to it is the substance of our charge.”
“It is not my aim to prove that,” Rathbone argued, knowing he was telling less than the truth, and that Deverill knew it also. “I wished to show that his treatment of Miss Alberton was always honorable and quite open, even when Monk and Trace were in Washington, because he knew he was innocent of any crime and had no cause to fear them.”
Deverill smiled. “I apologize. You were so far from it I had not realized that was your aim. Please continue.”
Rathbone was foundering, and they both knew it. But he could not now retreat. He took Breeland through his confrontation on the battlefield with Monk and Trace, and his acceptance of returning to England.
“You offered no resistance?”
“No. Many men can fight the physical battle in America,” Breeland answered. “Only I can answer here for my actions, and fight the moral cause by persuading you here in England that our cause is just and our behavior honorable. I bought guns openly and paid a fair price for them. The only person I deceived was Philo Trace, and that is the fortune of war. He would expect it of me, as I would of him. We are enemies, even if we treat each other politely if we chance to meet in London. We are not barbarians.”
He cleared his throat. “I am not afraid to answer for my acts before a court of law, and I wish you to think of my people as the just and brave men they are.” He lifted his chin slightly, staring straight ahead of him. “The time will come when you will have to choose between the Union and the Confederacy. This war will not cease until one side has destroyed the other. I will give everything I have, my life, my freedom if necessary, to ensure that it is the Union that wins.”
Rathbone looked up at Merrit and saw the flash of pride in her face, and that it cost her an effort. He thought he also saw a deepening shadow of loneliness.
There was a very slight murmur of applause from somewhere in the back of the court, instantly hushed.
Deverill’s smile widened, but there was also a flicker of uncertainty in it. He wanted the jury to think he was confident, perhaps that he perceived something they did not. It was a game of bluff and double bluff.
Rathbone could play it too. At the moment it was all he had.
“I cannot imagine that there is any man here who does not share your sentiments,” he said very clearly. “It is not our war, and we grieve for your country, and we hope profoundly that some better solution may be found than the slaughter of armies and the ruin of the land. We have no desire to take the freedom of an innocent man who is serving his people in such a cause.” He bowed very slightly, as if the battle against slavery were the question at issue.
His achievement was short-lived. Deverill rose to cross-examine Breeland, swaggering very slightly into the center of the floor. He began with a broad, dramatic gesture.
“Mr. Breeland, you speak with great passion about the Union cause. No one here could mistake your dedication to it. Would it be true to say you hold it dearer to you than anything else?”
Breeland faced him squarely, with pride. “Yes, it would.”
Deverill considered for a moment. “I believe you, sir. I am not sure I could be so wholehearted myself.…”
Rathbone knew what was coming next. He even considered interrupting, diverting the jury for a few moments by pointing out that what Deverill had said was hardly a question, and not relevant to the case. But it would be delaying the inevitable. It would emphasize the fact that he had not wished Breeland to answer. He remained in his seat.
“I think …” Deverill resumed, turning sideways to look up at Merrit. “I think that rather than declare the justice of my cause, and my own innocence, I should have been tempted to protest my love for a young woman who had given up everything—home, family, safety, even her own country—to follow me into a foreign land, at war with itself … and to expend my energy in doing all I could to see that she did not hang for my crimes, at the age of sixteen … barely yet a woman, on the verge of her life.…”
The effect was devastating. Breeland blushed crimson. One could only guess what anger and shame consumed him.
Merrit was white with misery. Perhaps never in her life again would she face such a terrible understanding, or humiliation.
Judith bent her head slowly, as if a weight had become too much to endure.
Philo Trace’s lips were twisted with a pity he could not reach across and express.
Casbolt also stared at Judith.
The jurors were torn as to whether they would look at Merrit or not. Some wished to grant her privacy by averting their gaze, as if they had unintentionally intruded upon someone caught naked in an intimate act. Others glared at Breeland in undisguised contempt. Two looked up at Merrit with profound compassion. Perhaps they had daughters her age themselves. There was no condemnation in their faces.
Rathbone forced himself to remember that he was charged equally to defend Breeland and Merrit. He could not take advantage of this, and let Breeland hang to accomplish Merrit’s acquittal, but at that moment he wished he could.
Deverill did not need to add more. Whatever the facts, and those he could not shake, he had stifled any possible act of mercy. The jury would want to convict Breeland, not for the murders, but because he did not love.
While Rathbone was struggling in the courtroom, Monk was trying to trace Shearer’s actions on the night of Alberton’s death and for the few days before. The only way to clear Breeland of the charge would be to prove that he had not conspired with Shearer. The times of the quarrel at Alberton’s home, the delivery of the note to Breeland’s rooms, and his arrival at the Euston Square station all made it impossible for him to have been at Tooley Street, but they did not prove that he had not either deliberately corrupted Shearer into committing the murders or at the least conspired with him and taken advantage of it.
He began at Tooley Street again, with the surviving warehousemen. It was a dusty, warm day with scurries of wind making little eddies over the cobbles.
