William Monk 03 - Defend and Betray

purring, his movements tigerlike. “You spoke most franklyabout the Carlyon family, and I accept that you have told us all you know, trivial as that is.” He looked up at Hargrave in the high, pulpitlike witness stand. “Am I correct, Dr. Hargrave, in supposing that your friendship with them dates back some fifteen or sixteen years?”
    “Yes, you are.” Hargrave was puzzled; he had already said this to Lovat-Smith.
    “In fact as a friendship with the family, rather than General Carlyon, it ceased some fourteen years ago, and you have seen little of them since then?”
    “I—suppose so.” Hargrave was reluctant, but not disturbed; his sandy face held no disquiet. It seemed a minor point.
    “So in fact you cannot speak with any authority on the character of, for example, Mrs. Felicia Carlyon? Or Colonel Carlyon?”
    Hargrave shrugged. It was an oddly graceful gesture. “If you like. It hardly seems to matter; they are not on trial.”
    Rathbone smiled, showing all his teeth.
    “But you mentioned your friendship with General Carlyon?”
    “Yes. I was his physician, as well as that of his wife and family.”
    “Indeed, I am coming to that. You say that Mrs. Carlyon, the accused, began to exhibit signs of extreme distress-indeed you used the word
hysteria
?”
    “Yes—I regret to say she did,” Hargrave agreed.
    “What did she do, precisely, Doctor?”
    Hargrave looked uncomfortable. He glanced at the judge, who met his eyes without response.
    “The question disturbs you?” Rathbone remarked.
    “It seems unnecessarily—exposing—of a patient’s vulnerability,” Hargrave replied, but his eyes remained on Rathbone; Alexandra herself might have been absent for all the awareness he showed of her.
    “You may leave Mrs. Carlyon’s interest in my hands,” Rathbone assured him. “I am here to represent her. Please answer my question. Describe her behavior. Did shescream?” He leaned back a little to stare up at Hargrave, his eyes very wide. “Did she faint, take a fit?” He spread his hands wide. “Throw herself about, have hallucinations? In what way was she hysterical?”
    Hargrave sighed impatiently. “You exhibit a layman’s idea of hysteria, if you pardon my saying so. Hysteria is a state of mind where control is lost, not necessarily a matter of uncontrolled physical behavior.”
    “How did you know her mind was out of control, Dr. Hargrave?” Rathbone was very polite. Watching him, Monk longed for him to be thoroughly rude, to tear Hargrave to pieces in front of the jury. But his better sense knew it would forfeit their sympathy, which in the end was what would win or lose them the case—and Alexandra’s life.
    Hargrave thought for a moment before beginning.
    “She could not keep still,” he said at length. “She kept moving from one position to another, at times unable even to remain seated. Her whole body shook and when she picked up something, I forget what, it slipped through her fingers. Her voice was trembling and she fumbled her words. She wept uncontrollably.”
    “But no deliriums, hallucinations, fainting, screaming?” Rathbone pressed.
    “No. I have told you not.” Hargrave was impatient and he glanced at the jury, knowing he had their sympathy.
    “Tell us, Dr. Hargrave, how would this behavior differ from that of someone who had just received a severe shock and was extremely distressed, even agonized, by her experience?”
    Hargrave thought for several seconds.
    “I cannot think that it would,” he said at last. “Except that she did not speak of any shock, or discovery.”
    Rathbone opened his eyes wide, as if mildly surprised. “She did not even hint that she had learned her husband had betrayed her with another woman?”
    He leaned a little forward over the rail of the witness box. “No—no, she did not. I think I have already said, Mr. Rathbone, that she could have made no such dramatic discovery,because it was not so. This affair, if you wish to call it that, was all in her imagination.”
    “Or yours, Doctor,” Rathbone said, his voice suddenly gritted between his teeth.
    Hargrave flushed, but with embarrassment and anger rather than guilt. His eyes remained fixed on Rathbone and there was no evasion in them.
    “I answered your question, Mr. Rathbone,” he said bitterly. “You are putting words into my mouth. I did not say there was an affair, indeed I said there was not!”
    “Just so,” Rathbone agreed, turning back to the body of the court