quite in mourning, and yet utterly feminine. It was a great skill to offend no one and yet be anything but colorless or self-effacing. Rathbone thought she was quite lovely, and was very soon aware that every juror in the box thought so too. He could see it written plainly in their faces as they watched her, listening to and believing every word.
She told how she too had heard the accusation repeated as far away as both Venice and Felzburg.
Harvester did not press the issue of reaction in Venice, except that it was at times given a certain credence. Not everyone dismissed it as nonsense. He proceeded quite quickly to reactions in Felzburg.
“Of course it was repeated,” Evelyn said, looking at him with wide, lovely eyes. “A piece of gossip like that is not going to be buried.”
“Naturally,” Harvester agreed wryly. “When it was repeated, Baroness, with what emotion was it said? Did anyone, for example, consider for an instant that it could be true?” He caught Rathbone’s movement out of the corner of his eye and smiled thinly. “Perhaps I had better phrase that a little differently. Did you hear anyone express a belief that the accusation was true, or see anyone behave in such a manner as to make it apparent that they did?”
Evelyn looked very grave. “I heard a number of people greet it with relish and then repeat it to others in a less speculative way, as if it were not slander but a fact. Stories grow in the telling, especially if the people concerned are enemies. And the Princess’s enemies have certainly received great pleasure from all this.”
“You are speaking of people in Felzburg, Baroness?”
“Yes, of course.”
“But the Princess has not lived in Felzburg for over twelve years and is hardly likely ever to do so again,” Harvester pointed out.
“People have long memories, sir. There are those who have never forgiven her for taking Prince Friedrich’s love—and, in their eyes, for having induced him to leave his country and his duty. She is like all people who have risen to great heights; there are those who are jealous and would be only too delighted to see her fall.”
Harvester glanced at Zorah, hesitated as if he were considering asking something further, then changed his mind. His meaning was abundantly clear, and yet Rathbone could not object. Nothing had been said.
Harvester looked up at the stand. “So this appalling charge has a possibility of causing great harm to the Princess through the agency of the envious and the bitter, who have long disliked her for their own reasons,” he concluded. “This has put a weapon into their hands, so to speak, now of all times, when the Princess is alone and at her most vulnerable?”
“Yes.” Evelyn nodded. “Yes, it has.”
“Thank you, Baroness. If you would remain where you are. Sir Oliver may have a question or two to ask you.”
Rathbone rose, simply not to allow the whole issue to go by default. His mind was racing over the thoughts that had come to him the previous evening. But how could he raise them with a witness with whom Harvester had been so circumspect? All he had was the right to cross-examine, not to open new and entirely speculative political territory.
“Baroness von Seidlitz,” he began thoughtfully, looking up at her grave and charming face. “These enemies of the Princess Gisela that you speak of, are they people with power?”
She looked surprised, uncertain how to answer.
He smiled at her. “At least in England, and I believe in most places,” he explained, “we are inclined to be very romantic about people involved in a great love story.” He must be extremely careful. Anything the jury saw as an attack on Gisela would instantly prejudice them against him. “We may wish we were in their place. We may even envy them their worldly good fortune, but only those who have actually been personally in love with the other party bear them real ill will. Is that not so in your country as well? And certainly I could believe it true in Venice, where the Princess has lived most of the time since her marriage.”
“Well … yes,” she conceded, her brow furrowed. “Of course we love a lover …” She laughed a little uncertainly. “All the world does, doesn’t it? We are no exception. But there is still resentment among a few that Prince Friedrich should have abdicated. That is different.”
“In Venice, Baroness?” he said with surprise. “Do the Venetians really care?”
“No … of course they …”
Harvester rose to his feet. “My lord, is there really some point to my learned friend’s questions? I fail to see it.”
The judge looked regretfully at Rathbone.
“Sir Oliver, you are presently eliciting information already within our knowledge. Please proceed to something new, if you have it.”
“Yes, my lord.” Rathbone plunged on. As before, he had so little to lose. The risk was worth it. “The enemies you referred to who might in some way harm the Princess Gisela, you said they were in Felzburg, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Because in Venice they do not care. Venice is, if you will pardon me, full of royalty no longer possessing thrones or crowns for one reason or another. Socially, a princess is still a princess. You said yourself that people of any worth did not believe it there. And anyway, the Princess is in retirement, and one invitation or another will make no difference to her. Her friends, which is all she will care about, are totally loyal to her.”
“Yes …” Evelyn was still at a loss for his meaning. It was clear in her face.
“Would I be correct in supposing that these enemies, who are able to harm her, are not merely the odd disappointed past women admirers of Prince Friedrich, still holding a bitter envy, but people of some power and substance, able to command the respect of others?”
Evelyn stared at him wordlessly.
“Are you sure you wish this question answered, Sir Oliver?” the judge said anxiously.
