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"Yes." It was little more than a whisper.
The judge leaned forward. "Please speak up, Mrs. Anderson. The jury needs to hear you."
"I’m sorry, sir. Yes, I was living there."
"How long ago was that?"
Tobias rose to his feet. "This is old history, my lord. If it will be of any assistance to Sir Oliver, and to saving the court’s time and not prolonging what can only be painful, rather than merciful, the Crown concedes that Mrs. Anderson took in Mrs. Gardiner when she was little more than a child and looked after her with devotion from that day forward. We do not contest it, nor require any evidence to that effect."
"Thank you," Rathbone said with elaborate graciousness. "That was not my point. If you are as eager as you suggest not to waste the court’s time, then perhaps you would consider not interrupting me until there is some good reason for it?"
There was a titter of nervous laughter around the gallery, and distinct smiles adorned the faces of at least two of the jurors.
A flush of temper lit Tobias’s face, but he masked it again almost immediately.
Rathbone turned back to Cleo.
"Mrs. Anderson, would you please tell us the circumstances of that meeting?"
Cleo spoke with a great effort. It was painfully apparent that the memory was distressing to her and she recalled it only as an act of despair.
Rathbone had very little idea why he was asking her, only that Hester had pressed him to, and he had no other weapon to use.
"It was a night in September, the twenty-second, I think. It was windy, but not cold." She swallowed. Her throat was dry and she began to cough.
At the judge’s request the usher brought her a glass of water, then she continued.
"Old Josh Wetherall, from two doors down, came beating on my door to say there was a young girl, a child, crying on the road, near in hysterics, he said, an’ covered all over in blood. He was beside himself with distress, poor man, and hadn’t an idea what to do to help." She took a deep breath.
No one moved or interrupted her. Even Tobias was silent, although his face still reflected impatience.
"Of course, I went to see what I could do," Cleo continued. "Anyone would, but I suppose he thought I might know a bit more, being a nurse and all."
"And the child?" Rathbone prompted.
Cleo’s hands gripped the rail in front of her as if she needed its strength to hold her up.
"Josh was right, she was in a terrible state..."
"Would you describe her for us?" Rathbone directed her, ignoring Tobias, leaning forward to object. "We need to see it as you saw it, Mrs. Anderson."
She stared at him imploringly, denial in her eyes, in her face, even in the angle of her body.
"We need to see her as you did, Mrs. Anderson. Please believe me, it is important." He was lying. He had no idea whether it meant anything or not, but at least the jury were listening, emotions caught at last.
Cleo was rigid, shaking. "She was hysterical," she said very quietly.
The judge leaned forward to hear, but he did not again request her to raise her voice.
No one in the body of the court moved or made the slightest sound.
Rathbone nodded, indicating she should continue.
"I’ve never seen anyone so frightened in my life," Cleo said, not to Rathbone or to the court, but as if she were speaking aloud what was indelibly within her. "She was covered in blood; her eyes were staring, but I’m not sure she saw anything at all. She staggered and bumped into things and for hours she was unable to speak. She just gasped and shuddered. I’d have felt better if she could have wept."
Again she stopped and the silence lengthened, but no one moved. Even Tobias knew better than to intrude.
"How was she injured?" Rathbone asked finally.
