chapter 16
After a brief opening speech by his counsel, Tom was now called to give evidence. His chances of an acquittal depended on the impression he made in the witness box and to an even greater degree on the testimony of Michael Corcoran. Despite the ordeal he must have been going through over the past two months, he walked purposefully from the dock. His voice was strong and clearly audible as he took the oath and I even detected a hint of defiance as he looked out onto the court.
His counsel began taking him through his evidence and for the next hour he spoke about his early days as a trainer, the initial struggle to succeed and attract owners and finally the fun and responsibility of running a successful yard. The picture emerged, at least as far as I was concerned, sitting at the back of the court, of a thoroughly decent, modest and agreeable young man. Then, candidly and without a hint of embarrassment, he told of how he fell in love with me and freely admitted that he had implored me to leave Edward. Questioned about the letters he had written, he categorically denied ever having threatened to end Edward's life, or indeed that he had ever even considered doing so. He confirmed exactly what I had told the court about the missing page in the letter of 22nd December.
'Would you please tell His Lordship about the last occasion when you saw Mr Pryde alive,' asked his counsel.
Tom looked the jury straight in the eye and began to recount what happened on that Saturday evening: 'After
