Stone sighed and tried to make himself comfortable in the hard wooden chair.

A moment later, the bailiff entered, stood at attention, and cried, “Hear ye, hear ye, all rise for the Lord Cornwall.”

All rose, and the judge, resplendent in red robes, his black face contrasting sharply with the whiteness of his long wig, entered and sat down at the bench in a high-backed, ornate leather chair, with a gilded crown set at the top, a remnant of Her Majesty’s rule. “Good morning,” the judge said.

Hewitt was on his feet. “Your Lordship,” he said, “a small request before we begin.”

“Yes, Sir Leslie?”

“We have a long day ahead of us; I wonder if the prisoner might have a chair?”

Stone’s stomach lurched at hearing Allison so described.

“Of course, Sir Leslie. The bailiff will provide a chair for the prisoner.” The bailiff found a chair and set it in the dock for Allison, who thanked him sweetly, eliciting an unexpected smile.

Stone hoped that was a harbinger of things to come.

“The court will come to order,” the judge said. “I will hear from the minister of justice.”

Sir Winston stood, cleared his throat, and spoke. “Your Lordship, today we hear the case of the people of St. Marks against the prisoner Allison Manning, on a charge of murder. We are ready for Your Lordship to select the jury.” He sat down.

“Call the first juror,” the judge said.

“Call the first juror!” the bailiff cried.

A door opened at the rear of the courtroom and a man entered. He was elderly and thin and he was wearing a three-piece wool suit that fit him very well. He took the first seat in the jury box.

“State your name and occupation,” the bailiff said.

“I am Charles Kimbrough,” the man said. “I am a tailor by trade, and I am recently retired.”

“Mr. Kimbrough,” the judge said, “are you in good health and of sound mind?”

“I believe I am, Your Lordship.”

“Are you acquainted with the prisoner or any members of the court?”

“I am acquainted with Sir Leslie Hewitt and yourself, Your Lordship, as I have made suits for both of you in the past.”

“Anyone else?”

“I know Sir Winston, though I have never had the pleasure of his custom.”

“Yes. Have you heard anything about this case?”

“Oh, yes, Your Lordship,” the man said. “I have read all about it in the newspapers.”

“Have you formed an opinion of the prisoner’s guilt or innocence?”

“Well, Your Lordship, I think she might have done it, but then again, she might not have.”

“He’s okay with me,” Stone murmured.

“Keep your seat, Mr. Kimbrough,” the judge said. “You’re the foreman of this jury.”