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He knew she was lying. In that moment she had recalled very clearly, but she would not say so. He changed the subject.
“Was Mr. Breeland expecting you, Miss Alberton?”
“No. No … he was very surprised to see me.” The color washed up her face. She was acutely conscious of the fact that she had gone uninvited. It seemed to Hester, seeing her discomfort, that Breeland had not welcomed her as a lover might, but rather as a young man would who had been taken very much by surprise and been obliged extremely hastily to rearrange his plans. She hoped that was not lost upon the jury.
Rathbone was standing elegantly in the open space of the court, his head a little bent, the light shining on his fair hair.
Hester glanced up at Breeland. He also looked self-conscious and uncomfortable, although it was not so easy to know for what cause.
“I see. And after you had greeted each other, you had explained your presence, and he had permitted you to change your clothes, what did you do then?” Rathbone asked.
“We discussed what we should do,” she replied. “Do I have to tell you what we said? I am not sure I can remember.”
“It is not necessary. Were you together all the time?”
“Yes. It was not so very long. At a little before midnight a messenger arrived with a note saying that my father had changed his mind and would sell Lyman the guns after all, and we should go straight to the Euston Square s
tation with the money.”
“Who wrote this note?”
“Mr. Shearer, my father’s agent.”
“Surely it surprised you? After all, your father had been adamant, only a few hours before, that it was completely impossible for him to change his mind. It was a matter of honor,” Rathbone pointed out.
“Yes, of course I was surprised,” she agreed. “But I was too happy to question it. It meant he had seen the justice of the Union cause after all; he was on the right side. I thought perhaps … perhaps my argument meant something to him.…”
Rathbone smiled ruefully. “And so you went to the station with Mr. Breeland?”
“Yes.”
“Would you describe that journey for us, Miss Alberton?”
Step by step, in tedious detail, she obliged. They adjourned for lunch, and then resumed. By midafternoon, when she had completed her account, anyone still listening might well have felt as if they themselves had made the train journey to Liverpool, stayed in a boardinghouse and embarked upon the steamer to cross the Atlantic.
“Thank you, Miss Alberton. And just to make sure we have not misunderstood you, was Mr. Breeland out of your company at any time during the night of your father’s death?”
“No, absolutely not.”
“And did you see your father after you left home, or go anywhere near the warehouse in Tooley Street?”
“No!”
“Oh … one thing more, Miss Alberton …”
“Yes?”
“Did you actually see Shearer at the Euston Square station? I assume you do know him by sight?”
“Yes, I do. I saw him very briefly, talking to one of the guards.”
“I see. Thank you.” He turned to Deverill, inviting him to take his turn.
Deverill considered carefully, perhaps more to test Rathbone than in actual indecision. Merrit had already made it plain she would defend Breeland to the last degree, and the more she did so the more the jury respected her, whether they believed her or not. They did not think she was lying, except perhaps about leaving the watch in Breeland’s rooms, but they may well have thought her duped and used by a man unworthy of her. He would alienate them if he made that any more publicly apparent than it already was.
It was a difficult night. The tension made sleep difficult, in spite of exhaustion. Monk had been up and down the river all day, and intended to resume the day after as well, determined to find something. Hester did not ask him for an account of progress; she needed to keep hope alive, for Judith’s sake.
On Friday Rathbone called Lyman Breeland to the stand. This was the most dangerous gamble of the whole defense, but he had no choice. Not to have called Breeland would have demonstrated his fears, not only to Deverill but more important, to the jury. Deverill would have made the most of it in his summing up.
