Chapter 59
No sleep. No matter. Matthew will sleep for weeks when this is over.
Once he’s caught up with the backlog at work, that is.
Once he’s put in the necessary legwork to get back on track with Rosalind and Daisy, too.
But they’ll be all right, he knows it. When he explains everything properly to them, they’ll be fine with it.
They’ll have read about the case in the papers, he’s sure of it – they’ll be proud to think of the role that Matthew has played in such an important trial.
He dresses before the sun is even up, so hyped is he to get into court and see this case to its conclusion.
As he decided yesterday, he wears a suit and tie, checking the knot in the mirror before discarding it.
Too formal. He’s got to strike the right note between authoritative and authoritarian, like the best parenting skills that magazine articles recommend.
He mustn’t look too much like the headmaster, more like the friendly deputy who’s great at motivating the team.
There are pages of notes on his kitchen table – he spent hours last night strategising how to ensure he’ll get the result he wants, breaking the jury down into its constituent parts, character analysis, witness comparison, the works.
There are mind maps, Venn diagrams – his head is on fire with inspiration. He’s got this in the palm of his hand.
Early as it is when he arrives at court, Emma is waiting outside. He halts momentarily at the sight of her before continuing walking towards the building. He can’t keep avoiding her forever – he needs to remember the realisation that he came to yesterday, that she might be amenable to persuasion.
‘I hoped I’d see you here,’ she says as he approaches.
‘Were you waiting for me?’ He’s surprised by this.
‘Yes. I wanted to talk to you. It’s about what you said yesterday.’ She looks around in a furtive manner. ‘Can we go somewhere? Have a quick chat?’
‘A café?’
‘No. I don’t want to be overheard.’
He thinks for a moment. ‘Let’s go to the churchyard. No one will be there at this time.’
She walks fast, easily keeping pace with his stride.
They make short work of George IV Bridge and go through the gate of Greyfriars Kirk.
It’s still quiet, wreathed in strands of mist, the overcast sky lending a spectral air.
There are only a couple of people visible, women in black gowns and striped scarfs staring intently at some grave.
Matthew pays them no heed, crossing with Emma to the far end of the kirkyard, into a recessed area dedicated to a forgotten family mausoleum.
‘What do you want to talk about?’ Matthew says. He knows the answer, of course, but she needs to spit it out.
She looks around her carefully before answering. She’s very pale, Matthew notices, dark circles under her eyes as if she hasn’t slept well. He’s not the only one troubled by the case.
‘I had some friends round for a drink last night,’ she says. ‘And, well. I did something we’re not supposed to do.’
‘You talked about the case?’ He puts his hand out to her. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not judging.’
She nods, her face full of shame. ‘I did. Yes. Worse than that, too.’
‘In what way?’
‘One of my friends – her neighbour is a medium. She knows all about the spirit world. We called her and asked her to come over, and then we did a séance.’
A long pause. The mist seems to thicken around them. Matthew doesn’t know what to say. In one way, he’s relieved that the trial has had this effect on someone else as well. He’s not the only one to have been pulled into the world of the supernatural. But he’s not sure he wants to hear more.
Emma looks up at him. She moves closer and closer, taking hold of his arm with one bony hand. Its grip is surprisingly strong, digging into his forearm.
‘She said the most terrible things,’ Emma says. ‘Her voice was all deep and croaky. She didn’t sound like herself at all.’
‘Did you ask her about the trial?’
Emma nods. Even more shame crosses her face. Where she was pale before, she’s now bright red. ‘I don’t want to tell you exactly what she said. She knew . . . things. Things no one knows. It was so terrible. But there was something about the trial, too.’
‘What was that?’ He’s started whispering now, matching her hissed tones.
‘That you’re right. I was wrong. It wasn’t Isobel. She’s not guilty of this.’
She lets go of his arm, stands back. Her eyes are wide open now, staring past his shoulder as if she’s seen a ghost. He looks behind him but there’s nothing there.
But in the air, a hint of decay. Looks like he’s not the only one in sympathy with the Devil.
‘You won’t tell anyone?’
Matthew is striding ahead, gripped by a compulsion to get away from Emma as fast as he can. She won’t let him, though.
‘Matthew. Matthew! Stop!’
He comes to a halt, faces her. ‘I won’t tell anyone.’
‘Swear. You need to swear. I mean it. I can’t bear it if they need to start the trial all over again because of me.’
He sighs. ‘I swear I won’t tell anyone. You can trust me.’
Hollow laughter in his head. But they’re locked in this together – a dance of death. He needs her not guilty verdict for Isobel. It doesn’t matter how it’s achieved.
‘How are we going to persuade the others?’ she says, standing closer to him again. He resists the urge to back away from the stale smell of her breath, the mustiness of her hair. He’s in this now, up to his neck.
‘I think you changing your mind will have a great effect,’ he says. ‘You have a great influence over the room, I can feel it.’
Some pink returns to her cheeks. A faint smile. ‘Thank you. I’ll do my best. I don’t want to let her down.’
The revulsion in him fades. It’s good to have an ally. Even if not the one he would choose. And given how much she’s railed against Isobel based purely on the girl’s appearance, the sudden turnaround will have an effect on the rest of the jury; he’s sure of it.