William Monk 03 - Defend and Betray

understand. I knew that my brother Thaddeus was abused as a child. Like Buckie—Miss Buchan—I saw it once, by accident. I never forgot the look in his eyes, the way he behaved. I saw the same look in Valentine’s face, and I knew he was abused too. I supposed at that time that it was his father—his adopted father—Maxim Furnival, who was doing it.”
    There was a gasp around the room and a rustle like leaves in the wind.
    “Oh God! No!” Maxim shot to his feet, his face shock-white, his voice half strangled in his throat.
    Louisa sat like stone.
    Maxim swung around, staring at her, but she continued to look as if she had been transfixed.
    “You have my utmost sympathy, Mr. Furnival,” the judge said over the rising level of horror and anger from the crowd. “But you must refrain from interruption, nevertheless. But I would suggest to you that you consider obtaining legal counsel to deal with whatever may occur here. Now please sit down, or I shall be obliged to have the bailiff remove you.”
    Slowly, looking bemused and beaten, Maxim sat down again, turning helplessly to Louisa, who still sat immobile, as though too horrified to respond.
    Up in the gallery Charles Hargrave grasped the rail as if he would break it with his hands.
    Rathbone returned his attention to Damaris.
    “You spoke in the past tense, Mrs. Erskine. You thought at the time it was Maxim Furnival. Has something happened to change your view?”
    “Yes.” A faint echo of the old flair returned, and the ghost of a smile touched her mouth and vanished. “My sister-in-law murdered my brother. And I believe it was because she discovered that he was abusing her son—and I believe mine also—although I have no reason to think she knew of that.”
    Lovat-Smith looked up at Alexandra, then rose to his feet as though reluctantly.
    “That is a conclusion of the witness, my lord, and not a fact.”
    “That is true, Mr. Rathbone,” the judge said gravely. “The jury will ignore that last statement of Mrs. Erskine’s. It was her belief, and no more. She may conceivably have been mistaken; you cannot assume it is fact. And Mr. Rath-bone, you deliberately led your witness into making that observation. You know better.”
    “I apologize, my lord.”
    “Proceed, Mr. Rathbone, and keep it relevant.”
    Rathbone inclined his head in acknowledgment, then with curious grace turned back to Damaris.
    “Mrs. Erskine, do you
know
who abused Valentine Furnival?”
    “No.”
    “You did not ask him?”
    “No! No, of course not!”
    “Did you speak of it to your brother?”
    “No! No I didn’t. I didn’t speak of it to anyone.”
    “Not to your mother—or your father?”
    “No—not to anyone.”
    “Were you aware that your nephew, Cassian Carlyon, was being abused?”
    She flushed with shame and her voice was low and tight in her throat. “No. I should have been, but I thought it was just his grief at losing his father—and fear that his mother was responsible and he would lose her too.” She looked up once at Alexandra with anguish. “I didn’t spend as much time with him as I should have. I am ashamed of that. He seemed to prefer to be alone with his grandfather, or with my husband. I thought—I thought that was because it washis mother who killed his father, and he felt women …” She trailed off unhappily.
    “Understandable,” Rathbone said quietly. “But if you had spent time with him, you might have seen whether he too was abused—”
    “Objection,” Lovat-Smith said quickly. “All this speech of abuse is only conjecture: We do not know that it is anything beyond the sick imaginings of a spinster servant and a young girl in puberty, who both may have misunderstood things they saw, and whose fevered and ignorant minds leaped to hideous conclusions—quite erroneously.”
    The judge sighed. “Mr. Lovat-Smith’s objection is literally correct, Mr. Rathbone.” His heavy tone made it more than obvious he did not share the prosecutor’s view for an instant. “Please be more careful in your use of words. You are quite capable of conducting your examination of Mrs. Erskine without such error.”
    Rathbone inclined his head in acceptance, and turned back to Damaris.
    “Did your husband, Peverell Erskine, spend much time with Cassian after he came to stay at Carlyon House?”
    “Yes—yes, he did.” Her face was very white and her voice little more than a whisper.
    “Thank you, Mrs. Erskine. I have no more questions for