William Monk 03 - Defend and Betray

general.
    “Very well. Proceed,” the judge directed.
    “Did you find the cause of Mrs. Erskine’s distress, Mrs. Furnival?” Rathbone resumed.
    “No.”
    “Nor of Mrs. Carlyon’s distress either? Is it an assumption that it had to do with you, and your relationship with the general?”
    Louisa frowned.
    “Is that not so, Mrs. Furnival? Did Mrs. Carlyon ever say anything either to you, or in your hearing, to suggest that shewas distressed because of a jealousy of you and your friendship with her husband? Please be exact.”
    Louisa drew in her breath deeply, her face shadowed, but still she did not glance towards the dock or the motionless woman in it.
    “No.”
    Rathbone smiled, showing his teeth.
    “Indeed, you have testified that she had nothing of which to be jealous. Your friendship with the general was perfectly proper, and a sensible woman might conceivably have regarded it as enviable that you could have such a comfortable regard, perhaps, but not cause for distress, let alone a passionate jealousy or hatred. Indeed there seems no reason for it at all. Is that not so?”
    “Yes.” It was not a flattering description, and certainly not glamorous, or the image Hester had seen Louisa project. Hester smiled to herself and glanced at Monk, but Monk had not caught the inflection. He was watching the jury.
    “And this friendship between yourself and the general had existed for many years, some thirteen or fourteen years, in fact?”
    “Yes.”
    “With the full knowledge and consent of your husband?”
    “Of course.”
    “And of Mrs. Carlyon?”
    “Yes.”
    “Did she at any time at all approach you on the matter, or let you know that she was displeased about it?”
    “No.” Louisa raised her eyebrows. “This came without any warning at all.”
    “What came, Mrs. Furnival?”
    “Why the … the murder, of course.” She looked a little disconcerted, not entirely sure whether he was very simple or very clever.
    He smiled blandly, a slight curling of the lips. “Then on what evidence do you suppose that jealousy of you was the cause?”
    She breathed in slowly, giving herself time, and her expression hardened.
    “I—I did not think it, until she herself claimed it to be so. But I have experienced unreasonable jealousies before, and it was not hard to believe. Why should she lie about it? It is not a quality one would wish to claim—it is hardly attractive.”
    “A profound question, Mrs. Furnival, which in time I will answer. Thank you.” He half turned away. “That is all I have to ask you. Please remain there, in case my learned friend has any questions to redirect to you.”
    Lovat-Smith rose, smiling, a small, satisfied gesture.
    “No thank you, I think Mrs. Furnival by her very appearance makes the motive of jealousy more than understandable.”
    Louisa flushed, but it was quite obviously with pleasure, even a vindication. She shot a hard glance at Rathbone as she very carefully came down the steps, negotiating the hoops of her wide skirts with a swaggering grace, and walked across the small space of the floor.
    There was a rustle of movement in the crowd and a few clearly audible shouts of admiration and approval. Louisa sailed out with her head high and an increasing satisfaction in her face.
    Hester found her muscles clenching and a totally unreasonable anger boiling up inside her. It was completely unfair. Louisa could not know the truth, and in all likelihood she believed that Alexandra had murdered the general out of exactly the sudden and violent jealousy she envisioned. But Hester’s anger remained exactly the same.
    She looked up at the dock and saw Alexandra’s pale face. She could see no hatred in it, no easy contempt. There was nothing there but tiredness and fear.
    The next witness to be called was Maxim Furnival. He took the stand very gravely, his face pale. He was stronger than Hester had remembered, with more gravity and power to his features, more honest emotion. He had not testified yet, but she found herself disposed towards him. She glancedup at Alexandra again, and saw a momentary breaking of her self-control, a sudden softening, as if memories, and perhaps a sweetness, came through with bitter contrast. Then it was gone again, and the present reasserted itself.
    Maxim was sworn in, and Lovat-Smith rose to address him.
    “Of course you were also at this unfortunate dinner party, Mr. Furnival?”
    Maxim looked wretched; he had none of Louisa’s panache or