was to be one of the trustees.” A note of emotion had crept into Silas’s voice when he was speaking about the house, but it was immediately suppressed. “I don’t know who the other ones were going to be,” he added. “My father’s solicitor, perhaps.”
“How did you feel about what you heard?” asked Thompson.
“I was shocked. Obviously. I hadn’t expected it. I suppose I felt betrayed.”
“So what did you do?”
“I tried to talk to my father, but he wouldn’t listen. It’s hard to explain. We didn’t have the sort of relationship where I could talk to him about things like money.”
“Did you do anything else about the situation?”
“Yes. I went to talk to my brother, so that we could decide what to do. He was in his rooms at New College. Mary was there too, but I waited until she left.”
“How did your brother react to what you told him about the will?”
“He was very upset.”
“Just that. Upset?”
“He was angry too. You need to understand-Stephen was in a very confused state those first two years he was up at Oxford. Our father had always been very important to him, and when they quarreled, it was like…” Silas hesitated looking for the right word, “it was like a light went out somewhere inside him. He didn’t seem to believe in anything anymore. I didn’t see him very often but I know that he drank a lot. He tried to cover it up, but I think he was very unhappy.”
“Please stop the witness from speculating, Mr. Thompson,” said the judge, stirring in his seat.
“Yes, my lord,” said Thompson. “Tell us, Mr. Cade, what you and your brother decided to do about your father’s will.”
“We agreed that Stephen should try to end his quarrel with our father. He is the natural son, whereas I was adopted. He always got on better with our parents when we were younger, and I-we-felt that my father might listen to him. Stephen’s always been better at speaking his mind than I have.”
“So what did you do?” asked Thompson.
“Do?” Silas seemed momentarily lost, remembering a childhood that he always tried to forget.
“Yes,” said Thompson, failing to keep the impatience out of his voice. “What did you both decide to do in order to end your brother’s quarrel with your father?”
“Stephen wrote a letter, and I took it back with me to Moreton and gave it to our father. He agreed to allow Stephen to visit, and my brother came out for lunch on the following weekend. He brought Mary with him.”
“Was your father enthusiastic about the meeting?” asked the judge, holding up a hand to stop Thompson’s next question. “How did he respond to the olive branch?”
Silas didn’t answer for a moment, and when he did, he seemed almost surprised at what he was saying.
“I don’t know. It was like he was indifferent. He didn’t seem to care much what Stephen did. Whether he came or whether he stayed away.”
“Why?” The single word escaped from Stephen in the dock as if it was a sudden exhalation of breath, and it brought an immediate response from the judge.
“You will be silent, young man. Do you understand me?” Murdoch’s voice was harsh, meant to make Stephen realise the power arrayed against him. “If you are not silent, you will be removed.”
Murdoch stared at Stephen Cade a moment longer and then nodded to Thompson to continue.
“How did the lunch go?” asked the prosecutor.
“It was okay,” said Silas. He had looked up at his brother for a moment when Stephen had shouted, but now he had reverted to his former posture with his eyes fixed on the dark wood of the witness stand in front of him. “I mean, it was fairly awkward,” he went on, “but that was only to be expected. Stephen hadn’t seen my father for two years.”
“Was the will discussed on that day?” asked Thompson.
“No. I don’t think Stephen saw my father alone, and there was obviously nothing said about it at the lunch. Anyway, Stephen wasn’t going to talk to my father about the will straightaway. That only changed because of what I saw in his diary.”
“What was that?”
“An appointment for my father to see his solicitor at three o’clock on Monday, June eighth, about the will.”
There was something too precise about Silas’s recollection of time and date, thought Swift, leaning back in his chair. It was frustrating. He wanted the chance to rattle Silas Cade and see what came out, but his client wouldn’t let him. Swift was convinced that Silas knew more than he was letting on.
“Is this the entry you’re talking about?” asked Thompson handing up the same engagement diary that he had shown to the solicitor the previous day.
“Yes, I saw it on the Wednesday. I was in my father’s study getting something, and the diary was open on the desk.”
“What did you do about what you’d seen, Mr. Cade?” asked Thompson, eager to move the story on.
“I told my brother. He arranged to come out to Moreton on the Friday evening with Mary, and he told me that he was going to talk to my father in his study at ten o’clock. That was the night my father was murdered.”
“All right, let’s deal with that night. Who was there at dinner?”
“Stephen and Mary. My father. Jeanne, that’s Mrs. Ritter, and the sergeant. And me, obviously.”
“What was the atmosphere like?”
“Strained. Like I said before, Stephen and my father hadn’t been together for a long time.”
“What time did the dinner end?”
“Nine o’clock, maybe. I can’t be sure.”
“And where did you go then?”
“I went to my room. I had some work to do. I was in there for a couple of hours before I heard shouting coming from the east wing, and so I went downstairs. My father was dead in his study.”
“Where is your room, Mr. Cade?”
“It’s in the west wing, but it faces east looking down on the courtyard.”
“And were you alone during the two hours that you were in your room after dinner?”
“Yes. Completely alone.”
“Thank you, Mr. Cade,” said Thompson. “That’s all I have to ask you. If you wait there, there’ll be some more questions.”
“May I speak to my client a moment?” Swift asked the judge.
“Very well. But don’t be too long about it. The jury is waiting,” said Murdoch.
Swift leant over Stephen in the dock, enveloping him in an intimacy that excluded the prison officers on either side.
“It’s not too late to change your mind,” he whispered. “Why don’t you at least let me put it to him?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?” he pressed. “Silas had a motive, and there’s something he’s holding back. I can feel it.”
“I’m sure he didn’t kill my father,” said Stephen. His voice was soft but firm. “And I won’t have you accuse him of it.”
Swift turned away. There was no time for further argument. He’d already spent an hour with Stephen in the cells before court, trying to persuade his client to change his instructions, but he’d got nowhere. The die was cast.
“You have told us, Mr. Cade,” Swift began, “that your brother and your father had been estranged for two years prior to your father’s death.”
“Yes.”
“Tell us, please, what was the cause of that estrangement?”
The question seemed to agitate Silas. He looked over at his brother for a moment and swallowed deeply.
“I’d prefer not to answer that,” he said.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Cade, but I must insist,” said Swift. “It’s important that the jury has the full picture.”
When Silas still did not answer, the judge intervened. “Answer the question, Mr. Cade,” he ordered. “You’re a
