The Twisted Root

standing."
    The vicar looked a trifle startled.
    Rathbone was not. He knew exactly what Tobias was doing: establishing a pattern of Cleo’s and Miriam’s loyalty to each other, of Miriam’s marrying a man with a prosperous business and then sharing her good fortune with her original benefactress, who had become as a mother to her. He did it extremely well, painting a picture of the woman and child struggling in considerable hardship, their closeness to one another, the happiness of Miriam on finding a worthy man, albeit older than herself, but gentle and apparently devoted to her.
    It had not been a great romance, but a good, stable marriage—and certainly all that a girl in Miriam’s position might have hoped for. A love match with a man her own age and class would not have brought her much material status or security.
    Tobias made his point well and delicately. Again there was nothing whatever Rathbone could call into question.
    Had Miriam shared her new good fortune with Cleo Anderson?
    "Naturally," the vicar replied. "What loving daughter would not?"
    "Just so," Tobias agreed, and let the matter rest.
    When the court was adjourned for the day Rathbone went immediately to see Miriam. She was alone in the police cells, her face drawn, her eyes dark. She did not ask him why he had not crossexamined, and her silence made it harder for him. He had no idea if she had even hoped for anything, or how much she understood. It was so easy, when he was accustomed to the flow of a trial and its hidden meanings, to assume that others were as aware. He would have liked to allow her the mercy of remaining unaware of how serious her situation was, but he could not afford to.
    He drew in his breath to ask her the usual question as to her feelings, or to offer some words of encouragement, true or not, but they would be empty and a waste of precious time and emotion. It would make almost a greater division between them, if that was possible. Honesty, his honesty, was all they had.
    "Mrs. Gardiner, you must tell me the truth. I was silent today because I have no weapon to use against Tobias. He knows it, but if make a show of fighting him, and lose, then the jury will know it as well. Now they think I am merely biding my time. But I am walking blindly. I don’t know what he may know that I don’t. Or what he may discover—which is worse."
    She turned half away from him. "Nothing. There is nothing he can discover."
    "He can discover who killed James Treadwell!" he said sharply. The time for any consideration of feeling was past. The rope was already overshadowing not only her but Cleo also.
    She turned slowly to look at him. "I doubt that, Sir Oliver. They would not believe it, even if I were to tell them. And I won’t. Believe me, it would cause far greater injury than it would ever heal. I have no proof, and all the evidence you have, as you have said, is against me."
    The cells were warm, even stuffy, but he felt chilled in spite of it.
    "It is my task to make them believe it." He feared even as he said it that she had closed her mind and was not listening to him. "At least allow me to try?" He was sounding desperate. He could hear it in the stridency of his voice.
    "I am sorry you don’t believe me," she said softly. "But it is true that it would cause more pain than any good it would do. At least accept that I have thought long and very hard about it before I have made this decision. I do understand that I will hang. I have no delusion that some miracle is going to save me. And you have not lied to me or given me any false sense of comfort. For that I thank you."
    Her gratitude was like a rebuff, reminding him of how little he had actually done. He was going to be no more than a figurehead, barely fulfilling the requirements of the law that she be represented. The prosecution need not have called in Tobias, the merest junior could have presented this case and beaten him.
    He found he was shaking, his hands clenched tight. "It is not only you who will hang—Cleo Anderson will as well!"
    Her voice choked. "I know. But what can I do?" She looked at him, her eyes swimming with tears. "I will testify that I was there and that it was not she who killed him, if you want. But who would believe me? They think we are conspirators anyway. They expect me to defend her. I can’t prove she wasn’t there, and I can’t prove he wasn’t blackmailing her or that she didn’t take the medicines. She did!"
    What she said was