William Monk 03 - Defend and Betray

do not philosophize.”
    “I apologize, my lord. Thank you, Mr. Furnival, that is all.”
    “Mr. Rathbone?” the judge invited.
    Rathbone rose to his feet and faced the witness box.
    “Mr. Furnival, may I take you back to earlier in the evening; to be precise, when Mrs. Erskine went upstairs to see your son. Do you recall that?”
    “Yes.” Maxim looked puzzled.
    “Did she tell you, either then or later, what transpired when she was upstairs?”
    Maxim frowned. “No.”
    “Did anyone else—for example, your son, Valentine?”
    “No.”
    “Both you and Mrs. Furnival have testified that when Mrs. Erskine came down again she was extremely distressed, so much so that she was unable to behave normally for the rest of the evening. Is that correct?”
    “Yes.” Maxim looked embarrassed. Hester guessed not for himself but for Damaris. It was indelicate to refer to someone’s emotional behavior in public, particularly a woman, and a friend. Gentlemen did not speak of such things.
    Rathbone flashed him a brief smile.
    “Thank you. Now back to the vexing question of whether Mrs. Furnival and General Carlyon were having any nature of relationship which was improper. You have sworn that at no time during the fifteen years or so of their friendship did you have any cause to believe it was not perfectly open and seemly, and all that either you as Mrs. Furnival’s husband, or the accused as the general’s wife, would have agreed to—as indeed you did agree. Do I understand you correctly, sir?”
    Several of the jurors were looking sideways up at Alexandra, their faces curious.
    “Yes, you do. At no time did I have any cause whatsoever to believe it was anything but a perfectly proper friendship,” Maxim said stiffly, his eyes on Rathbone, his brows drawn down in concentration.
    Hester glanced at the jury and saw one or two of them nodding. They believed him; his honesty was transparent, as was his discomfort.
    “Did you suppose Mrs. Carlyon to feel the same?”
    “Yes! Yes I did!” Maxim’s face became animated for the first time since the subject had been raised. “I—I still find it hard—”
    “Indeed,” Rathbone cut him off. “Did she ever say anything in your hearing, or do anything at all, to indicate that she thought otherwise? Please—please be quite specific. I do not wish for speculation or interpretation in the light of later events. Did she ever express anger or jealousy of Mrs. Furnival with regard to her husband and their relationship?”
    “No—never,” Maxim said without hesitation. “Nothing at all.” He had avoided looking across at Alexandra, as if afraid the jury might misinterpret his motives or doubt his honesty, but now he could not stop his eyes from flickering for a moment towards her.
    “You are quite certain?” Rathbone insisted.
    “Quite.”
    The judge frowned, looking closely at Rathbone. He leaned forward as if to say something, then changed his mind.
    Lovat-Smith frowned also.
    “Thank you, Mr. Furnival.” Rathbone smiled at him. “You have been very frank, and it is much appreciated. It is distasteful to all of us to have to ask such questions and open up to public speculation what should remain private, but the force of circumstances leaves us no alternative. Now unless Mr. Lovat-Smith has some further questions for you, you may leave the stand.”
    “No—thank you,” Lovat-Smith replied, half rising to his feet. “None at all.”
    Maxim left, going down the steps slowly, and the next witness was called, Sabella Carlyon Pole. There was a ripple of expectation around the court, murmurs of excitement, rustles of fabric against fabric as people shifted position, craned forward in the gallery, jostling each other.
    “That’s the daughter,” someone said to Hester’s left. “Mad, so they say. ’Ated her father.”
    “I ’ate my father,” came the reply. “That don’t make me mad!”
    “Sssh,” someone else hissed angrily.
    Sabella came into the court and walked across the floor, head high, back stiff, and took the stand. She was very pale, but her face was set in an expression of defiance, and she looked straight at her mother in the dock and forced herself to smile.
    For the first time since the trial had begun, Alexandra looked as if her composure would break. Her mouth quivered, the steady gaze softened, she blinked several times. Hester could not bear to watch her; she looked away, and felt a coward, and yet had she not turned, she would have