William Monk 17 - Acceptable Loss

confirmed.”
    “Really?” Winchester affected surprise. “Are you sure?”
    “Yes, sir. I did it myself, at the same time of the evening.”
    “Remarkable. Thank you, Commander Monk.” Winchester turned to Rathbone with a smile.
    Rathbone rose to his feet with a very slight tremble in his hands. He had just realized an astounding possibility. Neither Monk nor Winchester had mentioned Hattie Benson, either by name or occupation. Was that to spare Lord Cardew’s feelings? Or had she withdrawn her testimony, refusing now to take the stand? Without her, Rupert was still a prime suspect.
    Could he discredit this wretched note somehow? Suggest it had a different date, a different meaning? Even that it had originally been addressed to someone else?
    He needed time.
    “It is late, my lord,” he said with exaggerated courtesy. “I have several questions to ask Mr. Monk, of fundamental importance to the whole case—things that may lead us in an extremely different direction. I would prefer, out of respect to yourself and the jury, to begin this when there is the opportunity to carry the matter to its conclusion.”
    The judge pulled out a magnificent gold pocket watch and regarded it soberly. “I hope your substance will equal your words, Sir Oliver? Very well. We shall adjourn until tomorrow morning.”
    R ATHBONE SPENT A MISERABLE hour with Ballinger.
    “I’ve no idea who wrote the damn note!” Ballinger said furiously. “The Burroughs woman is lying, or is forgetful. Margaret would have given it back to her with the medicines from the apothecary, and she left it lying around. Anyone could have found it and used it. What about Robinson, the old whoremonger who runs the place for them? That’s the obvious answer. Use your brains, Oliver! Go for them. Go for him! He’ll never make a credible witness. Tear him apart.”
    Rathbone said nothing. He disliked the idea, but it was reasonable, and perhaps the only course he had.
    “I did not kill that filthy little man!” Ballinger’s voice was raised, brittle with anger and fear. “For God’s sake, do your job!”
    M ARGARET WAS ALREADY AT home when Rathbone arrived.
    “How is he?” she said as soon as Rathbone was through the door, even before he had given his coat to the butler.
    “Full of courage,” he said gently, kissing her cheek. There was no point in telling her anything else.
    She pulled away from him so she could see his face, as if from studying it she could better tell if he was merely trying to comfort her.
    He looked at her steadily, lying superbly.
    Finally she smiled, her face catching some of its old calm and the loveliness that had first drawn him to her.
    “He’s brave,” she said simply. “And of course he is innocent. He knows you can get this ridiculous charge thrown out. After this, Oliver, you cannot remain such close friends with Monk.” She looked at him gravely. “He has not the honor or the integrity you thought. I know that disillusion is terribly painful, but pretending it does not exist helps nothing. It doesn’t change the truth. I’m so sorry.” She smiled slightly, a warm little gesture. “Actually I’m sorry for myself too, because I admired Hester so much, and I shall lose her friendship over this as well. I doubt it will be practicable for me to remain at the clinic.”
    He was taken aback. “Margaret, all he’s done is answer Winchester’s questions, and he has no choice in the matter.”
    The warmth vanished from her eyes. “How can you say that? He was the one who went after Papa in the first place. We wouldn’t even be answering the charge at all if he had simply followed the evidence to Rupert Cardew.”
    Suddenly he was cold. His whole fabric of certainty was tearing apart. He had drawn in his breath to say that Hattie could prove Cardew innocent, but he realized it was only her word that did, and Margaret would argue that Monk had coerced her. Rathbone knew that Monk was a man of passions and convictions, brave enoughand perhaps ruthless enough to follow whatever he believed to be right.
    What if Monk were tragically wrong? What if it had been Cardew all along, and Monk had simply refused to believe it? It is so easy to believe what we need to. He had been wrong before; everyone has.
    Margaret was talking again.
    “Consider it, Oliver. Think honestly. You know that Monk is convinced Papa had something to do with Jericho Phillips, because as Jericho’s solicitor, Papa convinced you to represent