knew he would reject such intimacy, yet she could not help offering herself. She put her hand on his arm. Even from where Rathbone stood, he could see how thin her fingers were. It was only three and a half weeks since she had passed the crisis of her illness.
Ravensbrook remained frozen, as if he was not even aware of her.
There was silence in the room.
Rathbone looked again at Selina.
“Miss Herries, when did you see Caleb again? Consider your answer very carefully. An error in judgment now could cost you very dearly.”
Ebenezer Goode half rose to his feet, then decided an objection would achieve nothing. The question had been too carefully worded to be considered a threat. He sank back.
In the crowd someone dropped an umbrella, rustled for an instant, then left it where it lay.
“Miss Herries?”
Selina stared at Rathbone and he remained fixed on her gaze, as if he could see into her brain, read her fears and weigh them one against another. The judge moved his hands, then refolded them.
“Next day,” Selina said almost inaudibly.
“Did he mention Angus?”
“No…” Her voice was a whisper.
“Will you please speak so we may hear you, Miss Herries?” the judge directed.
“No.”
“Not at all?” Rathbone pressed.
` No.
“He didn't say that he had met him?”
` No.”
“And you didn't ask?” Rathbone allowed his eyebrows to shoot up. “Did you not care? You surprise me. Was it not the money for the rent of your home which Angus was to bring? Surely that was a matter of the utmost importance to you?”
“I took the message,” she said flatly. “Wot else weren't up ter me ter ask.”
“And he didn't tell you? Reassure you, for example? How boorish. Perhaps he was in too foul a temper.”
This time Ebenezer Goode did rise.
“My lord, my learned friend is making suggestions for which he has had no grounds, and they are the merest speculation…”
“Yes, yes,” the judge agreed. “Mr. Rathbone, please do not lead your witness with such remarks. You know better than that. Ask your question and have done.”
“My lord. Miss Herries, was Caleb in a bad temper when you saw him again?”
“No.”
“Just a little hurt?”
“Hurt?” she said suspiciously.
“Stiff! Bruised?”
“Yeah, well…” She hesitated, weighing how far she dare lie. Her glance slid once towards Caleb, then quickly away again. She was frightened, weighing one danger against another.
Rathbone was sorry for her, but he could not relent. There were facets of his professional skills he did not enjoy.
It would be overdoing it to draw the jury's attention to her dilemma. They had seen Caleb's face. They knew her position. Better to allow them to deduce it than to patronize them, risk having them think he was too eager.
“I do not ask you to tell us how he obtained any injuries he may have received, Miss Herries,” he helped her. “If you do not know, simply say whether he was injured in any way, or not. You are surely in a circumstance to know. He was your lover.”
“'E were 'urt, yeah,” she conceded. “But 'e didn't say 'ow, an I don't ask.
There's lot's o' fights in Lime'ouse an' Blackwall. Fights any night, an' most days. Caleb often got 'urt, but 'e never killed no one, far as I know.” Her chin came up a fraction. “Not that anyone got the best of 'im neither.”
“I can well believe it, ma'am. I have heard suggestions he is a very powerful man with an excellent skill in defending himself, and considerable physical courage.”
She stood a little straighter, her head high.
“That's right. No one beats Caleb Stone.”
Her pride caught him with a knife stab of pity, and he knew, almost without letting his eyes stray to the jury, that it was also the last fragment needed to tip the thin balance of belief towards conviction.
“Thank you, Miss Herries.” He turned to Goode. “Your witness, sir.” Goode rose slowly, as if he were tired, uncurling his long legs. He ambled across the open space of the floor and stopped before the witness stand, looking up at her.
“Ali, Miss Herries. Allow me to ask you a few questions. They will not take long.” He smiled at her dazzlingly. From the look in her face she may well have found that more unnerving than Rathbone's elegance. “Nor prove painful,” he added.
“Yeah.”
“Excellent. I'm most obliged.” He tucked his thumbs under the armholes of his waistcoat beneath his gown. “Did Caleb tell you why he was prepared to ask his brother for money, considering the feeling between them? Or indeed, why his brother was willing to give it?”
“No, 'e don't tell me things like that. I'nt my bus'ness. Angus always gave 'im money, if 'e wanted it. Guilt, I reckon.”
“Guilt for what, Miss Herries? Was Angus responsible for Caleb's misfortune?”
“I dunno,” she said sharply. “Mebbe 'e was! Mebbe 'e poisoned the old man's mind agin' Caleb. 'E were all goody-goody. Butter wouldn't melt in 'is mouf. 'Ow do I know what 'e felt? I jus' know 'e came any time Caleb sent for 'im.”
“I see. And was Angus at all apprehensive when you gave him Caleb's message?”
“Wot?”
“I apologize. Did he seem to you to be worried or fearful? Was he reluctant to go?”
“No. Well… I s'pose 'e didn't want ter leave his bus'ness. But he never did. That ain't 'ard t'understand'oo'd waana leave a nice warm office uptarn ter go ter some public 'ouse on the Isle of Dogs?”
“No one, indeed,” Goode agreed. “But beyond that natural reluctance, he was as usual?”
“Yeah.”
“And he had often met with Caleb before?”
“Yeah.”
“He did not, for example, offer to give you the money, to save himself the journey to Limehouse, and in fact the necessity to see Caleb at all?”
“No.” She did not add anything further, but there was surprise in her face, as well as antagonism.
Goode hesitated, seemed to consider a further question, then discard it.
Rathbone had a sudden flash of intuition as to what it was. He determined to ask it himself on reexamination. Goode had led the way for him. “And when you saw Caleb the day after?” Goode resumed. “He made no reference to Angus, is that right?”
“Yeah. 'E din't say nuffin' at all abaht 'im.” Her face was pale; Rathbone was sure she was lying. He looked across at the jury and saw reflected in their faces exactly what he felt. No one believed her.
“Do you know if he killed his brother, Miss Herries?” Goode's voice cut across the silence.
There was a gasp of indrawn breath around the room.
Caleb let out a short cry of derision, almost like a bark.
“No,” Selina said, shaking her head from side to side, as if to be rid of something that caught at her. “No, I don't know nuffin' like that, an' you got no right to say as 'e did!”
“I'm not saying it, Miss Herries,” Goode assured her. “I am doing my utmost to persuade these gentlemen here”-he waved his hand in the general direction of the jury-”that there is no proof whatever even that Angus is dead-no absolute proof at all-let alone that they can hold his brother responsible for it! There are a dozen other
