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Watching the jury, Hester saw the interest sharpen in their faces, the attitude of their bodies alter. They were leaning forward a little, keen, both frightened and proud to have such a burden placed upon them.
She glanced up at Sabri and saw on his face what might have been a smile. Pryor had begun well. Who was paying him? He would be very expensive indeed. Unless, of course, he had some interest of his own in winning. Reputation? Old favor to repay, or new ones to earn? That might be worth someone’s investigation. Would Brancaster be able to find out? She must ask him. Or Oliver might know more.
Pryor called his first witness. It was John Lydiate. He looked quiet and grave as he mounted the steps to the witness stand. There was apprehension in his face, and he gripped the rail so tightly the pale ridges of bone in his knuckles shone white. He swore to his name and occupation as commissioner of the Metropolitan Police. He promised to tell the truth, and the whole truth, and then faced Pryor as he would an execution squad.
Hester felt profoundly sorry for him. He was about to have his most public failure examined in detail in front of the court. The fact that he must have expected it would be no comfort at all.
“Sir John,” Pryor began courteously, “like all of us in London, possibly in all of England, you were aware of the atrocity against the Princess Mary and her crew and passengers right from the morning after the event. But since it occurred on the river, the investigation fell first to the Thames River Police to handle. When were you called to take over command of the investigation?”
“Later that day,” Lydiate replied, his voice rasping a little as though his mouth were dry.
“By whom?” Pryor asked.
“Lord Ossett.”
“Who had command of it up to that point?”
“Commander William Monk, of the Thames River Police.”
“I see. And did he yield this to you willingly? Perhaps he realized that this was beyond his power or experience?” Pryor suggested.
Lydiate hesitated. The question had been phrased so that it was impossible to answer without seeming to condemn Monk.
“Sir John?” Pryor raised his eyebrows.
“He did not ask my help.” Lydiate chose his words. “The command was taken from him and given to the Metropolitan Police because of the delicacy of the situation. It was felt that the relatives of the foreign dignitaries who were killed might not appreciate the skill or experience of the River Police, and believe that we were taking the matter less seriously than we should. There was a degree of diplomacy required.”
“So his command was removed from him without consultation?” Pryor concluded.
Brancaster shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but there was nothing to which he could object without making the matter worse.
Hester looked at Rathbone sitting behind Brancaster, and saw him stiffen. She wished she could see his face.
Lydiate stared at Pryor.
“I have no idea,” Lydiate replied. “I was not consulted. If I had been, I would have asked for the River Police’s cooperation.”
“Indeed?” Pryor looked taken aback. “Would you not automatically have expected that? In view of the tragedy and horror of the event, the loss of life, I had imagined their cooperation would come as a matter of course.”
Lydiate had stepped neatly into the trap prepared for him. He flushed hotly. “Commander Monk had already been into the wreck while it was still submerged, and gave us his report,” he said tartly. “Your suggestion that he in any way failed to cooperate is misinformed, sir, and does you no credit.”
There was a rustle in the gallery, and one or two jurors nodded.
“Very loyal of you,” Pryor said with approval, as if he had foreseen the reply. “Did you consult Mr. Monk again after that?”
“He gave me his notes,” Lydiate answered. “They were sufficiently clear that contacting him again was unnecessary.”
Pryor smiled, but his lips were tight across his teeth. “Loyal again. Or, on the other hand, a very gracious way of saying that you assumed complete command yourself and consulted no one else.”
Hester saw that Brancaster was scribbling notes to himself. She had expected Pryor to attack Monk, but she still seethed with anger at the way he did it.
“It is not!” Lydiate said sharply. “I consulted many other people, experts in several fields. Your suggestion is not only unfair, sir, it is incompetent.”
There was a rustle of movement in the gallery, an awakening air of curiosity. The tone had become outright combative.
Hester saw the judge look from Pryor to Lydiate, and back again. Was that a flicker of humor in his face? She looked up momentarily at Sabri and saw a smile of satisfaction cross his lips and then vanish.
Pryor swallowed his temper with some difficulty.
