and so this “Rosie” had gone away, but not before he’d implicated Greta, the defendant, by name. There was something all too convenient about this reappearance; something that just didn’t feel right.
The judge shifted in his chair and stretched out his long legs, enjoying the last of his cigarette. There were rumors that the courthouse would soon be a smoke-free zone, although he’d probably be retired by then. He dreaded his approaching compulsory retirement to the same degree that Mrs. Sybil Granger back home in Richmond-upon-Thames was looking forward to it. She’d long ago made clear what she had in mind. The annual holiday down in Bournemouth would become a permanent arrangement. They had so many friends there, after all, and the judge could play a little golf and maybe join a society or two. He couldn’t say no after all the years that he had kept his wife in London, and the thought crossed his mind, as he got up stiffly and positioned his threadbare wig on the top of his bald head, that the best solution might be for him to die. Death or Bournemouth? It was a tough choice.
Still, he didn’t need to think about death right now. Old Lurid had had a sly look on his face toward the end of this Barne boy’s evidence. Perhaps he had something up his sleeve. Judge Granger approached the door of the courtroom with something almost approaching a spring in his step.
“Matthew, are you okay to continue?” asked Miles Lambert solicitously.
“I’m all right.” Matthew sounded more confident now, as if he’d gotten used to the courtroom and the barristers in their wigs and gowns.
“Good. Now, I want to read back to you a little bit of your evidence so that you can have a chance to think about it some more. You told Mr. Sparling that Thomas Robinson held up the locket in front of Greta saying, ‘Look what I’ve found’ and that they were both shouting. Do you remember that?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Then Mr. Sparling asked you what Greta was shouting, and you told us that she said, ‘Give that to me. It’s mine.’ Do you remember telling us that?”
“Yes, I do.”
“But did she really say that, Matthew? Are you sure you’ve got it right?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“I see. Well, why didn’t you confirm it to Sir Peter when he asked you if she’d said it?”
Matthew swallowed but did not reply. He was nervous again now.
“Come on, Matthew. You know what I’m talking about. You gave evidence that Thomas showed the locket to his father and told him what Greta had said about it and that she then denied saying it. You remember telling us that, don’t you, Matthew? Mr. Sparling was so anxious that you should remember that bit of your statement that he asked you all those questions until you did.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“Good. The point is, though, that you didn’t tell us what Sir Peter said after that. I’m not criticizing you, Matthew. Mr. Sparling didn’t ask you.”
“What’s the question, Mr. Lambert?” asked the judge, moving restlessly in his chair.
“The question is this, my Lord. Did Sir Peter ask you whether Greta had said it? Yes or no, Matthew.”
“Yes. Yes, he did.”
“And what was your answer?”
“I didn’t answer. I ran down the stairs. I told you that already. I was scared.”
“But you’re not scared today?”
“What do you mean?”
“Just that you’ve been prepared to tell this jury something today that you weren’t prepared to tell Sir Peter Robinson nine months ago.”
“I was scared nine months ago. He was really upset. I thought he was going to hit Tom. He’d done it before.”
“You said earlier that you weren’t surprised he was upset, Matthew?”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Because you’d gone into his house without his permission and been through private files and papers?”
“I didn’t. Tom did.”
“He went through all Greta’s clothes too, didn’t he? You were watching from the bedroom doorway, I think you said.”
“Yes. I wanted to go.”
“Did he go through her underwear, Matthew?”
“I suppose so.”
“I see. It wasn’t the first time you and Thomas Robinson had done something like this, was it, Matthew?”
“I’d never been there before. I swear it.”
“That’s not what I mean, Matthew, and you know it isn’t. It wasn’t just your day out in London that made you think you might be expelled, was it? You were both already in trouble at Carstow. Isn’t that right, Matthew?”
The boy’s pale blue eyes remained fixed on Miles Lambert, but he didn’t reply. The movement of his Adam’s apple as he repeatedly swallowed showed the extent of his anxiety.
“All right, Matthew, let me help you. You’ve already told us that Thomas Robinson and you started at Carstow at the same time in September of last year, when you were both fifteen. Yes?”
Matthew Barne nodded.
“And everyone else in your class had already been there two years so that you and Thomas were like outsiders. Was that difficult, Matthew?”
“A bit.”
“Did the other boys let you join in with their activities?”
“Not at first. No.”
“No. They said you had to prove yourselves first, earn their respect. Isn’t that right, Matthew?”
“Something like that.”
“Do a dare. Is that the right word for it?”
The boy nodded.
“What was the dare, Matthew?”
“Going into the headmaster’s room and taking something. Showing it to the rest of them and putting it back.”
“And that something was a paperweight, wasn’t it, Matthew? Quite a distinctive one.”
“Don’t answer that for the moment, Matthew,” interrupted the judge. “What is your source of information for all this, Mr. Lambert?”
“A letter sent by the headmaster to Thomas Robinson’s father after the event, my Lord. I can prove the evidence later if the witness disagrees with it.”
“What’s its relevance?”
“It’s relevant to the witness’s credibility, my Lord.”
“Very well, but let’s not stray too far, Mr. Lambert, and please make sure that you remember the witness’s age. I will not allow him to be bullied.”
“That is not my intention, my Lord.”
“All right, but keep it in mind. Don’t get carried away. Now Matthew, Mr. Lambert was asking you about a paperweight.”
“Yes, it was a paperweight,” said the boy.
“Did you take it, Matthew?” asked Miles.
“No, I didn’t. Tom did.”
“I see. The same setup as in London. What did you do?”
“I stood outside while he went in, and then the headmaster’s secretary came by and asked me what I was doing.”
“That would be Mrs. Bradshaw?”
Matthew nodded. He’d stopped swallowing and started to speak quickly again as if he wanted to make a clean breast of what had happened and get it over with as fast as possible.
“She wanted to know what I was doing, and I told her I was waiting to see Old Lofty.”
