William Monk 06 - Cain His Brother

ever had had.
    But then perhaps she had merely expressed herself unfortunately? Better not to mention it at all—to anyone. Let it blow over. He must be a great deal more careful in the future. Handsome women of a certain age were the very devil.
    The Honourable John Blenkinsop read his mail with total disbelief. He refolded the letter hastily and was in the act of replacing it in its envelope when his wife, who had no mail this morning, interrupted his train of thought. She had news of her own to discuss, which she had heard the previous evening, only she had retired before he had returned from his club and thus had had no opportunity to pass it on.
    “Did you know, John, the most dreadful thing happened in North Audley Street the other day.” She leaned forward over the toast and marmalade. “Poor Drusilla Wyndham, such a lovely creature, was assaulted in a hansom. Can you imagine anything so perfectly dreadful? She had asked some man’s assistance in a matter, and the man, a very ordinary person, by all accounts, mistook her civility for encouragement and attempted to force his attentions on her! John, are you listening to me?”
    “Force his attentions?” he repeated confusedly. “You mean kiss her?”
    “Yes, I suppose so,” she agreed. “He even went so far as to tear her gown open at the bosom. The whole thing must have been a nightmare for her, poor creature. She onlyescaped him by hurling herself out of the hansom, as it was moving, mind you, and fell into the road. How she was not injured, I cannot think.”
    The letter burned in his hand.
    “I wouldn’t put too much weight to it, my dear …” he began.
    “What?” She was aghast. “How can you say such a thing? What on earth do you mean? The man behaved unpardonably!”
    “Possibly, my dear, but some women do imagine things to be quite—”
    “Imagine?” She was nonplussed. “The man put his hands on her, John! He tore her gown! How can she have imagined that?”
    “Well … perhaps he merely brushed against her, the motions of the cab, and all that …” He thought of his own brush with Drusilla, and the absurd interpretation it seemed she had put upon that. His sympathy was entirely with this fellow, whoever he was. He broke out in a sweat thinking how easily he could have been in his place. “Rather a hysterical woman, my dear,” he added. “Don’t like to distress you, but I wouldn’t accept all she says, if I were you. Single women in their thirties and all that. Given to fancies of a rather heated nature. It can happen. Misunderstood a civility for something much more. Easy enough.”
    She frowned. “Do you really think so, John? I find it hard to believe.”
    “Of course you do, my dear.” He forced a smile, although it felt painted onto his face. “Because you are a woman, and properly married with a home of your own, and all that goes with it. You would never imagine such things. But not all women are as you, you must appreciate that. Be advised, Mariah. A good friend of mine, whose name I will not mention to avoid his embarrassment, has had a similar experience with a young woman, and he was as innocent as the day, I assure you. But in the heat of her… her imagination, she totally misread him, and accused him of … well … it is not fit for you to hear.”
    “Oh, my goodness!” She was totally taken aback. “Well, I never. I really had not thought …”
    “It does you credit.” He rose and left the table. “But I urge you to dismiss the matter altogether, and on no account be drawn into discussion of it. Now you must excuse me, my dear. Please do not let me disturb you.” And as he passed the fire he dropped the letter into it and hesitated long enough to see the flames consume it, to his infinite relief. It would not be spoken of again.

  9  
    F
OUR DAYS LATER
the trial of Caleb Stone began in the Central Criminal Court in the Old Bailey. For the prosecution was Oliver Rathbone, for the defense Ebenezer Goode. Goode was also a Queen’s Counsel of flair and skill. He had taken the case not for the fee, there was none, but for the high profile of the issue, and perhaps even more for the challenge. Rathbone knew him slightly. They had appeared in opposition to each other before. Goode was a man in his mid-forties, tall and rather gangling, but the most remarkable things about him were his prominent, very bright, pale blue-gray eyes and his broad, startling smile. He was full of enthusiasm