He looked up suddenly. “I did not kill her!”
“I know,” she answered, and he saw in her face that she did know. She smiled very slightly. “I never imagined that you could have killed the artists’ model, no matter what provocation there was to hurt Elissa, or to stop her destruction of both of you.”
“Thank you,” he whispered.
She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. His skin was only just warm. She ached to do something more, to reach him in an infinitely comforting way and take some of his pain and tiredness to herself, and bear it for him, but she could already hear the guard’s footsteps and she knew time was up.
She stepped back so their intimacy should not be intruded upon. She would not say good-bye; she would not use those words. She just looked at Kristian for a moment, then as the door opened, she faced the guard and thanked him for his courtesy. She left without looking back or speaking again. Her throat was aching too much and she was blind with tears anyway.
Hester and Monk also left the courtroom and went outside into the hallway.
“Where is Callandra?” Monk asked, looking around and failing to see her. He took a step forward as if to search, and Hester put her hand on his arm to stop him.
“No,” she said quietly. “She’ll find us if she needs us. I think she may prefer to be alone.”
He stopped, turning to meet her eyes. For a moment he seemed about to question her, then he saw her certainty and changed his mind.
People were milling all around them, trying to decide whether to leave and find supper, or even to go home. Would the jury return tonight? Surely not. It was too late, after six already.
Hester looked at Monk. “Could they still come in tonight?” she asked, not knowing if she wanted the verdict sooner or if it would be even worse to wait all night. “Is it better if . . .”
“I don’t know,” he answered gently. “Nobody does.”
She closed her eyes. “No, of course not. I’m sorry.” She started to push her way towards a clearer space a few yards from the door and was just short of the entrance when Charles came striding towards her. His hair was falling forward and his cheeks were flushed.
“Have you seen Imogen?” he demanded, urgency making his voice rough-edged. “Is she with you?”
“No,” she answered, trying to ignore the fear she felt in him. “Did she say she was looking for me?”
“No . . . I thought . . .” Charles stared around, searching for sight of Imogen.
“Perhaps she has gone to the cloakroom,” Hester suggested. “Is she all right? Was she a little faint, or distressed? It was very close in there. Shall I go and look?”
“Please!” Charles accepted instantly. “She was . . .” He swore under his breath, his jaw clenched.
“What?” Monk demanded. “What is it? Charles?”
Hester saw in her mind’s eye Imogen’s white face and staring eyes. “Why did you come?” She caught Charles’s sleeve. “Not for me!”
“No.” Charles looked wretched. “I thought if she heard what had happened to Elissa Beck, the tragedy and the waste of it, the terrible way she died, she might be shocked enough never to gamble again. I thought if I brought her today . . . just at the end . . . the summing up . . .”
“It was a good idea,” Monk agreed vehemently.
“Was it?” Charles seemed almost to be pleading for assurance. “I’m afraid I might have frightened her too much. She excused herself when the judge adjourned, and I thought she had just gone to . . . but that was fifteen minutes ago, and I haven’t seen her since.” Again, as if he could not help himself, he craned around to search for her.
“I’ll go,” Hester said quickly. “Stay here, so that if I find her we don’t lose each other again.” And without waiting she moved away to find the cloakroom and the convenience. Perhaps Imogen just needed a little time to be alone and compose herself after the distress of what she had heard. In her place, Hester felt she would have herself. If the trial had had the effect on her that Charles had desired, it would produce a change which could hardly be accommodated in a few moments.
She pushed her way against the crowd, who were now leaving for the night, and ended up in the cloakroom, but Imogen was not there. There was a woman in charge. Hester described Imogen as well as she could, her clothes, particularly her hat, and asked if the woman had seen her.
“Sorry, ma’am, no idea.” The woman shook her head. “All I can tell yer is there’s no one ’ere now, ’ceptin’ us. But nob’dy ’ere bin wot yer’d call poorly.”
“Thank you.” Hester gave her a halfpenny and left as quickly as she could. Where on earth could Imogen be? And why would she go off alone, now of all times? Suddenly fury boiled up inside her for the sheer thoughtlessness of causing more grief and anxiety at a moment when they had almost more burden than they could bear.
She marched to the clerk she saw standing at the top of the stairs to the nearest entrance.
“Excuse me,” she said peremptorily. “My sister-in-law appears to have gone looking for her carriage without us.” It was the first lie which sprang to her mind. “She is about two inches less than I in height, she has dark hair and eyes and is wearing a green coat and hat with black feathers. Have you seen her?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said immediately. “Carrying a green umbrella. At least it sounds like the lady you describe. She left several minutes ago, with Mr. Pendreigh.”
“What?” Hester was stunned. “No, that can’t—”
“Sounded like the young lady you described, ma’am. Sorry if I made a mistake.” He inclined his head towards the open doors. “They went that way. Almost ten minutes ago, walking quite quickly. I think he was helping her. She seemed a bit upset. I daresay one of the trials had affected someone she knew. He might only have been taking her as far as her carriage, just making sure she was all right.”
