William Monk 19 - Blind Justice

his feet. “My lord, nowhere is such a wild statement set out in the charge.”
    York pursed his lips. “I think you are splitting hairs, Mr. Brancaster. Nonetheless, Mr. Wystan, perhaps you would be wiser to allow the jury to draw their own conclusions as to the motives of the accused. People pervert the course of justice for many reasons, some of them more understandable than others. Please proceed.”
    Brancaster’s face flushed with anger. “Sir Oliver has been accused, my lord. He has not yet been found guilty of anything at all. I would remind the jury of that.”
    “You may remind the jury of what you please, in your summation,” York said tartly. “Until then you will refrain from interrupting unless you have some point of law to make.”
    “Innocence is a point of law,” Brancaster retorted instantly. “Until proven otherwise, beyond reasonable doubt, it is the whole point of the law.”
    “Are you presuming to direct me in the law, Mr. Brancaster?” York said with dangerous calm.
    Brancaster controlled his temper with an effort so obvious even Scuff could see it from the side of the court where he stood squashed against the wall.
    “No, my lord,” Brancaster said, his voice choking.
    York smiled bleakly. “Good. I would not like the jury to be in doubt as to who is the judge here. Please continue, Mr. Wystan.”
    Wystan inclined his head. “Thank you, my lord. Mrs. Ballinger, just to remind you, you said Oliver Rathbone was profoundly ambitious, far more than you had previously realized. What did he do, or fail to do, that brought you to this unhappy conclusion?”
    Mrs. Ballinger had regained her composure. She was now quite eager to answer.
    Scuff looked to where Margaret was sitting and saw the expectancy in her also. Her shoulders were stiff. She sat so upright he could imagine the ache in his own back simply from looking at her. But it was the expression now filling her face that he did not understand. She seemed to be both afraid and excited at the same time.
    “Mrs. Ballinger?” Wystan prompted.
    “When he was defending my husband, we believed at first that he was doing everything he could to prove his innocence. But gradually he became less devoted to it, less … positive,” she answered.
    “Really? Did he give you a reason for this?” Wystan looked puzzled.
    The bitterness returned to her face, anger overtaking grief again.
    “The tide of feeling turned against my husband, and Oliver went with it. It seemed he did not wish to become unpopular, or even worse, appear in a case he might lose. He had no loyalty at all, except to his own career.” She took a deep breath. “It broke my daughter’s heart. She admired her father and was convinced of his innocence. She could hardly believe that her own husband would not use every skill at his command—and his skills were great—to defend one of his own family. It made me realize that his ambition was everything to him. Nothing else mattered.”
    Again Brancaster rose to his feet.
    “Is this a matter of law, Mr. Brancaster?” York snapped.
    Brancaster must have known that he was not going to win. Scuff saw his face tighten, and he would have told him not to bother, but of course he was much too far away, and the lawyer wouldn’t have listened to him anyway.
    “Yes, my lord. Most of what the witness says is hearsay, not fact.”
    Wystan smiled. “If my learned friend prefers, and your lordship feels that we have time, I can take Mrs. Ballinger through each step of the trial to see what the accused did and did not do. I am trying to spare a bereaved woman the extra grief and humiliation of having to go into detail. But should you so direct me, my lord, reluctantly, then of course I will.”
    “I do not so direct you,” York replied. “If you wish to pursue it further, perhaps you will be a little more specific. It would allow the jury to make up their own minds.”
    It was the worst possible answer for Brancaster. He sat down, beaten.
    Wystan turned to Mrs. Ballinger and began again, picking specific points in the trial of Arthur Ballinger but never reaching the verdict, as if his guilt were still a matter to be decided.
    Scuff stopped watching Mrs. Ballinger and turned to look at Margaret again. He couldn’t really see Sir Oliver very well from where he was, and he didn’t want to look at him anyway. In a situation like this, where someone had to be suffering horribly and feeling as if everybody hated him, it felt like a