William Monk 11 - Slaves of Obsession

to purchase the guns.”
    “Preposterous!” Casbolt could keep silent no longer. “That’s totally absurd. No one would believe it.” He turned to Judith. “Did you receive any money?”
    “No,” she said decisively.
    “Who is Shearer anyway? Where is he?” Monk asked her.
    “I don’t know where he is,” she admitted. “There has been no money paid for the guns—except, I believe, the money Mr. Trace paid in the beginning.”
    Casbolt swung around to Philo Trace. “You paid the first half deposit on the whole shipment, did you not?”
    “You know I did, sir.”
    “Did you ever receive any part of it refunded because you were not to make the purchase after all?”
    “No, not a cent.” Trace’s voice was tight and low, as if he was embarrassed for Judith, although it was in no way her fault.
    Casbolt looked at Monk. “That should answer your questions, if you still have any. I don’t know what he has done to Merrit to persuade her of his innocence, or else to coerce her into swearing a lie to protect him, but she is only sixteen, a child. Certainly far too young to have her word taken seriously regarding a man she is obviously obsessed with.” He bit his lip, his expression softening to momentary distress. “Do you think he may have threatened her?”
    Again Monk answered honestly. “No. It is my opinion she believes he is innocent. I don’t know why. It may be no more than that she cannot bear to think of his guilt. There is little more bitter than disillusion, and we can make ourselves believe what we need to, however preposterous, at least for a while. We call it loyalty, or faith, or whatever virtue counts most highly to us and fits the need.”
    Casbolt glanced across at Judith, then down at the polished surface of the table with its silver and flowers. “There seems no way in which we can protect her from hurt. Thebest we can do will be to save her from being implicated in Breeland’s guilt in law. The story about our agent Shearer is absurd. Obviously, Breeland organized the stealing of the guns, whether he was there in person or not. We must distance her from that.” He looked at Judith, his face softening again, his voice gentle. “Will you call Pilbeam to handle it for you? If you would rather, I can take care of it, make sure the best possible barrister represents Merrit. There is no need for you to do anything.”
    Her eyes softened. “Thank you, Robert,” she said quickly, reaching up and taking his hand. “I don’t know how I would have endured these past terrible weeks without your kindness. You have not spared yourself in the slightest, and I know you must be nearly as deeply grieved as I am. Daniel was your friend for even more years than he was my husband. He would be nearly as grateful to you as I am for your tireless care.”
    Casbolt colored in an oddly self-conscious way, showing a vulnerability that startled Monk.
    “I don’t believe Merrit will consent to be represented separately from Breeland,” Hester said urgently. “And certainly she will not allow him to sacrifice himself for her in any way at all. She is far more disposed to see it as the measure of her love to suffer with him, no matter how innocent she is in fact.”
    “But that is …” Casbolt began, then, seeing her face, fell silent. Perhaps he knew Merrit well enough to realize the truth of Hester’s words. He turned to Monk.
    But again it was Hester who spoke. “We know Sir Oliver Rathbone quite well. He is the best barrister in London. He can defend her if anyone can.”
    Judith turned to her quickly, hope flaring in her eyes. “Would he? She may not be willing to be of any help to herself. Will he not refuse … in the circumstances?” She bit her lip. “I will pay him whatever his price, if that is the question. Please, Mrs. Monk, if there is anything you can do to prevail upon him. I will sell the house, the jewelry I have, everything, to save my daughter.”
    “That wouldn’t be necessary,” Hester said softly. “It will not be money that matters to him, although I will tell him how much you care. It will be a question of finding a way to separate Merrit from Breeland’s guilt.”
    “Try them separately!” Casbolt could not keep from interrupting; his body was locked with tension, his eyes hollow. “It is transparently unjust to charge them as if they were of one mind and one responsibility. Surely a decent barrister could persuade a jury of that?” There was an edge