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Rathbone was relieved that Argyll was not as stupid as he had feared. It mattered too much for him to be angry at his own discomfort.
“Go after Kenneth,” he replied to the earlier question. “He is the weak link—and possibly the murderer. Monk has the information about his mistress. Get old Hector, if he’s sober enough, and that will be sufficient to raise the question of the books.”
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“Thank you, Mr. Rathbone,” Argyll said tightly. “I had thought of that.”
“Yes, of course,” Rathbone conceded. “I apologize,” he added as an afterthought.
“Accepted,” Argyll murmured. “I am aware of your personal involvement with the accused, or I would not.”
Rathbone felt his face burning. He had not thought of his relationship with Hester as an “involvement.”
“Your witness, Mr. Argyll,” the judge said sharply. “If you would be good enough to give us your attention, sir.”
Argyll stood up, his temper flushing in his face. He did not reply to the judge. Perhaps he did not trust himself to.
“Lady Callandra,” he said courteously. “Just to make sure we have understood you correctly, Miss Latterly brought the pin to you while you were downstairs? You did not find it in her luggage, nor did any of your servants?”
“No. She found it when she went to wash before luncheon. None of my servants would have occasion to look in her luggage, nor would she, had she not decided to stay with me during the meal.”
“Quite so. And her immediate reaction was to bring it to you.”
“Yes. She knew it was not hers, and feared something was seriously wrong.”
“In which she was tragically correct. And your advice was to seek a solicitor’s counsel in the matter, so it might be returned to Mrs. Farraline’s estate?”
“Yes. She took it to Mr. Oliver Rathbone.”
“The matter, Lady Callandra, or the pin itself?”
“The matter. She left the pin in my house. I wish now that she had thought to take it with her.”
“I doubt it would have forestalled this sorry situation, madam. The plan had been very carefully laid. She did all a sensible person could, and it availed her nothing.”
“Mr. Argyll,” the judge snapped. “I will not warn you again.”
Argyll inclined his head graciously. “Thank you, Lady Callandra. I have no more questions.”
The last witness for the prosecution was Sergeant Daly, who recounted his having been called in by Dr. Ormorod, the whole of his procedure from that time until he had arrested Hester and finally charged her with murder. He spoke levelly and carefully and with great sadness, every now and again shaking his head, his mild, clear face regarding the whole courtroom with benign interest.
Gilfeather thanked him.
Argyll declined to question him. There was nothing to say, nothing to argue with.
Gilfeather smiled. The prosecution rested its case.
The jury nodded to one another silently, already certain of their verdict.
10
THE DEFENSE BEGAN the following morning. The crowd which filled the gallery was in an unusual mood, shifting and whispering in a strange mixture of apathy and then sudden interest, its tenor changing every few moments. Some believed it was all over, and the defense was merely a legal nicety in order that there could be no appeal against unfair process of law. Others were half expecting a battle of wits, however futile. The former were admirers of Gilfeather, the latter of James Argyll. Almost everyone was partisan; those who had no interest in either combatant were sure of the outcome and had not bothered to attend at all.
Rathbone was so on edge he had kept clearing his throat and it now ached. He had not slept until it was nearly time to get up, then he had been deeply in nightmare and waking had been difficult. The previous evening he had gone first to spend time with his father, then, realizing how short his temper, he had not wished to inflict it on anyone else, particularly Henry. He had spent from half past eight until nearly midnight alone, going over and over the case in his mind, rehearsing every scrap of evidence they knew, and when that proved fruitless, repeating as well as he could remember all the testimony Gilfeather had presented. It was not conclusive, of course it was not. Hester was not guilty! But she could have killed Mary Farraline, and in the absence of anything to suggest someone else had, suggest it powerfully, believably, any jury would convict her.
Argyll might be the best lawyer in Scotland, but it would take more than skill now, and as he sat in the crowded, tingling courtroom he dared not look up at the dock at Hester. She might see the despair in his face, and he could at least spare her that.
Nor did he look for Monk’s smooth, dark head in the gallery. He half hoped he would not be there. Possibly he had thought of something to pursue, some further idea. Had he asked the apothecaries if anyone else had purchased digitalis? Yes, he must have. It was elementary. Monk was not a man to rest on pure defense. He would attack; it was his nature. Dear heaven, it was the essence of the man.
