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Hester believed him, but she could not help wondering if perhaps Daniel Alberton had needed the sale sufficiently to connive at it, and hope Judith would never know. With the American war, guns appeared to be scarce, and at a premium. She did not wish to believe it. She had liked Alberton. But she knew people would do desperate things if faced with ruin, not even so much for the loss of material goods as for the shame of failure.
“Thank you, Mr. Casbolt, you have been very kind in giving me so much of your time.”
“Mrs. Monk, please do not pursue this idea any further. I knew Daniel Alberton better than any man, in some ways even better than his wife did. Nothing in the world would have persuaded him to sell guns to any pirate on earth, and least of all to those in the Mediterranean. You have met Judith. You must have some sense of what a remarkable woman she is, how … how …” It was obvious in his face that he could find no words adequate to name the qualities he saw in her. “Daniel adored her!” he said fiercely, his voice thick with emotion. “He would have lived out his days in debtors’ prison rather than break her trust by doing such a thing. He was a most honorable man, and … and she loved him for it. He … this is difficult for me to say, Mrs. Monk.” He shook his head very slightly, as if to dismiss some cloud around him. “He did not have great passion or wit, great imagination … but he was a man you could trust with anything and everything you possessed. Could you not sense that for yourself, even in the brief time you knew him?” His smile was twisted with pain. The agony in him seemed to fill the room. “Or am I thinking you could see in a few hours what I saw in half a lifetime?”
She was embarrassed for her thoughts, and ashamed of having allowed him to see them.
“I imagine it will prove as absurd as you say.” She made it half an apology, in tone if not in words. “Perhaps if we could find Mr. Shearer it would give us the solution.”
A strange bitterness filled his face for a moment, then vanished.
“I have no doubt that that is true. Who knows what hungers drive a man to the betrayal of those who trust him? Please just do what you can to save Merrit, Mrs. Monk, for Judith’s sake. It is something I cannot do.” He swallowed. “I don’t have the skill. I can care for her in many other ways, ways of business affairs and seeing that she is provided for and that she always has the respect of society. But …”
“Of course,” she promised quickly, rising to her feet. “I shall do it for Merrit’s sake also. We worked side by side for a little while on the battlefield. I know her courage. And I like her.”
He relaxed a little. “Thank you,” he said quietly, standing also. “Please God that Monk will find Shearer, or at least proof of his part in this.”
When she spoke of her thoughts to Monk he found the idea of Alberton’s having connived to sell guns to the pirates repellent, but he was obliged to consider the possibility. She saw the wince of pain in his face as they sat over Mrs. Patrick’s excellent supper, which included a rhubarb pie whose pastry melted in the mouth.
She saw the darkness in his face. It had been there the previous evening also, and she wondered if the same fear had occurred to him then, and he had been unwilling to say so. He had liked Alberton instinctively, more than most clients, and his death had left a sense of loss as well as anger. But there was no way to blunt the thought. Only the truth could banish it … perhaps.
“What did Casbolt say?” he asked her.
“He denied that it was possible. He said Alberton adored Judith and would rather have gone to debtors’ prison than deal with pirates.” She hesitated.
“But …” he prompted.
“But he was Alberton’s closest friend and he could not bear to think he would betray Judith like that. Or that he was … so much less than they all believed him. He’s very loyal. And …” She smiled very faintly at the memory of Casbolt’s face in the beautiful, glowing room, the intensity of the emotion filling his body as he sat on the edge of his seat. “And he is pretty devoted to Judith himself. He would do anything to protect her from further hurt.”
“Including lying to hide Alberton’s guilt?” he pressed.
“I should think so,” she answered frankly, weighing her words and aware that she believed them true. “It would also be a matter of protecting the reputation of a dead friend, for Judith’s sake too. I can understand that, even if I don’t know whether I would do it myself or not.”
His eyes widened. “At the expense of the truth? You!”
She looked back at him, trying to read his expression, but not with any intent to moderate how she answered.
“I don’t know. Not all truths need to be told. Some shouldn’t. I just don’t know which they are.”
“Yes, you do.” There was a black shadow in his face. “They are those which cause the innocent to suffer, and create a divide between people because of lies … even lies of silence.”
She did not understand the depth of feeling behind his words. It was as if he were angry with her, as he had been when they had first known each other and he had thought her hypocritical, even cold. Perhaps then there had been parts of her that were locked away, too quick to condemn what she did not understand and was afraid of, but not now!
She did not know how to break through the barrier. She could not find it, touch it, but she knew absolutely that it was there. What had she said that had created it? Why did he not know her better than to misunderstand? Or love her enough to break it himself?
“I don’t know what the truth is,” she said quietly, looking down at the table. “I think it more likely it had to do with Shearer, whether he meant to sell the guns to the pirates, or Trace, or Breeland, or just anyone who wanted them.”
“I can’t find Shearer.” His voice was flat. “No one has seen him since before the murders.”
“Doesn’t that say a
great deal in itself?” she asked. “If he were not involved somehow, wouldn’t he still be here? Wouldn’t he be doing all he could to help, and perhaps improve his own position in the business? He might even hope to be some sort of manager.”
He pushed his chair away from the table and stood up, moving about the small room restlessly.
“It isn’t enough,” he said grimly. “You can see it, and I can, but we can’t rely on a jury. Breeland had the guns. He was involved. He might have persuaded Shearer actually to commit the murders, probably for the price of the guns, which could be enough to corrupt many men. I admit, I don’t care if Breeland hangs for it. To corrupt another man to betrayal and murder is an even deeper sin than doing it yourself. But it won’t help Merrit because it doesn’t prove she had no knowledge of it.”
“But …” She started to protest, then realized with a crushing weight that he was right. Not only would the jury be less likely to believe it because of her closeness to Breeland, and the fact that she had gone willingly with him, dropping her watch in the warehouse yard, but she herself, in her misguided loyalty to him, would not deny it.
