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“My lord, I am about to do so.” Harvester was not in the least disconcerted. Neither would Rathbone have been in his place. He had every card in the game, and he knew it.
Harvester turned with a smile to Florent.
“Mr. Barberini, do you have any knowledge of injury this accusation may have caused the Princess Gisela, apart from emotional distress?”
Florent hesitated.
“Mr. Barberini?” Harvester prompted.
Florent raised his head.
“When I returned to Venice I heard the rumors repeated there—” He stopped again.
“And were they equally disbelieved in Venice, Mr. Barberini?” Harvester said softly.
Again Florent hesitated.
The judge leaned forward. “You must answer, sir, to the best of your knowledge. Say only what you know. You are not required to guess—indeed, you must not speculate.”
“No,” Florent said very quietly, so the jurors were obliged to lean forward a little and every sound ceased in the gallery.
“I beg your pardon?” Harvester said clearly.
“No,” Florent repeated. “There were those in Venice who openly wondered if it could be true. But they were very few, perhaps two or three. In any society there are the credulous and the spiteful. The Princess Gisela has lived there for some years. Naturally, as a woman leading in society she has made enemies as well as friends. I doubt anyone truly believed it, but they took the opportunity to repeat it to her discredit.”
“It did her harm, Mr. Barberini?”
“It was unpleasant.”
“It did her harm?” Suddenly Harvester’s voice rose sharply. He was a lean figure, leaning a little backwards to stare up at the witness, but there was no mistaking the authority in him. “Do not be evasive, sir! Did she cease to be invited to certain houses?” He spread his hands. “Were people rude to her? Were they slighting or offensive? Was she insulted? Did she find it embarrassing in certain public places or among her social equals?”
Florent smiled. It took more than even the best barrister to shake his nerve. “You seem to have very slight understanding of the situation, sir,” he answered. “She went into deep mourning as soon as the service of remembrance was over. She remained in her palazzo, seldom receiving visitors or even being seen at the windows. She went out nowhere, accepted no invitations and was seen in no public places. I do not know whether fewer people sent her flowers or letters than would have otherwise. And if they did, one can only guess the reasons. It could have been any of a hundred things. I know what was said, nothing more. Whatever the rumor, there will always be someone to repeat it.” His expression did not change at all. “Ugo Casselli started a story of having seen a mermaid sitting on the steps of the Santa Maria Maggiore in the full moon,” he added. “Some idiot repeated that, too!”
There was a titter of laughter around the gallery which died away instantly as Harvester glared at them.
But Rathbone saw with a sudden, reasonless lift of his heart that the judge was smiling.
“You find the matter humorous?” Harvester said icily to Florent.
Florent knew what he meant, but he chose to misunderstand.
“Hilarious,” he said with wide eyes. “There were two hundred people out in the lagoon next full moon. Business was marvelous. I think it might have been a gondolier who started it.”
Harvester was too clever to allow his temper to mar his performance.
“Most entertaining.” He forced a dry smile. “But a harmless fiction. This fiction of the Countess Rostova’s was anything but harmless, don’t you agree, even if as absurd and as untrue?”
“If you want to be literal,” Florent argued, “it is not of equal absurdity, in my opinion. I do not believe in mermaids, even in Venice. Tragically, women do sometimes murder their husbands.”
Harvester’s face darkened, and he swung around as if to retaliate.
But the rumble of fury from the gallery robbed him of the necessity. A man called out “Shame!” Two or three half rose to their feet. One of them raised his fist.
Several jurors shook their heads, faces tight and hard, lips pursed.
Beside Rathbone, Zorah put up her hands to cover her face, and he saw her shoulders quiver with laughter.
Harvester relaxed. He had no need to fight, and he knew it. He turned to Rathbone.
