William Monk 03 - Defend and Betray

chin, looking away from where her mother and father sat upright in their row in the front of the gallery, now no longer witnesses. For an instant her eyes met Alexandra’s in the dock. Then she continued speaking. “I contacted a friend of mine, a Miss Hester Latterly, and asked her help to find a good lawyer to defend Alexandra—Mrs. Carlyon.”
    “Indeed?” Rathbone’s eyebrows shot up as if he were surprised, although surely almost everyone in the room must know he had planned this most carefully. “Why? She was charged with murdering your brother, this model man.”
    “At first—at first I thought she could not be guilty.” Edith’s voice trembled a little but she gained control again. “Then when it was proved to me beyond question that she was … that she had committed the act … I still thought there must be some better reason than the one she gave.”
    Lovat-Smith rose again.
    “My lord! I hope Mr. Rathbone is not going to ask the witness to draw some conclusion? Her faith in her sister-in-law is very touching, but it is not evidence of anything except her own gentle—and, forgive me, rather gullible—nature!”
    “My learned friend is leaping to conclusions, as I am afraid he is prone to do,” Rathbone said with a tiny smile.
    “I do not wish Mrs. Sobell to drawany conclusions at all, simply to lay a foundation for her subsequent actions, so the court will understand what she did, and why.”
    “Proceed, Mr. Rathbone,” the judge instructed.
    “Thank you, my lord. Mrs. Sobell, have you spent much time with your nephew, Cassian Carlyon, since his father’s death?”
    “Yes of course. He is staying in our house.”
    “How has he taken his father’s death?”
    “Irrelevant!” Lovat-Smith interrupted again. “How can a child’s grief possibly be pertinent to the accused’s guilt or innocence? We cannot turn a blind eye to murder because if we hanged the guilty person then a child would be robbed of both his parents—tragic as that is. And we all pity him …”
    “He does not need your pity, Mr. Lovat-Smith,” Rath-bone said irritably. “He needs you to hold your tongue and let me proceed with uncovering the truth.”
    “Mr. Rathbone,” the judge said tartly. “We sympathize with your predicament, and your frustration, but your language is discourteous, and I will not allow it. Nevertheless, Mr. Lovat-Smith, it is good counsel, and you will please observe it until you have an objection of substance. If you interrupt as often as this, we shall not reach a verdict before Michaelmas.”
    Lovat-Smith sat down with a broad smile.
    Rathbone bowed, then turned back to Edith.
    “I think you are now permitted to continue, Mrs. Sobell. If you please. What was your observation of Cassian’s manner?”
    Edith frowned in concentration.
    “It was very hard to understand,” she replied, thinking carefully. “He grieved for his father, but it seemed to be very—very adult. He did not cry, and at times he seemed very composed, almost relieved.”
    Lovat-Smith rose to his feet, and the judge waved him to sit down again. Rathbone turned to Edith.
    “Mrs. Sobell, will you please explain that curious word
relieved.
Try not to give us any conclusions you may havecome to in your own mind, simply your observations of fact. Not what he seemed, but what he said, or did. Do you understand the difference?”
    “Yes, my lord. I’m sorry.” Again her nervousness betrayed itself in clenched hands on the witness box rail, and a catch in her voice. “I saw him alone on several occasions, through a window, or from a doorway when he did not know I was there. He was quite at ease, sitting smiling. I asked him if he was happy by himself, thinking he might be lonely, but he told me he liked it. Sometimes he went to my father—his grandfather—”
    “Colonel Carlyon?” Rathbone interrupted.
    “Yes. Then other times he seemed to go out of his way to avoid him. He was afraid of my mother.” As if involuntarily, she glanced at Felicia, then back to Rathbone again. “He said so. And he was very upset about his own mother. He told me she did not love him—that his father had told him so.”
    In the dock Alexandra closed her eyes and seemed to sway as if in physical pain. A gasp escaped her in spite of all her effort at self-control.
    “Hearsay,” Lovat-Smith said loudly, rising to his feet. “My lord …”
    “That is not permitted,” the judge apologized to Edith. “I think we have