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“No, never.” Taft’s voice was losing a little of its smoothness.
Warne gave a slight gesture of denial.
“They are not of the emotionally uncertain nature of your own well-meaning parishioners-”
He was not allowed to finish. Gavinton shot to his feet.
“My lord, Mr. Taft is not accountable for the morality or errors of any charity he might donate to. And may I point out that the emotional fragilities of his own parishioners have extended to false accusation, but in no case whatever, in any circumstances at all, to the misuse of money.”
Rathbone was caught. He could feel his stomach knot and his breath catch in his throat. Was Warne about to introduce the photograph at last? He had just maneuvered Taft into endorsing Drew once again, swearing he knew him and all his motives and activities.
Rathbone felt the sweat prickle on his body, and in the heat of the room, the color flush in his face.
“Mr. Warne …” he began, and then had to stop and take a deep breath and cough. “Mr. Warne, you seem to be stating the obvious. Is there a question or purpose in what you are saying? Mr. Taft has already very thoroughly, several times over, sworn to the honesty, diligence, and general virtue of Mr. Drew. He has also sworn that this is from his personal knowledge, not hearsay or a charitable judgment. What is your purpose in raising this yet again?”
“I wish to give Mr. Taft every opportunity to clear himself of these charges,” Warne said demurely. “If in some way the fraud were-”
“There has been no fraud proved, my lord!” Gavinton cut across him. “My learned friend is-”
“Yes, Mr. Gavinton,” Rathbone in turn interrupted him. “He is wasting time. You wasted a good deal of it yourself.” He turned to Warne. “I think we have established to the jury’s satisfaction that Mr. Taft trusted Mr. Drew in all things both moral and financial and that he did so after a long personal acquaintance and with all due care and foresight in making certain that his good opinion was based upon fact, not upon convenience or friendship.” He looked at Taft. “Is that a just and true assessment, Mr. Taft?”
“Yes, my lord.” Taft could do nothing but agree.
Rathbone studied his face to find even a shadow of reluctance, and saw nothing. If he had any idea of danger, he was a master at concealing it. Or was he so supremely arrogant that the possibility of his own failure never entered his mind?
Rathbone looked at Warne and could not read him either. Warne looked like a man facing impossible odds, preparing for the bitter taste of defeat and yet still seeking some last-minute escape. Perhaps that was exactly what he was. Perhaps he despised Rathbone for having even kept the photograph, let alone descending to its use. Perhaps, Rathbone thought, he had earned Warne’s lifelong contempt for no purpose at all, and Warne would rather lose the case than filthy his hands with such a ploy.
“My lord,” Warne said gravely, “much of the evidence in this case seems to be believed or discarded based on the reputation for honesty and for soundness of judgment of the person offering it. It does seem, regrettably, as if some of the Crown’s witnesses against Mr. Taft are less reliable than I had supposed. My learned friend has been able to expose them as such.”
Gavinton smiled and acknowledged the somewhat backhanded compliment.
“If your lordship will allow, one witness who seems to be central to the pursuit of the case and who therefore has had her reputation for judgment, and even for emotional stability, severely questioned has not actually been called to the stand. May it please the court, I would like to call Hester Monk as a witness in rebuttal to the testimony that Mr. Taft has given.”
“You have no question for Mr. Taft?” Rathbone said in surprise. What did Warne hope to achieve with Hester? If he called her, then Gavinton would also be able to cross-examine her. The whole miserable episode of her misjudgment in the Phillips case would be exposed in more detail. She would appear to be a highly volatile woman whose compassion had drowned her judgment and allowed a blackmailer, child pornographer, and murderer to escape justice.
Because Rathbone was the man who had defended Phillips and crucified Hester on the stand, he himself would not emerge from it well-in law, yes, but not in the eyes of the jury.
Gavinton was on his feet, smiling.
“I have no objection whatever, my lord. I think it would well serve the cause of justice. I hesitated to subject Mrs. Monk to such an ordeal again. She can barely have forgotten the humiliation of the last time, but I confess it would seem just.” He turned his satisfied smile on Warne.
Rathbone felt the control slipping out of his hands, like the wet reins of a carriage when the horses bolt.
They were waiting for his answer. He could not protect Hester. If he ruled against her testifying he would expose himself without helping her. In fact, it might even make it appear as if she had something further to hide.
“Very well,” he conceded. “But keep it to the point, Mr. Warne.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Warne instructed the usher to call Hester Monk.
There was silence as Hester came into the room, except for the rustle of fabric and creak of stays as people in the gallery turned to watch her, fascinated by this woman both Drew and Taft had described so vividly, and in “praise” so worded as to be moving from condescension into blame.
She was slender, almost a little too thin for fashionable taste, and she walked very uprightly across the open floor and climbed the steps to the witness stand. She did not look at Rathbone, at the jury, or up at the dock.
Rathbone watched her with a strange, disturbing mixture of emotions, which were far more powerful than he had expected. He had known her for more than a decade, during which he had fallen in love with her, been angered, exasperated, and confused by her, and had his emotions thoroughly wrung out. At the same time he had admired her
more than any other person he knew. She had made him laugh, even when he did not want to, and she had changed his beliefs on a score of things.
Now he wanted to protect her from Gavinton, and Warne had set her in the center of the target-damn him!
