of venom showing through his voice, although he did not seek Way-bourne's face among the crowd. 'But it was not I.'
'Why should anyone do that?'
Jerome's eyebrows shot up.
'Are you asking me, sir? One might equally ask why I should have taken him myself. Whatever purpose you imagine was good enough for me, surely that would serve for someone else as easily? In fact, there are more-perhaps purely for his education? A young gentleman'-he gave the word a curious accent-'must learn his pleasures somewhere, and it is most assuredly not among his own class! And on a tutor's salary, with a wife to keep, even if my taste or my ethics permitted my patronizing such a place, my purse would not!'
It was a telling point, and to her surprise Charlotte found herself glowing warm with satisfaction. Let them answer that! Where would Jerome have found the money?
But when it was Land's turn he was quick. 139
'Did Arthur Waybourne have an allowance, Mr. Jerome?' he inquired smoothly.
Jerome's face showed only the barest movement, but the point was not lost on him.
'Yes, sir, he said so.'
'Have you cause to doubt it?'
'No-he appeared to have money to spend.'
'Then he could have paid for his own prostitute, could he not?'
Jerome's full mouth curled down fractionally with sour humor.
'I don't know, sir, you will have to ask Sir Anstey what the allowance amounted to, and then discover-if you do not already know-what is the rate of a prostitute.'
The back of Land's neck, where Charlotte could see it above his collar, flushed a dull red.
But it was suicidal. The court may not have had any love for Land, but Jerome had alienated himself entirely. He continued to be a prig, and at the same time he did not clear himself of the most obscene charge of a crime against one who may have been overprivileged and unlikable, but was still-in memory, at least-a child. To the black-coated jury, Arthur Waybourne had been young and desperately vulnerable.
The summing up for the prosecution reminded them of all this. Arthur was painted as fair, unblemished until Jerome contaminated him, poised on the verge of a long and profitable life. He had been perverted, betrayed, and finally murdered. Society owed it to his memory, to destroy from their midst the bestiality that had perpetrated these appalling acts. It was almost an act of self-cleansing!
There was only one verdict possible. After all, if Maurice Jerome had not killed him, who had? Well may they ask! And the answer was evident-no one! Not even Jerome himself had been able to suggest another answer.
It all fitted. There were no outstanding pieces, nothing that teased the mind or was left unexplained.
Did they ask themselves why Jerome had seduced the boy, used him, and then murdered him? Why not simply carry on with his base practice?
140
There were several possible answers.
Perhaps Jerome had grown tired of him, just as he had of Albie Frobisher. His appetite demanded constantly new material. Arthur was not easily discarded now that he was so debauched. He had not been bought, like Albie; he could not simply be dropped.
Could that be why Jerome had taken him to Abigail Winters? To try to stimulate in him more normal hungers?
But his own work had been too well done; the boy was debased forever-he wanted nothing from women.
He had become a nuisance. His love now bored Jerome; he was weary of it. He hungered for younger, more innocent flesh-like Godfrey or like Titus Swynford. They had heard the evidence of that for themsleves. And Arthur was growing importunate, his persistence an embarrassment. Perhaps in his distress, in his desperate realization of his own perversion-yes his damnation!-that was not too strong a word-he had eve/i become a threat!
And so he had to be killed! And his naked body disposed of in a place where, but for a monumental stroke
