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Rathbone nodded slowly, seeing the quagmire of Juster’s argument. ‘And what about Miss Radnor?’ he asked. ‘How much is she to blame really? And what will the law say about her?’
‘Exactly,’ Juster agreed, the ghost of a smile on his lips. ‘And yet they must be prosecuted. If they are not, then anybody can justify anything with the defence that they were seeking new medical insights.’ His voice became more urgent. ‘Help me with this, Sir Oliver. Mrs Monk was deeply wronged, and I seriously believe that if Commander Monk and his men had not rescued her, then both she and the Roberts children would have paid for this with their lives. Fortunately she was not injured, as it turns out – at least not physically. But fear and imprisonment are a torture to the mind, and that also is a crime whose damage we may never be able to quantify.’
‘Why me?’ Rathbone asked. He was not seeking any kind of praise, not even affirmation. He could see no reason why he was suited for this case, and he knew Juster well enough to understand his ambition.
Juster smiled. ‘Because you have known and cared for Mrs Monk for many years. You will fight hard, but fairly for her. You’ll not try to trip her on the witness stand. And if the defence does, you’ll attack them hard and mercilessly. I know your reputation with other lawyers is mixed. You are not yet fully restored to the place you want to hold. I don’t know if you ever will be. But you are the best, whether it is acknowledged or not. And the public knows it, even if their Lordships of the Bar do not.’ He smiled very slightly, but there was a warmth in it. ‘And you never give up.’
‘And you very diplomatically did not mention that I have a debt of honour to you,’ Rathbone added. ‘You defended me brilliantly, when no one else would, and at some risk to yourself.’
Juster’s smile widened, showing white teeth. ‘Really? I had forgotten that.’
Rathbone grunted. ‘Indeed. Only because you are sure that I have not. Yes, I will consider the case very carefully and do all I can to be of assistance. It is, as you say, extremely interesting. Thank you. Will you have more tea . . .?’
After Juster had gone, Rathbone very carefully weighed what he had been told. He asked Dover to bring in the newspapers that had written of the incident, and he studied them all. He was perfectly aware that what newspapers wrote, even the best of them, was not necessarily the truth. It was not facts he was looking for, it was how it was reported, as that was what would form most of the public opinion.
Just after luncheon he took a hansom. He crossed the river and went along the south bank up the slight hill to Paradise Row.
‘Oliver!’ Hester greeted him with surprise and great pleasure. ‘How good to see you! Are you well?’ She regarded him carefully, as if she wanted more than the politeness of a usual answer, which was always in the affirmative.
He smiled at her. It still filled him with a strange mixture of happiness and regret to see her. He had once asked her to marry him, and he never totally forgot it, even though he acknowledged it was Monk she truly loved, and that would always be so.
‘Don’t talk nonsense, Hester,’ he said quite gently. ‘I have read the newspapers and Ardal Juster came to see me before I had even finished my breakfast. He has asked me to help him prosecute Hamilton Rand and, of course, Adrienne Radnor. I am very well. Now tell me how you are, with no polite evasions.’
‘Then come inside,’ she invited him. ‘The sun is nice at the back and we can sit with the garden doors open and drink lemonade. I think I even have some cake.’ She turned and led the way inside.
He followed her, without mentioning that it was half-past two in the afternoon, and far too early for cake.
As it happened, Scuff had eaten the cake anyway, but the lemonade was excellent. Its sweet sharp taste seemed peculiarly appropriate. The roses would last another month or two, but there was autumn in the air.
‘What is it you wish to know?’ Hester asked a little guardedly.
He remembered, not without pain, the time he had humiliated her in the witness stand in a case several years ago, because he had believed passionately in the cause he was fighting. She understood why he had done it, but the memory of it was in her eyes also, the lack of trust. She had made it plain she did not blame him. She would have despised him if he had served friendship before justice. She would not have placed sentiment before medicine.
He reminded her of that now.
She smiled ruefully. ‘You are right,’ she admitted. ‘We should speak honestly now, but it isn’t easy.’
‘Isn’t it?’ Did you go with Rand willingly?’
Her eyes widened. ‘No! Of course not!’
‘Hester, I need to know what the defence will ask you that you may find it hard to answer. We must be prepared with the truth now, not when it is too late.’
She smiled very faintly, and her face was a little paler. ‘I did not go willingly. Actually I was unconscious. I think, from the lingering smell, that they used ether. When I came around I was in an upstairs room in the cottage Rand and his brother inherited, somewhere in the country. All I could see from the window was a stretch of garden, and then the fields and slopes of hillside beyond. I had no idea where I was.’
‘Who else was there?’
‘Hamilton Rand, Bryson Radnor – he was the patient – his daughter, Adrienne, and the three children, Charlie, Maggie and Mike. And the gardener. He seemed to patrol the grounds most of the time. He carried a gun.’
‘Do you know what kind of a gun? What did it look like? Can you describe it?’
‘A double-barrelled shotgun. I’m an army nurse, Oliver; I’ve seen guns before. Probably thousands of them.’
‘Yes, I’m sorry. I forgot.’
‘And I really am all right,’ she added. ‘Please stop talking to me as if I were about to faint.’
‘Hester, I . . .’ he began, then stopped. What could he say that would not embarrass he
