William Monk 06 - Cain His Brother

money, to save himself the journey to Limehouse, and in fact the necessity to see Caleb at all?”
    “No.” She did not add anything further, but there was surprise in her face, as well as antagonism.
    Goode hesitated, seemed to consider a further question, then discard it.
    Rathbone had a sudden flash of intuition as to what it was. He determined to ask it himself on reexamination. Goode had led the way for him.
    “And when you saw Caleb the day after?” Goode resumed. “He made no reference to Angus, is that right?”
    “Yeah. ’E din’t say nuffin’ at all abaht ’im.” Her face was pale; Rathbone was sure she was lying. He looked across at the jury and saw reflected in their faces exactly what he felt. No one believed her.
    “Do you know if he killed his brother, Miss Herries?” Goode’s voice cut across the silence.
    There was a gasp of indrawn breath around the room.
    Caleb let out a short cry of derision, almost like a bark.
    “No,” Selina said, shaking her head from side to side, as if to be rid of something that caught at her. “No, I don’t know nuffin’ like that, an’ you got no right to say as ’e did!”
    “I’m not saying it, Miss Herries,” Goode assured her. “I am doing my utmost to persuade these gentlemen here”—he waved his hand in the general direction of the jury—“that there is no proof whatever even that Angus is dead—no absolute proof at all—let alone that they can hold his brother responsible for it! There are a dozen other possibilities as to where Angus Stonefield may be—and why!”
    Rathbone stood up.
    The judge sighed. “Mr. Goode, this is not the time to address the jury, either directly or indirectly, as you well know. If you have any further questions for this witness, please put them to her. If not, then allow Mr. Rathbone to redirect, if he so chooses.”
    “Of course.” Goode bowed with formal, if rather ostentatious courtesy, and returned to his seat. “Mr. Rathbone.”
    Rathbone faced Selina. He smiled. “You just confirmed to my learned friend that Caleb had often met with Angus before, and you were aware of this. You also said that onthe occasion we are specifically referring to, the last day on which Angus Stonefield was ever seen, that Caleb was not in a temper any different from usual.”
    “Yeah.” She had already admitted as much, and it seemed a favorable thing to acknowledge.
    “Yet he sent for his brother, and his brother dropped all his matters of business, and came—to a public tavern on the Isle of Dogs—so far as you know, simply to pass over money, which since it was for your rent, he could easily have given to you. And as you say, who would willingly leave a warm office in the West End, to—”
    The judge did not wait for Goode. “Mr. Rathbone, you are retracing old ground. Please, if you have a point, come to it!”
    “Yes, my lord. I do have a point, indeed. Miss Herries, you are telling us that for Caleb to send for his brother, for him to come, and for Caleb to be bruised, stiff, injured, scarred, perhaps bleeding in places, but nonetheless jubilant, having won a fight, was a perfectly normal pattern of behavior for him. And you have also said no one beats Caleb Stone. That ‘no one’ must include his unfortunate brother, who has not been seen since! Only his bloodstained clothes have been found on the Isle of Dogs!”
    Selina said nothing. Her face was as white as the paper on which the court clerk wrote.
    In the dock Caleb Stone started to laugh, wildly. It soared in pitch and volume until it seemed to fill the room and reverberate from the wooden paneling.
    The judge banged his gavel and was ignored—it was no more than an instrument beating time to the uproar. He demanded silence, and no one even heard him. Caleb’s hysterical laughter drowned out everything else. The gaolers grabbed at him, and he flung them off.
    In the gallery journalists scrambled over each other to get out and grab the first hansom to race to Fleet Street and the extra editions.
    Enid rose to her feet amid the clamor, looking one way,then the other. She tried to speak to Ravensbrook, but he ignored her, staring at the dock as if transfixed. He did not seem to see what was in front of him, the frenzy and the farce, only some terrible truth within him.
    The judge was still banging his gavel, a sharp, thin, rhythmic sound without meaning.
    Rathbone waved his hands to indicate that Selina Herries might be excused. She swiveled around