William Monk 06 - Cain His Brother

not waver.
    “He asked me for pen and paper,” Ravensbrook said, resuming his account. “He said he wanted to write a last testament.…”
    “Did he mean a will, or a statement, do you know?” the coroner inquired.
    “He did not say, and I did not ask,” Ravensbrook answered. “I assumed it was some statement, perhaps a form of last words. I hoped it would be his confession or contrition, for his own soul’s sake.”
    In the audience Selina let out a little cry, then immediately stifled it. Another woman gave a stifled sob, but whether of personal grief or simply the emotion of the scene, it was impossible to say.
    Titus Niven put his hand on Genevieve’s, discreetly, very gently, and the tightness in her shoulders eased a fraction.
    “So you asked the gaoler for a pen, ink and paper,” the coroner prompted.
    “Yes,” Ravensbrook agreed. The emotion in the room did not seem to touch him; perhaps his own turmoil was too great. “When they came, I returned to the cell and gave them to Caleb. He tried to use the pen, but said it was scratchy. The nib needed recutting. I took out my penknife to do it for him …”
    “You did not offer him the knife?” the coroner asked, leaning forward earnestly.
    Ravensbrook’s mouth tightened and his brows furrowed. “No, of course not!”
    “Thank you. Proceed.”
    Ravensbrook stood even more rigidly. The desperate grip on his emotions, the fragility of his hold, was painfully apparent. He was a man walking through a nightmare, and not a soul in the room could be unaware of it.
    This time even the coroner did not prompt him.
    Ravensbrook took a deep breath and let it out in an inaudible sigh.
    “Without the slightest warning, without saying a word, Caleb launched himself at me. The first I knew of it, hewas at my throat, his hand clasping my wrist and attempting to seize the knife from me. We struggled—I to save my life, he to gain mastery over me, whether to kill me or to snatch the knife in an attempt to take his own life, I do not know, nor will I guess.”
    There was a slight murmur of assent, a sigh of pity.
    “For God’s sake, where’s Monk?” Goode whispered to Rathbone. “This can’t be strung out beyond tomorrow!”
    Rathbone did not answer. There was nothing else to say.
    “I cannot tell you precisely what happened,” Ravensbrook started again. “It was all too quick. He managed to stab at me several times, half a dozen or so. We fought back and forth. It probably seemed for longer than it was.” He turned to face the coroner, looking at him earnestly. “I have very little idea whether it was seconds or minutes. I managed to force him away from me. He slipped and my own impetus carried me forward. I tripped over his leg and we landed together. When I arose, he was lying on the floor with the knife in his throat.”
    He stopped. There was total motionless silence in the room. Every face was turned towards him, emotions naked in horror and compassion.
    Selina Herries looked like a ghost, suddenly thinner, sadder, the brave arrogance leached away.
    “When I could gather my senses,” Ravensbrook said, taking up his account again, “and realized that I was no longer in danger from him, I leaned forward and attempted to find his pulse. He was bleeding very profusely, and I feared he was beyond help. I turned to the door and banged and called out for the gaolers. One of them opened it and let me out. The rest I believe you already know.”
    “Indeed, my lord,” the coroner agreed. “I do not need to trouble you any further. May I offer you and your family my deepest sympathy in your double loss.”
    “Thank you.” Ravensbrook turned to leave.
    Goode rose to his feet.
    The coroner made a motion with his hand to stopRavensbrook, who looked at Goode as he would an enemy in the field of battle.
    “If you must,” the coroner conceded reluctantly.
    “Thank you, sir.” Goode turned to Ravensbrook, smiling courteously, showing all his teeth.
    “By your own account, my lord, and by the evidence of your most unfortunate injuries …” he began. “By the way, I hope you are beginning to recover?”
    “Thank you,” Ravensbrook said stiffly.
    “I am very glad.” Goode inclined his head. “As I was saying, by your own account, my lord, you did not cry out for help until the struggle with Caleb had continued for some moments. Why did you not call immediately? You surely must have appreciated that you were in very considerable