Rathbone waited in vain for Warne to object. It seemed he had been attacked completely on the blind side and had no idea what to challenge, or how. Please heaven that by the time he came to cross-examine Drew he would have some weapon for a counterattack. Gavinton had managed to raise considerable doubt as to the veracity of any of the evidence against Taft. In fact, he had made it look like the fabrication of a rather unbalanced woman, with the help of a frankly semi-criminal former brothel keeper.
There was a bitter irony to it that cut Rathbone deeply. It was exactly what he had done in defense of Jericho Phillips-who had been guilty of far more depravity than Abel Taft. A single look at Gavinton’s face showed that he was quite aware of it and that he savored it with relish.
The remaining part of the day Gavinton spent in going through the facts and figures in the accounts that condemned Taft. Drew had explanations for all of it. Gavinton was careful what he chose to ask about, but there was such a mass of information that the jury began to look glassy-eyed. Presumably that was Gavinton’s intention. You cannot convict a man if you do not understand the entirety of what he is supposed to have done.
Rathbone left for the day disturbed by his inability to do anything except watch and listen as Gavinton reversed the whole atmosphere and flavor of the case. He had begun the day backed into a corner from which it looked as if he had no escape; he had ended it having painted Hester as a hysterical and somewhat foolish woman with a habit of meddling in affairs that were really not her concern, at times to tragic results, and that in this case she had accused a good man of a criminal fraud of which he was entirely innocent.
Gavinton would call Taft tomorrow, as soon as Warne had had a chance to question Robertson Drew. Drew was supremely confident; it oozed out of him like sweat on a hot day. Rathbone imagined he could smell it in the air, oily and sickly sweat.
What could Warne attack? Rathbone had no doubt that Drew’s account of Hester’s involvement was accurate in all its main assumptions. He knew Hester well enough to believe that it was precisely what she would do. He wondered for a moment why she had not mentioned it at least one of the times they had met in the past month. Of course the bookkeeper clever enough and sufficiently well versed in fraud to understand Taft’s tricks was Squeaky Robinson. Rathbone had met Squeaky a few times and recognized the description. It was Rathbone who had tricked Squeaky out of the brothel buildings in Portpool Lane, the same buildings Hester had turned into the clinic. Squeaky had had a twisted and reluctant respect for Rathbone ever since. And if he was honest with himself, Rathbone had a certain respect for Squeaky also. That alone might answer why Hester had not burdened him with knowledge of the affair.
How like her!
Perhaps it would be unwise to see her. She might very well be called as a witness.
He thought about it as his hansom wove in and out of the other carriages on the road. He was still turning it over in his mind as he entered his house.
What was there that Warne could rebut? Would it be in his interests or only make matters worse, if he were to delve into the accounts again and try to argue any of the figures? Gavinton had very cleverly seen to it that the jury’s threshold for details about numbers was crossed and left far behind.
Rathbone gave his hat and stick to his butler and asked him to bring a whisky and soda.
Were the proceedings Rathbone had watched play out in court, without any interference from himself, evidence of brilliant legal ability on Gavinton’s part, or somehow a sleight of hand that he ought to have been able to prevent? Did it even matter, as far as he was concerned, whether Taft was innocent or guilty? His title was “judge,” but actually he had no legal or moral right to judge the most important issue they were met to decide. He was there to make sure that the law was observed, to the letter and to the spirit. The verdict was the jury’s alone.
But surely there was something he could do?
He chose to sit in his study rather than the withdrawing room. The withdrawing room was beautiful, but it had been so much Margaret’s room as well as his that memories of her haunted it. These were not happy thoughts intruding into today’s loneliness; they were a sad recognition of things he should have better understood, futile now because he could not go back.
He sipped the whisky and let the flavor and the fire of it roll around in his mouth.
Eventually he put the glass down and went outside to walk through the garden in the twilight and listen to the soft sounds of the oncoming night.
The following day Gavinton recalled Robertson Drew to the stand. They did not refer to Hester again but instead directed the attack at Gethen Sawley, the witness who had produced the crucial papers, the only physical evidence of fraud.
Rathbone wondered if Gavinton intended to produce anyone from the charity that supposedly had received the money. Warne had not. Surely, if such a person existed, that would put an end to the matter? Perhaps they did not exist, and Warne would tell the jury so in his summation; that would be the best time to do it. They could not possibly forget!
He returned his attention to the proceedings.
Gavinton was asking Drew about Cuthbert Bicknor.
Drew was very composed today. He shrugged casually. “A pleasant young man, but-I have to be honest-very easily influenced. Desperate to be liked, approved of.” He sighed. “It is not a fault. I’m sure we can all understand the need for the regard of our fellows. And if you want friends, where better to look for them than in a church?” He raised his hands in a gesture of inclusion, and smiled toward the jury. “You will meet good people, well spoken, sober, generous, seeking to become even better. But”-he let out his breath in a sigh-“it is possible to mistake a politely friendly manner for something deeper. I think Cuthbert read meaning into people’s words that his interlocutors may not have intended. Because of that, he gave away his money too easily and realized afterward that he had overstretched himself, and then he didn’t know what to do about it.”
“But he was willing for his father to testify on his behalf against Mr. Taft,” Gavinton pointed out. “Quite powerfully, in fact. That doesn’t sound like the act of a young man so devoted to the church and its congregation that he would bankrupt himself.”
Drew waved his hand with a slightly impatient dismissal. “I did not say that he was devoted to the church, sir. I said he was looking for friendship and that approval mattered to him rather out of proportion to … I don’t want to be unkind, but to an emotional balance. I am sure that if a lawyer as skilled and charming as Mr. Warne were to pay him attention and court his … his desire to be important, then he would find some way of obliging him, no matter the request.”
This time Warne did rise to his feet. “My lord, Mr. Drew is all but accusing me of suborning perjury, and Mr. Bicknor of being of less than sound mind. Mr. Bicknor is not here to refute that, but I most certainly am. If Mr. Drew believes that I coerced Mr. Bicknor’s father’s testimony, then I require that he provide proof. And if I were to call him a liar, as I would dearly like to, I still require proof, or I myself will stand condemned.”
“Your point is well taken, Mr. Warne,” Rathbone said with some relief. “Mr. Drew, you are not free to say whatever you like because you are in the witness stand. If you are suggesting that Mr. Warne has acted inappropriately, or that Mr. Bicknor is emotionally unstable, we require evidence to that end, not just your conjecture. If not, I advise you to be careful, Mr. Drew. I see several journalists in the public gallery, and your parishioners would be less loyal to you, I think, if they fully appreciated the extent, or lack, of your loyalty to them.”
Gavinton was furious. His face lost its smooth control. “My lord! Mr. Drew’s words may have been a little … ill chosen … but he is only attempting to tell the court the truth. Cuthbert Bicknor, through his father, has attempted to slander Mr. Taft and accuse him of a most despicable fraud. Mr. Taft has the right to defend himself, and for others to defend him, from this charge. It is not only his livelihood that is at stake-it is also his good name, which is of far more importance to him, as is true of many of us.”
“Indeed,” Rathbone agreed. “As is Mr. Warne’s. Perhaps this problem can be answered by allowing Mr. Warne a certain latitude in questioning this witness, so as to establish what grounds Mr. Drew has for making such an allegation.”
Gavinton frowned. He turned to Drew again.
“Let us leave the subject of Mr. Bicknor. The main evidence of a material nature, something more than hearsay and supposition, is this large sheaf of accounting papers Mr. Sawley says he obtained from the man with
