“Thank you. Proceed.”
Ravensbrook stood even more rigidly. The desperate grip on his emotions, the fragility of his hold, was painfully apparent. He was a man walking through a nightmare, and not a soul in the room could be unaware of it.
This time even the coroner did not prompt him.
Ravensbrook took a deep breath and let it out in an inaudible sigh.
“Without the slightest warning, without saying a word, Caleb launched himself at me. The first I knew of it, he was at my throat, his hand clasping my wrist and attempting to seize the knife from me. We struggled-I to save my life, he to gain mastery over me, whether to kill me or to snatch the knife in an attempt to take his own life, I do not know, nor will I guess.”
There was a slight murmur of assent, a sigh of pity.
“For God's sake, where's Monk?” Goode whispered to Rathbone. “This can't be strung out beyond tomorrow!”
Rathbone did not answer. There was nothing else to say.
“I cannot tell you precisely what happened,” Ravensbrook started again. “It was all too quick. He managed to stab at me several times, half a dozen or so. We fought back and forth. It probably seemed for longer than it was.”
He turned to face the coroner, looking at him earnestly. “I have very little idea whether it was seconds or minutes. I managed to force him away from me. He slipped and my own impetus carried me forward. I tripped over his leg and we landed together. When I arose, he was lying on the floor with the knife in his throat.”
He stopped. There was total motionless silence in the room. Every face was turned towards him, emotions naked in horror and compassion.
Selina Herries looked like a ghost, suddenly thinner, sadder, the brave arrogance leached away.
“When I could gather my senses,” Ravensbrook said, taking up his account again, “and realized that I was no longer in danger from him, I leaned forward and attempted to find his pulse. He was bleeding very profusely, and I feared he was beyond help. I turned to the door and banged and called out for the gaolers. One of them opened it and let me out. The rest I believe you already know.”
“Indeed, my lord,” the coroner agreed. “I do not need to trouble you any further. May I offer you and your family my deepest sympathy in your double loss.”
“Thank you.” Ravensbrook turned to leave.
Goode rose to his feet.
The coroner made a motion with his hand to stop Ravensbrook, who looked at Goode as he would an enemy in the field of battle.
“If you must,” the coroner conceded reluctantly.
“Thank you, sir.” Goode turned to Ravensbrook, smiling courteously, showing all his teeth.
“By your own account, my lord, and by the evidence of your most unfortunate injuries…” he began. “By the way, I hope you are beginning to recover?”
“Thank you,” Ravensbrook said stiffly.
“I am very glad.” Goode inclined his head. “As I was saying, by your own account, my lord, you did not cry out for help until the struggle with Caleb had continued for some moments. Why did you not call immediately? You surely must have appreciated that you were in very considerable danger?”
Ravensbrook stared at him, his face white.
“Of course I knew that,” he said, his jaw clenched, the muscles visible even from where Rathbone sat.
“And yet you did not cry out,” Goode persisted. “Why not?”
Ravensbrook looked at him with loathing.
“I doubt you would understand, sir, or you would not ask. For all his sins and ingratitude, his disloyalty, Caleb Stonefield had been a son to me. I hoped I might deal with the matter without the authorities ever needing to know of it. It was the most tragic accident that it ended as it did. I could have hidden my own wounds until I was clear of the courthouse. He was, until the end, unhurt.”
“I see,” Goode replied expressionlessly.
He went on to ask all manner of further questions, sought explanations of the finest points. Rathbone did the same after him, until it was apparent he had lost all sympathy from the crowd and worn the coroner's patience threadbare. He conceded at quarter past four in the afternoon, and was called by the coroner to take the stand himself. The coroner elicited his evidence and dispatched him within twelve minutes.
Goode racked his brains, and could think of nothing further to ask him.
At twenty-nine minutes to five Monk was called, and found to be absent.
Rathbone protested that he should be located. The coroner pointed out that since Rathbone himself had been in Monk's presence every moment of the relevant time, there was nothing useful that Monk could add.
Goode rose to his feet, and was also overruled.
The coroner adjourned the sitting until the following day.
Rathbone and Goode left the court together, deep in anxiety. There was no word from Monk.
The first witness of the morning was Hester Latterly.
“Miss Latterly.” The coroner smiled at her benignly. “There is no need to be nervous, my dear. Simply answer the questions to the best of your ability. If you do not know the answer, then say so.”
“Yes sir.” She nodded and smiled back at him innocently.
“You were leaving the courtroom after attending the trial, when you were informed by the gaoler Bailey that someone was injured and needed medical assistance, is that correct?” He was not going to allow her to ramble by telling the story in her own words. He had summarized it for her most precisely.
Rathbone swore under his breath.
“If Monk doesn't come within an hour, it is all going to be over,” Goode said. “Where in God's name is he? Is there an early train from Chilverley this morning? Should I go and look for him?”
Rathbone glanced around desperately. “I'll send a clerk,” he said. “Mr.
Rathbone?” the coroner said with a frown.
“I beg your pardon,” Rathbone apologized grinfly.
The coroner turned to Hester. “Miss Latterly?”
“Yes?”
“Would you please answer the question?”
“I beg your pardon, sir. What was it?” Very carefully the coroner repeated himself.
“Yes sir,” she replied. “I had attended the trial with Lady Ravensbrook.”
She then repeated the entire procedure of her departure, Bailey's arrival, Enid's reaction, her own reaction, the instructions she had given to the coachman and her reasons for doing so, all the alternatives and why they were unacceptable, Enid's assurance that she would be perfectly able to manage and that she would indeed go home, and then her return with Bailey through the courtroom buildings and her arrival at the cells. Nothing the coroner could say-and he tried several times-would stop her. She seemed not to hear him.
Rathbone shot a sideways glance at Goode, and saw his incredulity, and the beginning of a bleak amusement.
“Yes,” the coroner said grimly. “Thank you. What did you see when you arrived at the cells, Miss Latterly? Please confine yourself to what is relevant.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Please confine yourself to what is relevant, Miss Latterly.”
“To what, sir?”
“To what is relevant, Miss Latterly!” the coroner said extremely loudly.
“Relevant to what, sir?”
The coroner controlled himself with some effort.
“To the matter of Caleb Stone's death, madam.”
“I am afraid I don't know what is relevant,” she replied without a flicker of expression in her face. “It would seem, from what I observed, that he was possessed by such a frantic hatred of his erstwhile guardian, Lord Ravensbrook, that he was prepared, at any cost whatever, even the certain sacrifice of his own life by hanging… surely a most damnable way to die, to inflict upon him some injury, even to wish his death. I am sorry.
