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"Sergeant?" Tobias prompted.
Robb lifted his chin a little, glaring back. "I am reluctant, sir. Mrs. Anderson is well known in our community for going around visiting and helping the sick, especially them that’s old and poor. Night and day, she did it, as well as working in the hospital. She couldn’t have cared for them better if they’d been her own."
"But you arrested her for murder!"
Robb clenched his jaw. "I had to. We found evidence that Treadwell was blackmailing her—"
This time Rathbone did stand up. "My lord..."
"Yes, yes," the judge agreed, pursing his lips. "Mr. Tobias, you know better than this. If you have evidence, present it in the proper way."
Tobias bowed, smiling. He had no cause to worry, and he knew it. He turned back to Robb in the witness stand.
"This high regard you have for Mrs. Anderson, Sergeant, is it all upon local hearsay, or can you substantiate it from any knowledge of your own?"
"I have it from knowledge of my own," Robb said wretchedly. "She came regular to see my grandfather, who lives with me."
Tobias nodded slowly. He seemed to be weighing his words, judging what to say and what to leave unsaid. Rathbone looked across at the faces of the jury. There was one man in particular, middle-aged, earnest, who was watching Tobias with what seemed to be understanding. He turned to Robb, and there was pity clear in his face.
Tobias did not ask if Cleo had brought medicines or not. It was not necessary; the jury had perceived it already. They would not want to see the sergeant embarrassed. Tobias was a superb judge of nature.
There was nothing Rathbone could do.
The day proceeded while Tobias drew out all the rest of the evidence, piece by piece, from an unwilling Robb. He told how, at least in part by following Monk, he had learned of the missing medicines, of Cleo’s own poverty and that she was being blackmailed by Treadwell. It provided her with a motive for murder that anyone could understand only too well. The jury sat somberly, shaking their heads, and there seemed as much pity in their faces as blame.
That would change when Miriam became involved; Rathbone knew it as well as he knew darkness followed sundown, but there was no protest or argument he could make. Tobias was precisely within all the rules and had laid his plans perfectly. There was nothing for Rathbone to do but endure it ... and hope.
The second day was no better. Robb finished his testimony, and Rathbone was given the opportunity to question him, but there was nothing for him to ask. If he remained silent he would appear to have surrendered already, without even the semblance of a fight, as if he had no belief in his clients and no hope for them. And yet Tobias had touched on every aspect of Robb’s knowledge of the case and there was nothing to challenge. Everything he had said was true, and not open to kinder or more favorable interpretation. To have him repeat it would not only look ineffectual, it would reinforce it in the jury’s minds. He rose to his feet.
"Thank you, my lord, but Mr. Tobias has asked of Sergeant Robb everything that I would have. It would be self-indulgent of me to waste the court’s time asking the sergeant to repeat it for me." He sat down again.
Tobias smiled.
The judge nodded to him unhappily. He seemed to find the case distressing, and looked as if he would very much rather have had someone else there in his place, but he would see justice done. He had spent his life in this cause.
Tobias called the minister from the church in Hampstead, a genial man who looked uncomfortable in such surroundings but gave his evidence with conviction. He had known Cleo Anderson for thirty years. He had had no idea she had committed any crime whatsoever and found this news difficult to comprehend. He apologized for expressing such bewilderment. However, human frailty was his field of experience.
Tobias sympathized with him. "And how long have you known Miriam Gardiner?" he asked.
"Since she first came to Hampstead," the vicar replied. Then under Tobias’s gentle encouragement he told the story of Miriam’s first appearance in acute distress, at about thirteen years old, how Cleo had taken her in and cared for her while seeking her family. This had proved impossible, and Miriam had remained with Cleo until her marriage to Mr. Gardiner.
"A moment," Tobias interrupted him. "Could you describe Mr. Gardiner for us, please. His age, his appearance, his social and financial standing."
The vicar looked a trifle startled.
Rathbone was not. He knew exactly what Tobias was doing: establishing a pattern of Cleo’s and Miriam’s loyalty to each other, of Miriam’s marrying a man with a prosperous business and then sharing her good fortune with her original benefactress, who had become as a mother to her. He did it extremely well, painting a picture of the woman and child struggling in considerable hardship, their closeness to one another, the happiness of Miriam on finding a worthy man, albeit older than herself, but gentle and apparently devoted to her.
It had not been a great romance, but a good, stable marriage—and certainly all that a girl in Miriam’s position might have hoped for. A love match with a man her own age and class would not have brought her much material status or security.
Tobias made his point well and delicately. Again there was nothing whatever Rathbone could call into question.
Had Miriam shared her new good fortune with Cleo Anderson?
"Naturally," the vicar replied. "What loving daughter would not?"
"Just so," Tobias agreed, and let the matter rest.
When the court was adjourned for the day Rathbone went immediately to see Miriam. She was alone in the police cells, her face drawn, her eyes dark. She did not ask him why he had not crossexamined, and her silence made it harder for him. He had no idea if she had even hoped for anything, or how much she understood. It was so easy, when he was accustomed to the flow of a trial and its hidden meanings, to assume that others were as aware. He would have liked to allow her the mercy of remaining unaware of how serious her situation was, but he could not afford to.
