Blind Justice by Bruce Alexander Page A

And, if it is not too much to ask. Lady Goodhope, I should also like you to give me a statement as to how you became aware of the deed. That, however, can be put off until such time in the future as you may feel more capable.”
    “I am quite capable, thank you.”
    “Then you wish to speak?”
    “Yes,” said she bluntly. “Let’s be done with it.”
    Benjamin Bailey fetched a chair for Sir John, and after Lady Goodhope had taken her seat again, settled him down into it. They were not five feet apart, each facing the other.
    “When I heard the shot—”
    “I do sincerely beg your pardon,” said Sir John, “but it will be necessary for me to interrupt you from time to time to ascertain certain facts. I must do so now. At what time did you hear the shot? Where were you? How were you engaged at that moment? Be as detailed in your account as you can be.”
    “Yes, of course,” she said, “I understand.”
    “Then proceed.”
    “It is difficult to be exact as to the hour,” she began once more. “There was no clock at hand, and I have not viewed one since. In all truth, I have no idea of the time at this moment.”
    “Mr. Bailey, you have your timepiece with you?”
    “I do, Sir John.” Mr. Bailey stepped forward to the candlelight, squeezed the egg-sized orb from a small pocket in his breeches, and announced, “It is just on eight o’clock, three minutes to the hour.”
    “Thank you, Mr. Bailey. Now, Lady Goodhope, reckoning backward, how much time would you say has elapsed since the fateful moment?”
    She was silent for a moment. “About an hour, I should judge. There were minutes of confusion, which I shall describe, but once I was sure what had happened, I sent a footman with the news to Bow Street.”
    “You did well. So let us fix the event at seven, past dark, in any case.”
    “Yes.”
    It was just about that time, I reflected, that the coxcomb Boswell had begun his recital at the Cheshire Cheese. Such a waste of time!
    “Very good. And where were you?”
    “I was above in my chambers, reading.”
    “You and Lord Goodhope maintained separate apartments?”
    She hesitated. “We do, yes. Or we did.”
    “Continue, pray.”
    “I heard a sharp report, though somewhat muffled. I was not immediately aware of its nature, for I have no familiarity with firearms. I thought perhaps something had fallen below, and so I laid aside my book and went to investigate. Halfway down the stairs, I was met by Potter.”
    “Potter?” queried Sir John.
    “The butler. He met you at the door.” Then she continued: “Potter was in a greatly agitated state. He had quite rightly recognized the sound I had heard as a gunshot and wished my permission to enter the library.”
    “From which the sound had emanated?”
    “Yes.”
    “Why should it have been necessary to seek your permission? I should think in such a state of alarm, he would have entered immediately.”
    “He asked my permission because it was necessary to break down the door. I of course gave it, and—”
    “Lord Goodhope had locked it from the inside?” Sir John seemed a bit perplexed by this.
    “He had, yes.”
    “Was this his custom?”
    “Perhaps not his custom, but he did so frequently.” She stopped and sighed. “Lord Goodhope was … somewhat secretive in his habits.”
    “I see. And so you gave permission, and the butler sought to force the door.”
    “It was not an easy task,” said she. “This was the period of confusion I mentioned earlier. I stood by, waiting, quite beside myself with fear, as first Potter, then Ebenezer, the footman, attempted it with no success. At last, they thought to use a log of wood from the hall hearth. With that, they at last broke the lock, and the door swung open.”
    “That was when you viewed your husband’s corpus.”
    “That was when I … had a glimpse of it.”
    “You did not enter the room?”
    “I stepped just inside, saw what I saw, then leapt back.”
    “And what was it you