parishioners. He cannot possibly be aware of the affairs of all of them. Why is it that you expect him to be? How many sons do you have, Mr. Bicknor? Correct me if I am mistaken, but is it not just the one?”
“Yes … but I don’t ask him for money to support me!” Bicknor said with a rising note of desperation. “I don’t bleed him dry and then make him feel ashamed if he can’t give me even more. I don’t use Christ’s name to get him to do things I want him to.”
“Is that what your son told you happened? Or possibly it is simply what you assume, knowing that Mr. Taft is a man of God?” He raised his eyebrows. “I take it that you were not there while this was happening, or you would have intervened, would you not?”
“ ’Course I weren’t there at the church.” Bicknor’s control was slipping even further out of his grasp.
Rathbone could see from Warne’s face that he longed to help him, but there were absolutely no grounds for him to object. There was nothing Rathbone could do either, whatever he felt personally. Gavinton was very possibly testing the emotional value of the testimony, but that was his job. And there was always the possibility, remote as it seemed, that he was correct. Young Bicknor might be a naïve young man who had misunderstood what was said to him. His father might be blaming Taft for faults in his son that he himself should have checked.
“Mr. Bicknor,” Gavinton continued, “is it not possible that your son sought out Mr. Taft, and became so dependent upon his good opinion, because he wished to overcome some doubt or fear within himself? Possibly it was even God’s forgiveness he sought, for some sin that burdened him heavily?”
“How dare you?” Bicknor burst out, rage and humiliation thickening his voice. He banged his closed fist on the railing. “First he was robbed blind, deceived by lies and canting ways, and now you accuse him of some terrible sin! He’s never done anything worse than dodge school a few times when he was younger. You-you’re disgusting!”
Rathbone leaned forward a little. “Mr. Bicknor, Mr. Gavinton is only putting to you a possible reason as to why your son might have been coerced so easily into giving more money than he could afford. There is nothing dishonorable in seeking to pay your debts to God by giving generously to those less fortunate.” He drew in a breath. “And we all have debts to God-the honest among us acknowledge it.”
Bicknor looked at Rathbone in silent misery. He wanted to argue, but he dared not. Rathbone represented the majesty of the law, which Bicknor had respected all his life. The answers were in his head, but he was afraid to give them.
“Thank you, my lord,” Gavinton said, instantly turning Rathbone’s remarks to his own advantage.
Rathbone had a sudden flash of empathy for Bicknor. The result was not what he intended. He must be more careful.
“Do not thank me yet,” he snapped. “It is one of the skills of those who cheat people out of their money to make them feel guilty for nameless sins they have not committed. As I am sure Mr. Warne will point out on his reexamination of the witness.”
Warne did not bother to hide his smile.
Gavinton bit his lip in order to suppress the objection he would like to have made. He was taken by surprise. He had thought Rathbone less brave, possibly even less involved.
Bicknor’s shoulders eased and he gripped the railing again, but this time not as if he intended to break it.
“You can think what you like,” he said to Gavinton. “It’s your job to be on his side.” He glanced up at the dock, then back to Gavinton again. “God help you. You’ve got to live with yourself. My son’s got a soft heart, not a guilty one. Maybe a bit of a soft head, to believe that … that liar!” This time he only nodded toward the dock.
Gavinton opened his mouth to protest, then glanced at the jury and changed his mind. He sat down and offered the witness back to Warne.
Warne walked over to the witness stand, his limp barely noticeable now. He was smiling, in spite of an apparent effort not to.
“Mr. Bicknor, are you aware of your son having a major issue of conscience at any time in his life, of the sort or degree that Mr. Gavinton has suggested?”
“No, sir, I am not,” Bicknor said loudly.
Warne was not finished yet.
“On the other hand, have you known him to be generous to those less fortunate?” he persisted. “To share what he had, for example? To be willing, as a child, to let others play with his toys?”
“Yes,” Bicknor agreed immediately. “We taught him in that way. He has sisters, and he was always good to them. Younger, they are. He looked out for them.”
“Did they take advantage of him?” Warne went on.
Bicknor smiled. “They’re little girls! Course they did! And of me too. Some people think little girls is all weak and soft. I’ll tell you, they aren’t. Sweet and gentle, all right, but clever as little monkeys, they are. A man who hasn’t had little girls has missed out on one of the best things in life. But anyone who thinks they’re daft is in for a very big surprise.”
Warne’s smile was wide and surprisingly sweet. “Thank you, Mr. Bicknor. I really don’t think I have to ask you any more. It seems clear to me that your son is a decent man taken advantage of by those he had been brought up to trust.”
Gavinton rose to his feet. “My lord, Mr. Warne is making speeches; he is all but directing the jury as to their conclusions.”
“You suggested Mr. Bicknor was a guilty man seeking to buy off his conscience with money,” Rathbone pointed out. “This seems a fair rebuttal. It is an alternative explanation for a piece of behavior that is crucial to the case.” He turned back to Warne. “Please call your next witness, Mr. Warne.”
The prosecution continued for the rest of the day. Warne had enough wisdom to choose a variety of people, old and young, men and women, those who had given from wealth and those who had offered almost all they had. In each case they had done so believing it would be used to help those in desperate need. It became very apparent that Cuthbert Bicknor was one of very many.
John Raleigh was also among them. He looked gaunt and worried, a man prematurely old for his years as he mounted the witness stand. He was no more than Rathbone’s own age, and yet he looked pale and beaten. It was clear that Warne found it difficult to question him at all, so sensitive was he to the man’s deep unhappiness and shame.
And yet Raleigh was exactly who he needed to make the case. He was so obviously an honest man, harrowed by the fact that he was now deeply in debt. Gavinton would have been a fool to attack him. Not only was he sincere, he was articulate.
Warne treated him with respect. He walked out slowly to the center of the floor and looked up. His voice when he spoke was quiet and clear.
“Mr. Raleigh, would you please explain to the court why you went on donating to Mr. Taft’s causes when it stretched your means beyond what was wise? Some people may not understand why you did not simply tell him that you could not.”
Raleigh looked embarrassed. It was so apparent in his face that even Rathbone, long used to the acute distress of witnesses, found himself uncomfortable, as if he were intruding into some private issue that he should have had the sense and the good taste not to observe in the first place.
“Mr. Taft told us the most pitiful stories of the plight of those he intended to help,” Raleigh said, his voice soft but clear. “I was very moved by it,” he went on, lifting his chin and facing Warne and the court as if he were walking into battle. “I … I gave more than I should have, and then found myself facing the choice of paying one bill, or another. One has certain expenses that one deals with so regularly they become invisible. And then, as always, there’s the unexpected thing. I …” He took a deep breath.
Rathbone looked at him with concern. “Are you able to continue, Mr. Raleigh?” he said gently. “If you would like a few moments to collect yourself, you may take them.”
“No, thank you, my lord,” Raleigh answered. “If I am man enough to do it, I must have the honesty to explain myself. I am far from being the only one so … embarrassed for means. Mr. Taft asked me how much I had in the bank, and if I would not trust in God to provide for me if I gave all I could to fellow human souls who were perishing for lack of food or shelter. What answer could an honest man give, except that of course I would?”
“And what happened, Mr. Raleigh?” Warne asked, his face filled with pity.
