Oliver sank further into the chair, content to sit with his thoughts in the quiet room, without any necessity to stand up and light the gas.
Henry sucked thoughtfully on his pipe, but he knew he could allow the subject of the Alberton case to drop for this evening.
Rathbone was startled by Judith Alberton. He had expected the handsome house, suitably draped in black, curtains drawn, wreath on the door, and the straw in the street outside to muffle the sound of the horses’ hooves as they passed, the mirrors draped or turned to the wall. Some people even stopped the clocks. All widows wore mourning, the unrelieved black gown, except for perhaps a jet brooch or a locket, the decoration made of hair, which he found repellent.
But Judith Alberton’s face was so remarkable in its beauty, and the extraordinary power of emotion in it, that what she wore was irrelevant.
“Thank you for coming so soon, Sir Oliver,” she greeted him as he came into the dim withdrawing room. “I am afraid our predicament is very serious, as I expect Mr. Monk has told you. We are desperately in need of the most skilled help we can find. Has he described our situation?”
“An outline of it, Mrs. Alberton,” he replied, accepting the seat she indicated. “But there is a great deal more I need to understand if I am to do my best for you.” He avoided using the word
“Of course,” she agreed. At least outwardly she was perfectly composed. “I will tell you anything I can. I don’t know what can help.” Her confusion was plain in her eyes.
Her hands lay still in her lap on the black fabric, but they were stiff, the knuckles pale.
It was surprisingly difficult to begin. It was always unpleasant intruding on someone’s grief, probing into affairs which might show a side of the dead person that others had not known and which would have been so much less painful to have kept secret. But present danger did not allow such luxury. Her dignity in concealing her grief moved him more than weeping would have done.
“Mrs. Alberton, from what I have heard so far, there does not seem any way in which we can defend your daughter separately from Lyman Breeland.” He saw her lips tighten, but he could not afford to tell her what she wished to hear, rather than the truth. “They have both stated that they were together the whole of that night,” he continued. “Whether she was aware beforehand of what he intended to do, or was in any way a willing partner, can be argued, although we should need better proof than anything we have so far in order to convince a jury of it. Our only hope is to learn exactly what did happen, and then do the best we can to show anything that mitigates the blame. Unless, of course, we can show that there is a highly reasonable possibility that someone else altogether is guilty.” He said it with little hope.
“I don’t know what the truth is,” she said frankly. “I simply cannot believe that Merrit would do such a thing … not willingly. I don’t care for Mr. Breeland, Sir Oliver. I never did, but my husband had no such qualms. He did not sell him the guns simply because he had already committed himself to sell them to Mr. Trace, and accepted a payment of half the sum.”
“You are certain the money had been paid by Trace?”
“Oh, yes.”
“What about the money from Breeland?”
Her eyes flew open wide. “From Breeland? There was no money from him. He stole the guns. Surely that was the whole reason for-for murdering my husband and the guards, poor men. I have done what I can for their families, but no recompense makes up for the loss of someone you love.”
“One would assume robbery was his reason,” he agreed. “And yet surely he could have stolen the guns without killing anyone? A blow to the head would have overpowered them and kept them silent, and they would have been tied adequately to prevent any escape and pursuit.”
He saw the shadows in her eyes, the quick shock of pain as the realization came to her that perhaps her husband’s death was unnecessary to the theft, that he had been killed in hatred or cruelty, not as a part of war.
“I had not thought of that,” she replied very softly, her gaze lowered, as if to defend herself from his understanding.
He was painfully aware of it. He would not have pried were there any alternative, but time and the imperatives of the law allowed no mercy.
“Mrs. Alberton, if I am to defend your daughter, I am forced to defend Breeland as well, unless I can find some way to separate them in the eyes of the public, and therefore of a jury. I must know the truth, whatever that is. Believe me, I cannot afford to be surprised in this courtroom or to face an adversary who knows more of the facts than I do.” He shifted fractionally in his seat. “Knowledge is my only weapon, and all the skill in the world cannot defeat a man whose armory is vastly superior. David and Goliath is a fine story, and can be applied as metaphor to certain circumstances, but what is too often overlooked, or even forgotten, is that David did not stand alone. I have not his confidence that God is on my side.” He smiled as he said it, but in mockery of himself.
Her chin came up quickly and she met his eyes. “I have total confidence that Merrit did not have any willing hand in the murder of her father,” she said without hesitation, her voice strong. “But I do not believe that God intervenes in every miscarriage of justice. In fact, we all know perfectly well that He does not. Tell me what you need from me, Sir Oliver. I will give everything I have to save my daughter.”
He did not doubt that she meant it. Even had he not already formed an opinion of her, it was plain in her face, the urgency, the courage and the fear.
“I need all the facts that I can find,” he replied. “And I need your agreement that if it is necessary, which it may be, I shall represent Lyman Breeland as well, with whatever consequences may stem from that.” He watched her intently as he spoke, seeing the flicker in her gaze, the awareness of how repugnant it would be to ally herself with the man she believed had murdered her husband.
“Please consider it carefully before you reply, Mrs. Alberton,” he warned. “I do not know what I shall discover when I begin to look into it with more care, more thoroughness. I cannot promise you that it will be what you wish to know. All I can say is that if you employ me to act for you, I will do everything I can to serve your best interests. I can and will keep every confidence entrusted to me. But I will not lie to you, nor can I protect you from reality.”
“I understand.” She was very pale indeed, her body stiff, as if, were she to let go of the iron control she willed upon herself, she might collapse completely. “I will face whatever you may find. I believe in the end it will prove my daughter to be innocent of malice, if not of folly. Do whatever is needed, Sir Oliver.”
“That will include employing Monk again, to enquire into the case further than he has done so far.”
“Anything that you judge appropriate,” she agreed. “If you trust him, then I do. And he has already proved himself more than able by bringing Merrit home. How he managed to convince Breeland to come as well I cannot imagine.”
“At gunpoint, I understand,” he said dryly. “But apparently he claims that was more because Breeland wished to remain with his regiment than because he was afraid to face trial. He claims to have a complete defense, not only to murder but even to robbery.”
She said nothing. Emotions chased each other across her face: fear, pain, bewilderment, doubt.
He rose to his feet. “First I shall go and speak with Miss Alberton. I can proceed little until I have heard what she has to say.”
“Will you come back and tell me?” She stood up quickly. She moved with remarkable grace, and he was reminded again what a beautiful woman she was.
“I will keep you informed,” he promised. It was not quite the answer she had requested, but it was all he would commit himself to do. He wondered, as the footman showed him out, how deeply he might regret such a promise. He could imagine no outcome of this issue which would not bring with it deep and terrible pain. There seemed no answer which would not add to Judith Alberton’s loss.
He had no difficulty in obtaining an interview with Merrit. He stood in the small, bare room in the prison where she was being held prior to trial. It was stone-walled, washed with lime, the floor made of stone blocks. The hinges of the iron door were bedded deep into the jamb on one side, and the lock bit into the other, as if some desperate person might fling himself against it in a blind effort to escape.
