The crowd absorbed Cecily’s comments in silence. One or two nodded regretfully. They silently approved the boy’s showing of loyalty while reckoning that it in no way cancelled out Joe’s accusation. Playing the detection game, they had calculated that the villainous Dorcas must have seized on the alibi unconsciously offered by the blundering young Alex and tucked it away to be used as a last resort. She was probably at this very moment, with a delicate flush of embarrassment on her cheeks, regaling the superintendent with this lesser confession. Dishonour was, after all, to be preferred to death on the scaffold.
“All the same—good man, Alex!” murmured Basil Ripley. “That was well spoken. We understand.”
Joe puffed his cheeks and blew out a sigh of relief. “I say, Ben, can you squeeze another cup out of that pot?” he asked, sinking onto a chair, and Ben obliged.
“But what …? Why did she …? Why didn’t she …? What the hell’s stoats’s liver …?” The chorus of questions poured out and by unspoken consent, the company followed Joe’s example and settled down at the table to compare notes and thrash out the meaning of the extraordinary scene. Mrs. Bolton and Ben remained aloof and dutiful at the door.
Truelove listened to the encouraging burbles of support that came his way with pained gratitude. At last he felt strong enough to voice his dismay and disbelief. “Look, Sandilands, old man,” he remonstrated, “I know what you’re up to but did you have to stage this … this … pantomime so publicly in front of my friends? Have you any idea what excruciating embarrassment you have subjected us all to? To say nothing of the distress you have caused that poor girl!”
Then it began. Sorrow followed swiftly on the heels of anger. “You’ve all seen her—she’s nothing more than an impressionable child. Emotionally quite immature and inexperienced in the ways of the world. But look, it doesn’t have to end like this. That poor little person was carried away by a moment’s madness. You must blame me, I’m afraid. She was an outstanding student. I made something of a pet of her, made promises regarding her future that perhaps she over-interpreted. If, as you say, Joe, you’ve set us up as judge and jury …” He looked around the table, gathering support. “I’ll speak for all by saying that Lavinia was killed—as any good man and true would say—as a result of her own folly.” He appeared to be satisfied with the number of nods this raised and carried on: “That she was the author of her own misfortune, as the lawyers say. Not the brightest, my Lavinia.” The loving, indulgent smile that accompanied this thought triggered a clenching fist in Joe. “Surely you don’t have to put Dorcas through a court hearing?” Truelove shuddered. “The Old Bailey, black caps and a thrill-seeking public? Huh! Blokes like you, McIver, with cameras flashing! I won’t have it! Much though I admire your professionalism and punctilious attention to the finer points of Law and Order, Sandilands, I must tell you to call off the hounds.”
Seeing the tightening of Joe’s jaw, he hurried to add in a conciliatory tone, “Forgive me. In my concern I go too far. A police officer is under no obligation to obey a government minister. He is employed by the people to serve the people. We ought all to remember that. But I still say, as a matter of humanity—will the people be served by the punishment of a thoughtless girl? You know as clearly as I do, Sandilands, that, realistically, this business will never come to court. For fifty years now, we’ve had a Crown Prosecution Service which, as part of the Home Office, does a very useful job. You are well aware of this; I mention the matter as some of us gathered around this table—law-abiding citizens, all—may never have encountered it. The system weeds out cases it judges a waste of public resources. This is certainly one of these cases. The family uphold the decision already taken by the magistrate at the time of the accident—which, in spite of your evidence, I still believe it to be—that we are dealing with a death by misadventure. I don’t ask, I beg you to declare here before my friends that you will pursue this no further. You have gone far towards clearing up a mystery which would not bear the increasing weight of speculation that was being heaped upon it to the detriment of my good name and for that I am grateful.”
Cecily turned to Joe. “Well done, Commissioner! It’s never easy lancing a boil. Bystanders inevitably risk being contaminated by the effluent. I will say it—since James, in his rush of soft hearted solicitude neglects to—we’re grateful that you have wielded the scalpel. Grateful that you have proceeded through to the truth with such delicacy and concern for the reputations in question. No heavy boots, no handcuffs. Only friends of the house here present to witness the misguided girl’s downfall.”