“My mistress did send him a note.”
“When?”
“At approximately six.”
“Filling in her social schedule, was she?”
“I don’t think so, sir. She usually didn’t send her gents any letters.”
“Then how did she arrange these assignations?”
“Spoke with them directly.”
“So the note to Sergeant Keats was something unusual?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see what it contained?”
“No.”
“Come now, we all know that domestic staff peek at their employer’s correspondence.”
“I didn’t. Neither did Tilly.”
“That’s Miss Ellis, the lady’s maid?” A nod. “Was that Saturday a particularly busy day for Miss Hallcox?”
“A bit busier than normal, sir.”
“What color is the elderly lord’s hair?”
Landis delivered a startled look. “Silver-white.”
“What about the banker?”
“Brown.”
“And Sergeant Keats?”
Landis stared up at the dock. “Dark brown, I’d say.”
“Did any of the men who visited your mistress on that day have black hair? Or, perhaps, any of the servants?”
“No.”
“To your knowledge, had Sergeant Keats ever visited Miss Hallcox’s bedroom before?”
Landis stiffened. “Not that I am aware.”
“Then how did he know where it was?”
“I can’t say, my lord. Perhaps the mistress told him.”
Wescomb shifted closer to the man. “I visited Miss Hallcox’s residence and I inspected that set of stairs that lead to the second floor and your mistress’ bedroom. The only vantage point from which you might have seen the killer was from the side hall. Is that where you were?”
“Yes, sir.”
“By the time someone is climbing the stairs, only his back is visible. How can you account for your initial testimony to the police that you saw the sergeant’s face?”
“Ah, I…”
“Mr. Landis?” Wescomb prodded.
“I thought I saw him.”
“Mr. Landis, I remind you that you are under oath.”
“Ah…” The butler went pale. He swallowed heavily as his eyes tracked around the room. “I—”
“Mr. Landis, please answer the question,” the judge interceded.
“I didn’t see his face, only the back of him.”
“Was he wearing his hat and coat?” Wescomb asked.
“Yes. I called out to him, but he ignored me.”
“So all you saw was the back of a man clad in his outer garments climbing the stairs. Why did you think it was Sergeant Keats?”
“He was short.”
“So are a lot of men in London, Mr. Landis. In fact, in this courtroom there are a number of men of reduced stature.” Wescomb tugged on his waistcoat. “One final question, Mr. Landis. What was it that kept you so engaged that you missed the killer’s departure?”
The butler’s face flushed. “I was…instructing the downstairs maid in domestic matters.”
“Domestic matters?” he asked in a jovial tone. “I think not, Mr. Landis.” He swung away from the man and addressed the courtroom. “On the contrary, is it not true that while your mistress was suffering her death agonies, you were engaged in sexual liberties with the maid?”
“I didn’t know!” the man howled. “God, I didn’t know he would kill her!”
“No, you didn’t, just as you cannot be sure that it was Sergeant Keats upstairs with your mistress.” A palpable pause. “I have no further questions.”
Arnett rose. “Has someone put pressure upon you to change your original testimony?”
“No, sir.”
“Then why did you say you saw Sergeant Keats’ face when you were questioned by the police?”
“It was him. It had to be! No one else would hurt her.”
So you’d like to believe.
“No further questions, my lord.”
The next witness stood rigidly in the witness box, her eyes darting nervously eyeing the people around the room. When she was handed the Bible, she swore the oath in a quaking voice.
Arnett rose. “Is Annie Crickland your real name?”
“Yes,” she replied, “though I’m called Red Annie on account of my cheeks.”
“Where in Whitechapel do you live, madam?”
“Oh, here and there, wherever I can find a place to lay my head.”
“No fixed abode then?”
“No, sir,” she mumbled, looking down.
“Do you frequent the doss houses?”
“If’n I have the money, sir. They’re better’n the streets. Rozzers won’t let you sleep if you’re out there.”
How true. As a constable, Keats had been ordered to keep the poor wretches on the move all night. It was no wonder they were exhausted and couldn’t work the next day. He’d skirted the rule every chance he got.
“On the evening of the thirteenth of October, did you encounter the prisoner at any time?”
“Yes, sir, near the White Hart.”
“That’s on Whitechapel High Street, is it not?”
“Yes.”
“What were you doing in that area?”
Keats ground his teeth. Arnett was going to make this hard for Annie, and the woman didn’t deserve it.
“I was having a wee nip to keep the cold away,” she told him, raising her chin in defiance.
“Even though the Whitechapel murderer is still at large?”
She shuddered at the mention of the Ripper. “Yes, sir.”
“What did the prisoner say to you?”
“He wanted me to go down an alley with him.”
Keats groaned to himself.
“For illicit purposes?” Arnett asked, pouncing on her response.
Wescomb was up again. “Leading the witness, your lordship.”
“I agree. Do watch that, will you?” Hawkins requested.
“As your lordship pleases,” the prosecutor replied smoothly. “What was the prisoner’s purpose with you, Miss Crickland?”
“He wanted to ask me questions.”
“Why not do that on the street, in plain view?”
“Not safe that way,” Annie replied. “Some folks don’t look kindly if you talk to the rozzers.”
“What did he ask you?”
“If I knew anything about that Irishman and all that gunpowder he’s got.”
The spectators started murmuring amongst themselves and it took Hawkins to bring the room to order. Keats chuckled to himself. Someone hadn’t bothered to tell Annie that the explosives were not to be mentioned.
“Mr. Arnett, this is your first warning,” a glaring Hawkins announced.
“Yes, my lord.” Arnett turned his attention to Annie, who seemed confused at all the fuss. “Confining your answers to those regarding the prisoner only, has he at any time offered you money in exchange for certain favors?”
Annie frowned. From Keats’ experience, she didn’t like toffs much, especially ones who talked down to her.
“If you mean did he go for an upright, no. He’s not that way.”
There was tittering in the court. Keats fought to keep the smirk off his face.
“Yet he asked you to go down an alley with him.”
“I already told you why he did that.”
“Did he give you money?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“A shillin’. It got me a bed for a few nights.”
“He paid you a shilling for information? That’s quite generous. Are you sure it was only that?”
“Yes.”
“You have been arrested,” Arnett said, leafing through his notes, “three times for solicitation and once for stealing a loaf of bread.”
“I have, sir.”
“So you admit to being a woman on the wrong side of the law?”
Annie’s chin raised again, fire in her eyes. “If it comes to starvin’ or goin’ with a punter, I’ll do what I must to eat.”
“So offering your services to a police officer would allow you a chance to ply your trade unhindered, am I right?”
“No, it’s not like that. The rozzers don’t do that.”
“Why not? Who would you complain to?” Arnett pressed.
“They don’t do that,” Annie repeated.
“So you are saying that the prisoner has never once offered to pay you for sexual favors or to trade those favors for a blind eye?”
Keats’ gut knotted. He’s making me sound like a moral degenerate.
“He’s not like that!” the witness retorted, glaring at the barrister. “Never has been.”
That’s it Annie! Give him one on the shins.
“Have you heard that he’s ever made such an offer to any of the other unfortunates?”
“No,” Annie replied. “He’s just good with us. He gives us money, tells us to get to a doss house so Old Jack won’t find us.”
“How eminently philanthropic,” Arnett replied sarcastically. “At what time did you speak with the prisoner?”
The high color in Annie’s cheeks faded. “I’m not sure. I think it was going on ten.”
“Could it have been earlier than ten?” Arnett pushed.
“Maybe. The last time I remember, it was just after eight. I’d had a bit of supper and was walking toward Gunthorpe Street. I went into the pub for a time.”
“So you cannot say with any certainty that you saw the prisoner at ten that evening.”
“No, sir. But he didn’t do it. He’s not that kind.”
“That will be all, Miss Crickland.”
Wescomb rose. “I have no questions of this witness.”
The woman slowly made her way back to where she’d been sitting amongst the other witnesses. From the expression on her face, Keats could tell she felt she’d let him down.
Sorry I got you into this, Annie.