The Young Clementina by D. E. Stevenson

disturbed before eleven.’ Well, I said I would. I ’ad another job, but it didn’t matter bein’ a bit laite so long as I got it done sometimes. So we settled it all right. ‘That’s okay,’ she ses, an’ off she goes. Well I does the ’all an’ the sittin’ room, goin’ about quiet-like, an’ then I maikes a noice cup o’ tea an’ a few bits of toast an’ takes it in ter the bedroom, an’ bless my soul you could ’ave knocked me dahn wif a feather—there’s nobody there.”
    â€œThe respondent had gone?”
    â€œWot’s that?” inquired Mrs. Cope with a puzzled frown.
    â€œMrs. Wisdon was not in the room?”
    â€œNobody wasn’t,” agreed Mrs. Cope.
    â€œWould it have been possible for Mrs. Wisdon to have left the room and gone out while you were in the flat?”
    â€œNo, it wouldn’t then. She’d ’ave ’ad ter step over me when I was washing the floor in the ’all.”
    Another ripple of laughter.
    â€œThen the—er—Mrs. Wisdon must have left the flat before you arrived?”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œWhat did you do next?”
    â€œI went an’ ’ad a look at the bed an’ I sees it ’adn’t bin slep’ in.”
    There was a rustle in the court.
    â€œThe bed was—er—made?”
    â€œNo, it wasn’t made neither. It ’ad bin rumpled about a bit to maike it look untidy, but the bottom sheet was smooth, an ’ the piller. I knows the way Miss Dean maikes beds—as smooth as cream, ’er beds are—An’ I knows Miss Dean’s linen an’ I knows that bed ’adn’t bin slep’ in.”
    Mr. Amber leaped to his feet. “My lord, my lord, I protest,” he said vehemently. “The witness’s opinion is not evidence.”
    They wrangled for a few moments and Mrs. Cope waited patiently while they did so. The Judge instructed the jury to make a note of the fact that it was the witness’s opinion, and therefore not evidence, that the bed had not been slept in.
    â€œWhat did you do next, Mrs. Cope?” inquired counsel sweetly.
    â€œI picks up the nightie—on the floor it wos, an’ all of a ’eap, crumpled up—an’ the nex’ thing is a pin runs straight into me ’and.”
    â€œA pin?”
    â€œThat’s right. It was Miss Dean’s best nightie—cripe der sheen—she’d got it out for ’er sister ter wear. But nobody ’adn’t worn that nightie, an’ why? Becos nobody couldn’t wear a nightie wifout takin’ out the pins.”
    â€œBut why pins?” inquired counsel. “To a mere man it sounds rather strange.”
    â€œTer keep the pleats right,” explained Mrs. Cope. “I done up that nightie ’arf a dozen times for Miss Dean, an’ don’t I know the job I’ve ’ad ironing the pleats down the front. They’re crule to iron, pleats are.”
    â€œWhat did you do next?”
    â€œWell, sir, it seemed a shaime ter waiste the tea so I ’ad it myself—I was feelin’ a bit queer, yer see. I’m subject to palpitations an’ I was a bit upset loike. So I ’ad the tea myself an’ felt all the better. An’ then I washed up and went on ter Mr. Smith’s. I was about a hour laite, yer see, what wif one thing an’ another.”
    Garth’s counsel sat down with a satisfied smile, and Mr. Amber rose to cross-examine Mrs. Cope. He did not make much of her. Her evidence was too firm to shake, and it was to her advantage that she did not understand his more subtle questions, so that the traps he laid for her unwary feet failed to catch her. When she did not understand the question, she did not answer, and the questions put in plainer language lost a great deal of their sting.
    â€œOn the morning of the nineteenth of March you met Miss