ones. They had taken the Catholic faith, not from conviction but in order to give their children a better life. The Baruch family was one such.” He breathed in deeply. “They changed their name to Beck. Three generations later, the great-grandchildren had no idea they had ever been anything but good Austrian Catholics.”
At last he looked up at Kristian, and saw him start forward, disbelief blank in his face, his eyes wide, aghast, as if the world he knew was disintegrating in his grasp.
“No one knows the conversation between the two women,” Monk went on. “But Elissa was made aware that the man she loved, and had presumed to be of her own people, was actually of her rival’s, although he himself did not know it.” He was aware of faces in the room below him craning around and upward, staring.
“It was necessary to carry dangerous messages to warn other groups of revolutionaries,” Monk said, continuing the story, “in different parts of the city. Hanna was chosen to do it, for her knowledge of the streets of the Jewish quarter and her courage, and perhaps because she was not so closely one of the group, being a Jew. Father Geissner told me that Dr. Beck afterwards felt guilty, even that the ease with which they chose her for the task troubled him. Apparently, he spoke of it outside the confessional as well as within it.”
Mills’s eyes were fixed on him. Not once did he glance away at Pendreigh, or at the judge. “Continue,” he prompted. “What happened to Hanna Jakob?”
“The other group was warned by someone else,” Monk said quietly, aware of how strained his voice was. “And Hanna was betrayed to the authorities. They caught her and tortured her to death. She died alone in an alley, without giving away her compatriots. . . .”
There were gasps in the room. The upturned face of one woman was wet with tears. A voice muttered a prayer.
“By whom was she betrayed?” Mills asked hoarsely.
“Elissa von Leibnitz,” Monk answered. At last he looked at Kristian and saw nightmare in his face. He had not known. No one could look at him and believe that he had.
“No!” Max Niemann struggled to his feet. “No! Not Elissa!” he cried. “It’s not possible!”
Two ushers of the court moved towards him, but he sank back down again before they reached the row of seats where he was. He, too, looked like a man who has seen an abyss open before his feet.
Pendreigh stood with difficulty; only the table in front of him supported his weight. He looked like a pale taper of light with his bloodless face and white wig with thick, golden hair beneath it. His voice came between his teeth hoarsely.
“You lie, sir. I, too, would like to believe that Dr. Beck is innocent, and have done so to this moment. But I will not have you blaspheme the memory of my daughter in order to save him. What you suggest is monstrous, and cannot be true.”
“It is true.” Monk answered him without anger. He could understand the rage, the denial, the unbelievable pain too immense to grasp. “No one thought she meant Hanna to die,” he said softly. “She was certain she would yield up the names long before that point, and would be released, humiliated but uninjured.” He found it difficult to breathe, and to keep control of his face. When he resumed, his voice was harsh with pain. “Perhaps that was the greatest injury of all, the insult. She was betrayed, and yet she died without giving her torturers the names of any of them.”
There was silence, as if every man and woman in the huge room were absorbing the agony into themselves. Even Mills did not move or speak.
Finally, the judge leaned forward. “Are you suggesting, Mr. Monk, that this is relevant to Mrs. Beck’s death?”
Monk turned to him. “Yes, my lord. It is obvious to us here that Dr. Beck is as shattered by this terrible story as Herr Niemann, or indeed Mr. Pendreigh, but there are those in Vienna who were aware of it and could piece together the tragedy, as I did. Surely their existence raises more than reasonable doubt that one such person, rather than Dr. Beck, may have been guilty of a fearful revenge?” He found his hands shaking as he held on to the railing of the box, palms wet. “If you convict Dr. Beck you will never lie easily in your beds that you have hanged a man innocent of his wife’s death, and that of poor Sarah Mackeson.”
“Mr. Monk,” the judge said firmly, “you are here to give evidence as to what you have seen and heard, not to make defense counsel’s summation speech, however well you are able to do that.” He turned to the prosecution. “Mr. Mills, if you have no more questions for your witness, you might offer him now to Mr. Pendreigh. . . .” He looked at Pendreigh. “If you are well enough to continue? In view of the extraordinary nature of Mr. Monk’s testimony, and the way it cannot help but affect you personally, the court will be happy to grant you until tomorrow to compose yourself, if you wish?”
Pendreigh looked bewildered, as if he hardly knew where he was.
“I . . . I will question Mr. Monk!” he said abruptly, swinging around to stare up at the witness box. His face had no vestige of color, and his eyes were bloodshot.
“What you have said of my daughter is a damnable lie, but I give you the credit that you may have been led to believe it. Therefore I must suppose that those who told it to you may also imagine it to be true. I concede that in their sickness someone might have felt it motive for revenge, and made this parody of justice a last, dreadful act. If so, as you say, this court cannot, in any semblance of honor, convict Dr. Beck. The defense rests, my lord.”
He made his way back to his seat like a man walking in the dark, almost feeling his way. His junior stood as if to guide him, but did not indulge in the familiarity of actually reaching out his hand.
Mills had little more to say. He pointed out that such an avenger of Hanna Jakob was entirely imaginary. No one had named such a person nor was there any proof that he or she existed. Dr. Beck, on the other hand, was very much there. He summed up all the evidence, but briefly, knowing that in the emotion-charged room he could lose their sympathy if he appeared too tied to reason.
The judge instructed the jury and they retired.
Kristian was taken down to the cells, and the rest of the court was left to wait in an exquisite suspense. No one knew whether it would be minutes, hours, or even days.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
