William Monk 06 - Cain His Brother

said, staring ahead of him. “He was less interested in Latin and the classics, but he studied them because I wished it. He was a most admirable boy, and abundantly repaid me all I ever did for him.”
    A ghost of a smile crossed his face and vanished again.
    “I believe in later years he grew to appreciate the value of Latin, at least. It is such a superb discipline for the mind. He always understood the need for that. Caleb never did. He was always unruly, desiring to rebel, to overthrow, even to destroy. It was something in him I could never govern. I tried everything I knew, and everything failed.”
    “Did he say anything about Angus’s success?” Rathbone asked.
    Ravensbrook’s voice was hard and low.
    “To begin with he merely expressed resentment. Later his feelings grew into a positive hatred, a jealousy he seemed unable to control.”
    “Did he ever resort to physical violence?”
    Ravensbrook’s face was filled with an emotion so deep he seemed to shake very slightly and his skin was pale and tight across his high, narrow cheekbones. But to Rathbone at least, it was unreadable. There could have been anger in it, frustration, knowledge of failure, guilt, or nothing other than a deep, aching grief.
    “I cannot answer you of my own knowledge,” Ravensbrook said almost under his breath, and yet his words carried in a silent room where not a man or woman moved.Not a boot creaked, not a skirt rustled. “If they fought, I had not seen them.”
    “Did either of them ever sustain injuries you could not account for otherwise?” Rathbone pursued the inevitable.
    Caleb was still motionless in the dock, his head bent, face hidden as though he had accepted defeat.
    “I don’t recall,” Ravensbrook answered. “Youths will climb trees, ride horses, drive carriages and gigs dangerously.” The set of his jaw made it obvious he could be drawn no further.
    “Naturally.” Rathbone bowed and accepted defeat. “At what age did they leave home to go their separate ways, my lord?”
    Ravensbrook winced as if he had been struck.
    “Angus joined a company of dealers in the City just after his eighteenth birthday. They were acquaintances of mine, and were keen to have him.” There was pride in his tone, a slight lift to his head. “It seemed an excellent opportunity, and he grasped it eagerly. He did extremely well. It was not long before he rose within the company, and as you know, eventually founded his own business.”
    “And Caleb?” Rathbone said.
    “Caleb left shortly before that. He simply walked out. I heard rumor that he had been seen in the village, stories of drinking, brawling.” Ravensbrook remained silent for a moment. There was not a sound in the room. “Then they ceased,” he finished. “I presume that was when he went to London.”
    “But he did not take up any position, any calling?”
    “Not that I know of.”
    “Did you seek to find any position for him?”
    Ravensbrook winced. “I could not recommend him to anyone. It would have been dishonest. He was a violent and deceitful man, and appeared possessed of very few skills that were of any use.”
    In the crowd Enid Ravensbrook sat with such a pity in her face one might have thought it was that which hadravaged her rather than disease. Hester slid her arm around her and held her with a tenderness as if she might break.
    “I see,” Rathbone murmured. “Thank you, my lord. Did he at this time express any hatred or jealousy towards his brother, who sounds to have and to be everything he was not?”
    “Yes, frequently,” Ravensbrook acknowledged. “He both hated and despised his brother.”
    “Despised him?” Rathbone affected surprise.
    Ravensbrook’s face was bitter. “He thought Angus weak and dependent, lacking in either courage or individuality. He thought him a coward, and said so. I imagine it was his way of excusing his own failure, in his mind.”
    “Possibly.” Rathbone nodded. “We are, most of us, loath to admit fault in ourselves. Thank you, my lord. That is all I have to ask you. Would you be so good as to remain for my learned friend to speak with you.”
    Ebenezer Goode was courteous, and at least outwardly genial. He rose to his feet and strolled into the center of the floor, his startling face full of interest.
    “All this must be deeply distressing for you, Lord Ravensbrook. It would be for any man. I shall be as brief as I am able.” He sighed. “You have painted a vivid picture of two brothers who