William Monk 03 - Defend and Betray

used to seeing him in ordinary clothes and informal in his manner. Now he was quite obviously thinking only of the contest ahead on which depended not only Alexandra’s life but perhaps the quality of Cassian’s also. Hester and Monk had done all they could; now it lay with Rathbone. He was a lone gladiator in the arena, and the crowd was hungering for blood. As he turned she saw the familiar profile with its long nose and delicate mouth so ready to change from pity to anger, and back to wry, quick humor again.
    “It’s going to begin,” someone whispered behind her. “That’s the defense. It’s Rathbone—I wonder what he’s going to say?”
    “Nothing ’e can say,” came the reply from a man somewhere to her left. “Don’t know why ’e bothers. They should ’ang ’er, save the government the money.”
    “Save us, more like.”
    “Ssh!”
    “Ssh yerself!”
    Monk swung around, his voice vicious. “If you don’t want a trial you should vacate the seat and allow someone who does to sit in it. There are plenty of slaughterhouses in London if all you want is blood.”
    There was a gasp of fury.
    “ ’Ow dare you speak to my wife like that?” the man demanded.
    “I was speaking to you, sir,” Monk retorted. “I expect you to be responsible for your own opinions.”
    “Hold your tongue,” someone else said furiously. “Or we’ll all be thrown out! The judge is coming.”
    And indeed he was, splendid in robes touched with scarlet, white wig only slightly fuller than those of the lawyers. He was a tallish man with a broad brow and fine strong nose, short jaw and good mouth, but he was far younger than Hester had expected, and for no reason that she understood, her heart sank. In some way she had imagined a fatherly man might have more compassion, a grandfatherly man even more again. She found herself sitting forward on the edge of the hard bench, her hands clenched, her shoulders tight.
    There was a rising wave of excitement, then a sudden silence as the prisoner was brought in, a craning forward and turning of heads on the benches behind the lawyers, of all except one woman dressed entirely in black, and veiled. Beneath the gallery in the dock the prisoner had been brought in.
    Even the jury, seemingly against their will, found their eyes moving towards her.
    Hester cursed the arrangement which made it impossible to see the dock from the gallery.
    “We should have got seats down there,” she said to Monk, nodding her head towards the few benches behind the lawyers’ seats.
    “We?” he said acidly. “If it weren’t for me you’d be standing outside.”
    “I know—and I’m grateful. All the same, we should still try to get a seat down there.”
    “Then come an hour earlier next time.”
    “I will. But it doesn’t help now.”
    “What do you want to do?” he whispered sarcastically. “Lose these seats and go out and try to get in downstairs?”
    “Yes,” she hissed back. “Of course I do. Come on!”
    “Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll end up with nothing.”
    “You can do as you please. I’m going.”
    The woman in front swung around. “Be quiet,” she said furiously.
    “Mind your own business, madam,” Monk said, freezing calm, then grasped Hester by the elbow and propelled her out past the row of protesting onlookers. Up the aisle and outside in the hallway he maintained silence. They went down the stairs, and at the door of the lower court he let go of her.
    “All right,” he said with a scathing stare. “Now what do you propose to do?”
    She gulped, glared back at him, then swung around and marched to the doors.
    A bailiff appeared and barred the way. “I’m sorry. You can’t go in there, miss. It’s all full up. You should ’a come earlier. You’ll ’ave ter read about it in the papers.”
    “That will not be satisfactory,” she said with all the dignity she could muster. “We are involved in the case, retained by Mr. Rathbone, counsel for the defense. This is Mr. Monk,” she inclined her head slightly. “He is working with Mr. Rathbone, and Mr. Rathbone may need to consult with him during the course of the evidence. I am with him.”
    The bailiff looked over her head at Monk. “Is that true, sir?”
    “Certainly it is,” Monk said without a flicker, producing a card from his vest pocket.
    “Then you’d better go in,” the bailiff agreed cautiously. “But next time, get in ’ere a bit sooner, will you.”
    “Of course. We apologize,”