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“Yes, my lord,” Rathbone said with conviction. “Leighton Duff was one of three. Rhys Duff had nothing to do with them. He did indeed go to St. Giles, and there use the services of a prostitute. But he paid the price asked, and he exercised no violence whatever. It is a practice about which we may all have our moral judgments, but it is not a crime, and it is certainly not rape, nor is it murder.”
“Then who murdered Leighton Duff, Sir Oliver? He did not commit suicide. It seems apparent he and Rhys fought, and Rhys survived while he did not.”
“I shall explain, my lord, with your permission.”
“You must do more than explain, Sir Oliver, you must prove it to this court and this jury beyond a reasonable doubt.”
“That is what I intend, my lord. To that end I call Miss Hester Latterly to the stand.”
There was a slight stir of interest. Heads craned as Hester walked across the floor and up the steps, faced Rathbone and took the oath.
“What is your occupation, Miss Latterly?” Rathbone began almost conversationally.
“I am a nurse.”
“Do you presently have a patient?”
“Yes. I have been employed to nurse Rhys Duff since he returned from the hospital after the incident in Water Lane.”
“Was there also a doctor in attendance?”
“Dr. Corriden Wade. He has been the family physician for many years, I understand.”
The judge leaned forward. “Please restrict yourself to what you know, Miss Latterly.”
“I’m sorry, my lord.”
“Have you any experience in the army of men injured in the same manner and degree as Rhys Duff was, Miss Latterly?”
“Yes. I nursed many injured soldiers in Scutari.”
There was a murmur of approval around the gallery. Two of the jurors nodded.
“Did you treat his injuries yourself, or merely nurse him, keep him clean, feed him, attend to his wants?” Rathbone must be careful how he phrased his questions. So far no one else seemed to have the slightest idea what he was seeking to prove. He must not lead her, neither must he leave any doubt in their minds, once he had shown them the truth.
Goode was listening intently.
“I treated those wounds above the waist,” Hester replied. “They were bruises, very severe, and the broken bones in his hands, and two broken ribs. There was very little to be done for them. The injuries below the waist Dr. Wade told me he bandaged. This was for the sake of Mr. Duff’s sensibilities.”
“I see. So you never observed them yourself?”
“That is correct.”
“But you accepted Dr. Wade’s word for their nature and degree, and that they were healing as well as could be expected?”
“Yes.”
The judge leaned forward again. “Sir Oliver, does the nature or site of Mr. Duff’s wounds have any relevance to whether he was responsible for his father’s death? I admit, I fail to see it.”
“Yes, my lord, it does.” Rathbone turned to Hester. “Miss Latterly, was Mr. Duff subject to any unusual degree of emotional turmoil during the time you cared for him?”
Goode rose to his feet. “My lord, Miss Latterly did not know Mr. Duff before the tragedy. She cannot know if his distress was usual or not.”
The judge looked at Rathbone. “Sir Oliver? Mr. Goode’s point is a fair one.”
“My lord, I meant was he subject to emotions extraordinary in a man in his condition. Miss Latterly has nursed many men who were severely injured. I think she is in a better position than almost anyone else to know what to expect.”
“I agree.” The judge nodded. “You may answer, Miss Latterly.”
