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“Roger Belknap,” she agreed. “I know. Actually Belknap was charged with another crime, a robbery, and he was found not guilty because Aaron swore they were together at the assay office.”
“Does it matter now? Belknap’s testimony stood.”
“Because Aaron, whom everybody trusted, swore for him,” she said. “Of course he did! Because effectively, Belknap was swearing for Aaron.”
He stared at her, blinking as if his eyes were too tired to see clearly. “Are you saying Aaron actually killed Piers himself? Why? He had any number of men who would have done it for a few dollars!”
“And have been in their power forever after…unless he killed them, too,” she pointed out. “And Piers was very well liked. He ran a great deal of Aaron Clive’s business. He was a sort of ‘first lieutenant.’?”
“So Clive lost his closest friend when his cousin died, and his next closest when Astley was killed?” Rathbone asked.
“And gained the most beautiful woman on the Barbary Coast as his wife,” Beata added.
He drew in breath to reply, then changed his mind.
She laughed for the first time since the trial began. “You were going to say that that was hardly a good bargain!” Her amusement was quite open. “Very wise you didn’t.”
“I suppose she is beautiful,” he replied, a little too reluctantly. “It wouldn’t matter that much to me. I prefer the beauty from inside that shines through any kind of bone structure or coloring.” He looked at her more intently. “But you are certain of what you say? Please be absolutely honest. If I base my strategy on that, it will be disastrous if you are mistaken.”
“She knows it, Oliver. She told me so herself. What actually happened is a complete change in direction from McNab’s original plan. His first idea for revenge on Monk for Nairn’s death was quite different. It was based on a hoax robbery of Clive’s business, but in the meantime he drew Miriam in to find out what he could about Monk in San Francisco, hoping to discredit him. Then Pettifer drowned and McNab saw a chance to link that with Piers Astley’s murder, showing Monk to be an undoubted killer. He and Miriam exchanged information about Astley’s death and about Monk, who she thought might help her. She isn’t proud of it, but Astley’s death had consumed her, and her growing need to find the truth had driven out everything else. Gillander brought her the evidence only relatively recently,” Beata explained. “She had hoped Monk could help her discover the truth, but of course if he ever knew anything he’s forgotten it now, along with everything else.”
“And McNab waited because he didn’t dare attack Monk until he knew he was vulnerable,” Rathbone said grimly. “It’s…” He could not find a word that suited his thought.
“Going to be difficult,” she finished for him.
“Please God, that’s all it is!” he said gravely.
She had already made her decision. Now she must tell him, with whatever decisions followed from it.
“I will testify, if you wish. But I am not sure what weight will be attached to it.”
“I understand that you prefer not to—” he began.
“No, Oliver, you don’t,” she interrupted him. “I am perfectly willing to testify, for Monk, and for Hester’s sake. But you know very little of my time in San Francisco. There are things I haven’t told you, because I am ashamed of them.” She breathed slowly and steadied herself. “Part of the reason I came home again to England was that my father died. I didn’t tell you how. For a while he did very well financially. Then he started to gamble. By the time he died he was in great difficulty. He…he cheated at cards, and was caught. He was shot in a bar brawl that was started because he was caught palming cards. It was a scandal at the time. I was a widow, so I didn’t have the same name, but everyone knew I was his daughter.”
She thought she could get through it all in a flat, clear voice, and without crying, but the tears were thick in her throat now.
“I’m sorry,” she added. “It’s not very pleasant. Perhaps I should have told you before, but I didn’t think I would ever have to.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” he said quietly.
“Yes, I do. Aaron Clive knows, and if my evidence is unpleasant to him, you can be certain he will raise it.”
“Does that mean you would prefer not to testify?”
She looked up at him. “No, it does not! I shall testify if I can say anything of use. I’m…I’m part of this!” It was a statement of belonging, made with anger because she desperately wanted it to be true.
He slid his hand over hers, very gently. “I know you are. And I want you always to be. As soon as you tell me it is decent to do so, I shall ask you to marry me. And I shall continue to argue the case until you accept me.”
She wanted to make some charming, graceful reply, even one that was mildly amusing. Instead of which, she could only be totally serious.
“I think when Monk is safe, and free, we must wait a few months before we speak of it to anyone else, but we may be agreed between ourselves,” she said gravely, but with a smile so gentle and so filled with hope he could not have mistaken her emotions.
“Then I had better renew my efforts,” he said softly. “We must win.”
—
THE TRIAL RESUMED LATER in the morning. The judge warned Rathbone that he would be required to make good in his extraordinary remarks of the day before. The court would take a very s
