William Monk 03 - Defend and Betray

what can we do?”
    “Find some more evidence,” Rathbone replied. “Find out who else is involved.”
    Monk thought for a few moments, his hands knotted hard in his lap.
    “That should be possible: either they came to the house or the child was taken to them. The servants will know who called. The footmen ought to know where the boy went.” His face pinched with anger. “Poor little devil!” He looked at Rathbone critically. “But even if you prove other men used him, will that prove that his father did, and that Alexandra knew it?”
    “You give me the evidence,” Rathbone replied. “Everything you get, whether you think it is relevant or not. I’ll decide how to use it.”
    Monk rose to his feet, scraping back his chair, his whole body hard with anger.
    “Then we have no time to lose. God knows there is little enough.”
    “And I shall go to try and persuade Alexandra Carlyon toallow us to use the truth,” Rathbone said with a tight little smile. “Without her consent we have nothing.”
    “Oliver.” Hester was aghast.
    He turned to her, touching her very gently.
    “Don’t worry, my dear. You have done superbly. You have discovered the truth. Now leave me to do my part.”
    She met his eyes, dark and brilliant, took a deep breath and let it out slowly, forcing herself to relax.
    “Of course. I’m sorry. Go and see Alexandra. I shall go and tell Callandra. She will be as appalled as we are.”
        Alexandra Carlyon turned from the place where she had been standing, staring up at the small square of light of the cell window. She was surprised to see Rathbone.
    The door swung shut with a hollow sound of metal on metal, and they were alone.
    “You are wasting your time, Mr. Rathbone,” she said huskily. “I cannot tell you anything more.”
    “You don’t need to, Mrs. Carlyon,” he said very gently. “I know why you killed your husband—and God help me, had I been in your place I might have done the same.”
    She stared at him uncomprehendingly.
    “To save your son from further unnatural abuse …”
    What little color there was left fled from her face. Her eyes were wide, so hollow as to seem black in the dim light.
    “You—know …” She sank onto the cot. “You can’t. Please …”
    He sat on the bottom of the cot, facing her.
    “My dear, I understand that you were prepared to go to the gallows rather than expose your son to the world’s knowledge of his suffering. But I have something very dreadful to tell you, which must change your mind.”
    Very slowly she raised her head and looked at him.
    “Your husband was not the only one to use him in that way.”
    Her breath caught in her throat, and she seemed unable to find it again. He thought she was going to faint.
    “You must fight,” he said softly but with intense urgency.“It seems most probable that his grandfather is another—and there is at least a third, if not more. You must use all the courage you have and tell the truth about what happened, and why. We must destroy them, so they can never harm Cassian again, or any other child.”
    She shook her head, still struggling to breathe.
    “You must!” He took both her hands. At first they were limp, then slowly tightened until they clung onto him as if she were drowning. “You must! Otherwise Cassian will go to his grandparents, and the whole tragedy will continue. You will have killed your husband for nothing. And you yourself will hang—for nothing.”
    “I can’t.” The words barely passed her lips.
    “Yes you can! You are not alone. There are people who will be with you, people as horrified and appalled as you are, who know the truth and will help us fight to prove it. For your son’s sake, you must not give up now. Tell the truth, and I will fight to see that it is believed—and understood.”
    “Can you?”
    He took a deep breath and met her eyes.
    “Yes—I can.”
    She stared at him, exhausted beyond emotion.
    “I can,” he repeated.

9
    T
he trial of Alexandra Carlyon
began on the morning of Monday, June 22. Major Tiplady had intended to be present, not out of cheap curiosity; normally he shunned such proceedings as he would have an accident had a horse bolted in the street and thrown and trampled its rider. It was a vulgar intrusion into another person’s embarrassment and distress. But in this case he felt a deep and personal concern for the outcome, and he wished to demonstrate his support for Alexandra, and for the Carlyon family,