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“Ah, Miss Herries. Allow me to ask you a few questions. They will not take long.” He smiled at her dazzlingly. From the look in her face she may well have found that more unnerving than Rathbone’s elegance. “Nor prove painful,” he added.
“Yeah.”
“Excellent. I’m most obliged.” He tucked his thumbs under the armholes of his waistcoat beneath his gown. “Did Caleb tell you why he was prepared to ask his brother for money, considering the feeling between them? Or indeed, why his brother was willing to give it?”
“No, ’e don’t tell me things like that. I’nt my bus’ness. Angus always gave ’im money, if ’e wanted it. Guilt, I reckon.”
“Guilt for what, Miss Herries? Was Angus responsible for Caleb’s misfortune?”
“I dunno,” she said sharply. “Mebbe ’e was! Mebbe ’e poisoned the old man’s mind agin’ Caleb. ’E were all goody-goody. Butter wouldn’t melt in ’is mouf. ’Ow do I know what ’e felt? I jus’ know ’e came any time Caleb sent for ’im.”
“I see. And was Angus at all apprehensive when you gave him Caleb’s message?”
“Wot?”
“I apologize. Did he seem to you to be worried or fearful? Was he reluctant to go?”
“No. Well … I s’pose ’e didn’t want ter leave his bus’ness. But he never did. That ain’t ’ard t’understand—’oo’d waana leave a nice warm office uptarn ter go ter some public ’ouse on the Isle of Dogs?”
“No one, indeed,” Goode agreed. “But beyond that natural reluctance, he was as usual?”
“Yeah.”
“And he had often met with Caleb before?”
“Yeah.”
“He did not, for example, offer to give you the money, to save himself the journey to Limehouse, and in fact the necessity to see Caleb at all?”
“No.” She did not add anything further, but there was surprise in her face, as well as antagonism.
Goode hesitated, seemed to consider a further question, then discard it.
Rathbone had a sudden flash of intuition as to what it was. He determined to ask it himself on reexamination. Goode had led the way for him.
“And when you saw Caleb the day after?” Goode resumed. “He made no reference to Angus, is that right?”
“Yeah. ’E din’t say nuffin’ at all abaht ’im.” Her face was pale; Rathbone was sure she was lying. He looked across at the jury and saw reflected in their faces exactly what he felt. No one believed her.
“Do you know if he killed his brother, Miss Herries?” Goode’s voice cut across the silence.
There was a gasp of indrawn breath around the room.
Caleb let out a short cry of derision, almost like a bark.
“No,” Selina said, shaking her head from side to side, as if to be rid of something that caught at her. “No, I don’t know nuffin’ like that, an’ you got no right to say as ’e did!”
“I’m not saying it, Miss Herries,” Goode assured her. “I am doing my utmost to persuade these gentlemen here”—he waved his hand in the general direction of the jury—“that there is no proof whatever even that Angus is dead—no absolute proof at all—let alone that they can hold his brother responsible for it! There are a dozen other possibilities as to where Angus Stonefield may be—and why!”
Rathbone stood up.
The judge sighed. “Mr. Goode, this is not the time to address the jury, either directly or indirectly, as you well know. If you have any further questions for this witness, please put them to her. If not, then allow Mr. Rathbone to redirect, if he so chooses.”
“Of course.” Goode bowed with formal, if rather ostentatious courtesy, and returned to his seat. “Mr. Rathbone.”
Rathbone faced Selina. He smiled. “You just confirmed to my learned friend that Caleb had often met with Angus before, and you were aware of this. You also said that on the occasion we are specifically referring to, the last day on which Angus Stonefield was ever seen, that Caleb was not in a temper any different from usual.”
“Yeah.” She had already admitted as much, and it seemed a favorable thing to acknowledge.
