William Monk 19 - Blind Justice

witnesses against Mr. Taft are less reliable than I had supposed. My learned friend has been able to expose them as such.”
    Gavinton smiled and acknowledged the somewhat backhanded compliment.
    “If your lordship will allow, one witness who seems to be central to the pursuit of the case and who therefore has had her reputation for judgment, and even for emotional stability, severely questioned has not actually been called to the stand. May it please the court, I would like to call Hester Monk as a witness in rebuttal to the testimony that Mr. Taft has given.”
    “You have no question for Mr. Taft?” Rathbone said in surprise. What did Warne hope to achieve with Hester? If he called her, then Gavinton would also be able to cross-examine her. The whole miserable episode of her misjudgment in the Phillips case would be exposed in more detail. She would appear to be a highly volatile woman whose compassion had drowned her judgment and allowed a blackmailer, child pornographer, and murderer to escape justice.
    Because Rathbone was the man who had defended Phillips and crucified Hester on the stand, he himself would not emerge from it well—in law, yes, but not in the eyes of the jury.
    Gavinton was on his feet, smiling.
    “I have no objection whatever, my lord. I think it would well serve the cause of justice. I hesitated to subject Mrs. Monk to such an ordeal again. She can barely have forgotten the humiliation of the last time, but I confess it would seem just.” He turned his satisfied smile on Warne.
    Rathbone felt the control slipping out of his hands, like the wet reins of a carriage when the horses bolt.
    They were waiting for his answer. He could not protect Hester. If he ruled against her testifying he would expose himself without helping her. In fact, it might even make it appear as if she had something further to hide.
    “Very well,” he conceded. “But keep it to the point, Mr. Warne.”
    “Thank you, my lord.” Warne instructed the usher to call Hester Monk.
    There was silence as Hester came into the room, except for the rustle of fabric and creak of stays as people in the gallery turned towatch her, fascinated by this woman both Drew and Taft had described so vividly, and in “praise” so worded as to be moving from condescension into blame.
    She was slender, almost a little too thin for fashionable taste, and she walked very uprightly across the open floor and climbed the steps to the witness stand. She did not look at Rathbone, at the jury, or up at the dock.
    Rathbone watched her with a strange, disturbing mixture of emotions, which were far more powerful than he had expected. He had known her for more than a decade, during which he had fallen in love with her, been angered, exasperated, and confused by her, and had his emotions thoroughly wrung out. At the same time he had admired her more than any other person he knew. She had made him laugh, even when he did not want to, and she had changed his beliefs on a score of things.
    Now he wanted to protect her from Gavinton, and Warne had set her in the center of the target—damn him!
    She took the oath in a steady voice and stood facing Warne, ready to begin.
    Warne, dark, haggard, and clearly nervous, moved forward into the center of the floor. He cleared his throat.
    “Mrs. Monk, Mr. Drew has told us that you attended a service at Mr. Taft’s Church. Is that correct?”
    “Yes.”
    “Just once?”
    “Yes.”
    He cleared his throat again.
    “Why did you go? And why did you not return a second or third time? Was the service not as you had expected? Or did something happen while you were there that offended you to the degree that you did not wish to go again?”
    Hester looked puzzled. Clearly Warne had not told her what he planned to say. Perhaps there had been no time.
    Rathbone was so tense he had to move his position a little, consciouslyclench his hands then loosen them. Was Warne going to use her vulnerability to save his case against Taft?
    Why not? Rathbone had done it to save Jericho Phillips, of all people! How could he now self-righteously blame Warne?
    The jury was tense, staring at Hester, a mixture of sympathy and apprehension in their faces.
    Hester answered, her voice even. It was too calm to be natural. “I went because Josephine Raleigh is a friend of mine, and she told me of her father’s distress,” she said. “I understood her desperation acutely because my father also was cheated out of money and found himself