William Monk 03 - Defend and Betray

felt intrusive. She did not know which was worse.
    Sabella swore to her name and place of residence, and to her relationship with the accused.
    “I realize this must be painful for you, Mrs. Pole,” Lovat-Smith began courteously. “I wish it were possible for me tospare you it, but I regret it is not. However I will try to be brief. Do you recall the evening of the dinner party at which your father met his death?”
    “Of course! It is not the sort of thing one forgets.”
    “Naturally.” Lovat-Smith was a trifle taken aback. He had been expecting a woman a little tearful, even afraid of him, or at the very least awed by the situation. “I understand that as soon as you arrived you had a disagreement with your father, is that correct?”
    “Yes, perfectly.”
    “What was that about, Mrs. Pole?”
    “He was patronizing about my views that there was going to be trouble in the army in India. As it turns out, I was correct.”
    There was a murmur of sympathy around the room, and another sharper one of irritation that she should presume to disagree with a military hero, a man, and her father—and someone who was dead and could not answer for himself; still worse, that the appalling news coming in on the India and China mail ships should prove her right.
    “Is that all?” Lovat-Smith raised his eyebrows.
    “Yes. It was a few sharp words, no more.”
    “Did your mother quarrel with him that evening?”
    Hester looked sideways at the dock. Alexandra’s face was tense, filled with anxiety, but Hester believed it was fear for Sabella, not for herself.
    “I don’t know. Not in my hearing,” Sabella answered levelly.
    “Have you ever heard your parents quarrel?”
    “Of course.”
    “On what subject, in the last six months, let us say?”
    “Particularly, over whether my brother Cassian should be sent away to boarding school or remain at home and have a tutor. He is eight years old.”
    “Your parents disagreed?”
    “Yes.”
    “Passionately?” Lovat-Smith looked curious and surprised.
    “Yes,” she said tartly. “Apparently they felt passionately about it.”
    “Your mother wished him to remain at home with her, and your father wished him to begin his training for adulthood?”
    “Not at all. It was Father who wanted him at home. Mama wanted him to go away to school.”
    Several jurors looked startled, and more than one turned to look at Alexandra.
    “Indeed!” Lovat-Smith also sounded surprised, but uninterested in such details, although he had asked for them. “What else?”
    “I don’t know. I have my own home, Mr. Lovat-Smith. I visited my parents very infrequently. I did not have a close relationship with my father, as I am sure you know. My mother visited me in my home often. My father did not.”
    “I see. But you were aware that the relationship between your parents was strained, and on the evening of the unfortunate dinner party, particularly so?”
    Sabella hesitated, and in so doing betrayed her partiality. Hester saw the jury’s faces harden, as if something inside had closed; from now on they would interpret a difference in her answers. One man turned curiously and looked at Alexandra, then away again, as if caught peeping. It too was a betraying gesture.
    “Mrs. Pole?” Lovat-Smith prompted her.
    “Yes, of course I was aware of it. Everyone was.”
    “And the cause? Think carefully: knowing your mother, as close to you as she was, did she say anything which allowed you to understand the cause of her anger?”
    Rathbone half rose to his feet, then as the judge glanced at him, changed his mind and sank back again. The jury saw it and their faces lit with expectancy.
    Sabella spoke very quietly. “When people are unhappy with each other, there is not necessarily a specific cause for each disagreement. My father was very arbitrary at times, very dictatorial. The only subject of quarrel I know of was over Cassian and his schooling.”
    “Surely you are not suggesting your mother murdered your father because of his choice of education for his son, Mrs. Pole?” Lovat-Smith’s voice, charming and distinctive, was filled with incredulity only just short of the offensive.
    In the dock Alexandra moved forward impulsively, and the wardress beside her moved also, as if it were even conceivable she should leap over the edge. The gallery could not see it, but the jurors started in their seats.
    Sabella said nothing. Her soft oval face hardened and she stared at him, not knowing what