William Monk 11 - Slaves of Obsession

attempt to defend at least Miss Alberton, if not me?” he said coldly. “Although I would remind you she came willingly with me to America, and Monk will testify to that.”
    “I am more concerned to hear him testify as to the exact times of the events on the night of the murders, and your train to Liverpool,” Rathbone replied levelly. “It will be a simpler matter to convince them of the fact that Shearer may well have planned and committed the murders and the theft of the guns, with the intention of selling them to you, and you buying them in good faith, than it will be to make them feel well disposed towards you.”
    “What does that matter?” Breeland said bitterly. “I am a foreigner. They don’t understand my cause, or sympathize with it. They don’t know what America stands for. They have not caught our dream. I can’t help that. Surely they at least understand justice?” It was said with an air of challenge, and not a little of insult.
    Rathbone reminded himself of the man’s isolation, of how much he had already sacrificed for a cause that was both noble and unselfish. Would he himself have done any better, any more wisely? Would such threat, and such lack of understanding and respect all around him, not have made him lash out also?
    “Juries are people, Mr. Breeland, and subject to emotional impulses like the rest of us,” he said as mildly as he could, keeping the edge out of his voice. “They will not remember everything that is said to them. In fact, they will probably not even hear it all, or perceive it in the way we wish them to. Very often people hear what they think they will hear. Make them feel some respect for you, some liking, and they will see the best, and recall it when it matters. This is not peculiar to English juries; it is part of the nature of all people, and we choose to be tried before a jury precisely because they are ordinary. They work on instinctive judgment and common sense as well as the evidence presented to them. Your own common law is based upon this.”
    “Yes, I know.” Breeland’s lips were tight. Rathbone felt there was fear as well as anger and idealism behind the mask of his face. He did well that it was not the overriding thing. “I cannot make people like me. And I will not grovel. My cause speaks well enough for me. I would abolish slavery from the earth.” Now his voice rang with passion, his eyes alight. “I would give every man the chance to be his own master, to believe what he chooses and speak his mind without fear.”
    “It sounds marvelous,” Rathbone said wearily, but with total sincerity. “I am not sure if it can exist. Liberty is always a matter of balancing one thing against another, gains and losses. But that is not the issue. You can fight for whatever you wish once you are free to leave the dock. First accomplish that, and to do it you will need to behave with a little more humanity. Believe me, Mr. Breeland, I am very good at my profession … easily as good as you are at yours. Take my advice.”
    Breeland stared at him, his eyes steady and fixed, fear far down in their depths bright and hard.
    “Do you … do you think you can prove me innocent?” he said softly.
    “I do. Now make the jury pleased to see me do it!”
    Breeland said nothing, but some of the ice in him melted.

    In the morning Monk was called to the witness stand to corroborate first Casbolt’s evidence of their visit to Breeland’s rooms, and then their terrible discovery in the warehouse yard in Tooley Street.
    Deverill treated him with civility, but he could draw him to say little beyond a simple “Yes” or “No.” He knew perfectly well, as was his skill to know, that Monk worked with Rathbone and his interest was in the defense. He had no intention of allowing Monk to cloud the issue or raise questions.
    Monk wished there were some he could raise. So far he could think of nothing to add, even had Deverill allowed him to.
    He substantiated all that Lanyon had already told them about their pursuit of the barge down the river as far as Greenwich and Bugsby’s Marshes beyond.
    “Now tell me, Mr. Monk, when you reported your findings to Mrs. Alberton, did she then request you to undertake any further activities on her behalf?” Deverill asked with wide eyes and acute interest in every line of his body.
    It angered Monk to have to play out Deverill’s charade, but he had no choice. Deverill asked his questions far too cleverly to give him room