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“Yeah, I am.”
“Thank you for your candor, ma’am. I think we may take it that you do know him as well as anyone may be said to?”
“I s’pose.” She remained careful.
There was almost silence in the room, but one or two people stirred. This was of little interest. She was acknowledging the obvious.
Rathbone was aware of it. She was his final witness, and his last chance. But for all her fear of the court, she would not willingly betray Caleb. Not only were her emotions involved, and whatever memories she might have of moments of intimacy, but if he were to be found not guilty, then his vengeance would be terrible. Added to that, she lived on the Isle of Dogs; it was her home and they were her people. They would not look with tolerance on a woman who sold out her man, whether for gain or from fear for herself. Whatever price the law exacted for loyalty, the punishment for disloyalty must be worse. It was a matter of survival.
“Have you met his brother Angus as well?” Rathbone asked, his eyebrows raised.
She stared at him as she would a snake.
“Yeah.” It was a qualified agreement, made reluctantly. There was warning in her voice that she would go little further.
Rathbone smiled. “Mr. Arbuthnot has testified that you called at his place of business and saw him on the day of his disappearance. Is he correct?”
Her face tightened with anger. There was no way out.
“Yeah …”
“Why?”
“Wot?”
“Why?” he repeated. “Why did you call upon Angus Stonefield?”
“ ’Cos Caleb told me ter.”
“What passed between you?”
“Nuffink!”
“I mean what did you say to him, and he to you?”
“Oh. I don’ ’member.” It was a lie, and everyone knew it. It was there in the low mumble from the onlookers, the slight shaking of the heads of the jurors, the quick shift of the judge’s eyes from Selina to Rathbone.
Selina saw it too, but she assumed she had beaten Rathbone.
Rathbone pushed his hands into his pockets and looked at her blandly.
“Then if I were to say that you gave him a message that Caleb wished to see him urgently, that day, and wished him to go immediately to the Folly House Tavern, or the Artichoke, you would not be able to recall differently?”
“I …” Her eyes blazed with defiance, but there was no way out. She was loath to entrap herself by argument, or excuses which might rebound on her again. She had been caught once.
“Perhaps that has stirred your memory?” Rathbone suggested, carefully ironing all the sarcasm out of his voice.
She said nothing, but he had scored the point, and he knew it from the jury’s faces. Once she had established that she was prepared to evade, or even lie, to protect Caleb, it would prejudice anything she might say in his defense.
“Did you see Angus Stonefield later that day, Miss Hernes?” Rathbone resumed.
She said nothing.
“You must answer the question, Miss Herries,” the judge warned. “If you do not, I shall hold you in contempt of court. That means that I can sentence you to prison until such time as you do answer. And of course the jury are free to take any meaning they will from your silence. Do you understand me?”
“I saw ’im,” she said huskily, and swallowed hard. She stared straight ahead of her, her head rigid so she could not, even in the corner of her eye, see Caleb leaning over the railing of the dock, his eyes on her.
Rathbone affected interest, as if he had no idea what she was going to say.
