Lovat-Smith rose, all the brilliant confidence drained away from him, only horror left.
“I hope my learned friend is not going to try to cloud the issue and cause this poor woman quite pointless distress?” He turned from Rathbone to Damaris. “The physical facts of the case place it beyond question that only Alexandra Carlyon had the opportunity to murder the general. Whatever Mrs. Erskine's motive, if indeed there were any, she did not commit the act.” He turned around so that half his appeal was to the crowd. “Surely this exposure of a private grief is cruelly unnecessary?”
“I would not do it if it were,” Rathbone said between his teeth, his eyes blazing. He swiveled around on his heel, presenting his back to Lovat-Smith. “Mrs. Erskine, you have just said you did not resent your brother's having given your son to the Furnivals. And yet when you came downstairs you were in a state of distress almost beyond your ability to control, and quite suddenly you exhibited a rage towards Maxim Furnival which was close to murderous in nature! You seem to be contradicting yourself!”
“I-I-saw…” Damaris closed her eyes so tightly it screwed up her face.
Peverell half rose in his seat.
Edith held both her hands to her face, knuckles clenched.
Alexandra was frozen.
Monk glanced up at the gallery and saw Maxim Furnival sitting rigid, his dark face puckered in puzzlement and ever-increasing apprehension. Beside him, Louisa was quite plainly furious.
Monk looked along at Hester, and saw the intense concentration in her as she turned sideways, her eyes fixed on Damaris and her expression one of such wrenching pity that it jolted him at once with its familiarity and its strangeness. He tried to picture Hermione, and found the memory blurred. He found it hard to remember her eyes at all, and when he did, they were bland and bright, without capability of pain.
Rathbone moved a step closer to Damaris.
“I regret this profoundly, Mrs. Erskine, but too much depends upon it for me to allow any compassion for you to override my duty to Mrs. Carlyon-and to Cassian.”
Damaris raised her head. “I understand. I knew that my brother Thaddeus was abused as a child. Like Buckie-Miss Buchan-I saw it once, by accident. I never forgot the look in his eyes, the way he behaved. I saw the same look in Valentine's face, and I knew he was abused too. I supposed at that time that it was his father-his adopted father-Maxim Furnival, who was doing it.”
There was a gasp around the room and a rustle like leaves in the wind.
“Oh God! No!” Maxim shot to his feet, his face shock-white, his voice half strangled in his throat.
Louisa sat like stone.
Maxim swung around, staring at her, but she continued to look as if she had been transfixed.
“You have my utmost sympathy, Mr. Furnival,” the judge said over the rising level of horror and anger from the crowd. “But you must refrain from interruption, nevertheless. But I would suggest to you that you consider obtaining legal counsel to deal with whatever may occur here. Now please sit down, or I shall be obliged to have the bailiff remove you.”
Slowly, looking bemused and beaten, Maxim sat down again, turning helplessly to Louisa, who still sat immobile, as though too horrified to respond.
Up in the gallery Charles Hargrave grasped the rail as if he would break it with his hands.
Rathbone returned his attention to Damaris.
“You spoke in the past tense, Mrs. Erskine. You thought at the time it was Maxim Furnival. Has something happened to change your view?”
“Yes.” A faint echo of the old flair returned, and the ghost of a smile touched her mouth and vanished. “My sister-in-law murdered my brother. And I believe it was because she discovered that he was abusing her son-and I believe mine also-although I have no reason to think she knew of that.”
Lovat-Smith looked up at Alexandra, then rose to his feet as though reluctantly.
“That is a conclusion of the witness, my lord, and not a fact.”
“That is true, Mr. Rathbone,” the judge said gravely. “The jury will ignore that last statement of Mrs. Erskine's. It was her belief, and no more. She may conceivably have been mistaken; you cannot assume it is fact. And Mr. Rathbone, you deliberately led your witness into making that observation. You know better.”
“I apologize, my lord.”
“Proceed, Mr. Rathbone, and keep it relevant.”
Rathbone inclined his head in acknowledgment, then with curious grace turned back to Damaris.
“Mrs. Erskine, do you
“No.”
“You did not ask him?”
“No! No, of course not!”
“Did you speak of it to your brother? “
“No! No I didn't. I didn't speak of it to anyone.”
“Not to your mother-or your father?”
“No-not to anyone.”
“Were you aware that your nephew, Cassian Carlyon, was being abused?”
She flushed with shame and her voice was low and tight in her throat. “No. I should have been, but I thought it was just his grief at losing his father-and fear that his mother was responsible and he would lose her too.” She looked up once at Alexandra with anguish. “I didn't spend as much time with him as I should have. I am ashamed of that. He seemed to prefer to be alone with his grandfather, or with my husband. I thought-I thought that was because it was his mother who killed his father, and he felt women…” She trailed off unhappily.
“Understandable,” Rathbone said quietly. “But if you had spent time with him, you might have seen whether he too was abused-”
“Objection,” Lovat-Smith said quickly. “All this speech of abuse is only conjecture: We do not know that it is anything beyond the sick imaginings of a spinster servant and a young girl in puberty, who both may have misunderstood things they saw, and whose fevered and ignorant minds leaped to hideous conclusions-quite erroneously.”
The judge sighed. “Mr. Lovat-Smith's objection is literally correct, Mr. Rathbone.” His heavy tone made it more than obvious he did not share the prosecutor's view for an instant. “Please be more careful in your use of words. You are quite capable of conducting your examination of Mrs. Erskine without such error.”
Rathbone inclined his head in acceptance, and turned back to Damaris.
“Did your husband, Peverell Erskine, spend much time with Cassian after he came to stay at Carlyon House?”
“Yes-yes, he did.” Her face was very white and her voice little more than a whisper.
“Thank you, Mrs. Erskine. I have no more questions for you, but please remain there. Mr. Lovat-Smith may have something to ask you.”
Damaris turned to Lovat-Smith.
“Thank you,” Lovat-Smith acknowledged. “Did you murder your brother, Mrs. Erskine?”
There was a ripple of shock around the room. The judge frowned sharply. A juror coughed. Someone in the gallery stood up.
Damaris was startled. “No-of course I didn't!”
“Did your sister-in-law mention this alleged fearful abuse to you, at any time, either before or after the death of your brother?”
“No.”
“Have you any reason to suppose that such a thing had ever entered her mind; other, of course, than the suggestion made to you by my learned friend, Mr. Rathbone?”
“Yes-Hester Latterly knew of it.”
Lovat-Smith was taken by surprise.
There was a rustle and murmur of amazement around the court. Felicia Carlyon leaned forward over the gallery railing to stare down at where Hester was sitting upright, white-faced. Even Alexandra turned.
“I beg your pardon?” Lovat-Smith said, collecting his wits rapidly. “And who is Hester Latterly? Is that a name that has arisen once before in this case? Is she a relative-or a servant perhaps? Oh-I recall: she is the person to whom Mrs. Sobell enquired for a lawyer for the accused. Pray tell us, how did this Miss Latterly know of this deadly
