Page 96 of Cain His Brother (William Monk 6)

Swain had no idea. He thought it had been the left. Or the right.

Rathbone thanked him.

Ebenezer Goode rose to his feet, toyed with the idea of demolishing the man, and decided it would be impolite. Cruelty seldom paid, and it was against his nature.

And, surprisingly, having made his statement, the witness could not be shifted from it. He had most definitely seen Caleb Stone looking as if he had been in a fight, and that was no mistake. He would not be pushed further. He would not retreat. He drew no conclusions. He was perfectly certain it was the right day. He had earned two shillings, and redeemed his blanket from the pawnbrokers. That was not an event to forget.

He was rewarded by a nod from the judge and a sad pursing of the lips from the foreman of the jury.

“Ah, indeed,” Goode conceded. “Thank you, Mr. Swain. That is all.”

Rathbone called his final witness, Selina Herries. She came very much against her will and stood in the witness stand clutching the railing, stiff-backed, her head and neck rigid. She was dressed in drab clothes, a plain stuff dress of respectable cut, modest at neck and sleeve, and she had a shawl wrapped around her so that one could only guess at her waist. Her bonnet hid a great deal of her hair. Nevertheless, her face was fully visible, and nothing could detract from the strength and the spirit in the high cheekbones, the bold eyes and generous mouth. In spite of the fact that she was afraid, and desperately unwilling, she stared straight at Rathbone and awaited whatever he should say.

In her seat on the public benches Genevieve turned slowly, reluctantly, and gazed at her. In some faint way this was her mirror image. This was the woman who loved the man who had killed Angus. Their lives were opposite. Genevieve was a widow, but Selina stood on the brink of bereavement too, and perhaps a worse one.

Rathbone, looking from one to the other, could see an uncrossable gulf between them, and yet a spark of the same courage and defiance gave both faces the same fierce warmth.

He could not help also looking at Caleb. Would the sight of Selina waken anything in him of regret, of understanding not only of Genevieve’s loss, but of what he too was about to pay in retribution? Was there anything of human passion or need or gentleness in the man?

What he saw as Caleb leaned over the rail, balancing his manacles on the wood, was utter despair, that absolute absence of hope which knows defeat and makes no struggle at all.

Then in the public benches Lord Ravensbrook moved, and Caleb caught sight of him, and the old scalding hatred returned, and with it will to fight.

“Mr. Rathbone?” the judge prompted.

“Yes, my lord.” He turned to the witness stand. “Miss Herries,” he began, standing in the center of the open space of the floor, his feet a little apart, “you live on Manilla Street, on the Isle of Dogs, is that so?”

“Yes sir.” She was not going to commit herself to anything whatsoever that she did not have to.

“Are you acquainted with the accused, Caleb Stone?”

Her eyes did not flicker. Certainly she did not look across at Caleb.

“Yes sir.”

“How long have you known him?”

“ ’Bout …” She hesitated. “Six, seven years, I s’pose.” She swallowed nervously and ran her tongue over her lips.

“Six or seven years is quite close enough.” Rathbone smiled, trying to reassure her. “Approximately how often do you see him?” Her face clouded and he hastened to help. “Every day? Or once a week, perhaps? Or once a month?”

“ ’E comes and goes,” she said guardedly. “Sometimes ’e’s around fer two or free days, then ’e’ll be gorn again. Mebbe gorn for weeks, mebbe back sooner. I’nt reg’lar.”

“I see. But over the years, you have come to know him well?”

“Yer could say—”

/> “Is he your lover, Miss Herries?”

Her eyes slid to Caleb, then away again quickly.

There was no readable expression in his face. A juror frowned. Someone in the crowd sniggered.

“May I rephrase the question?” Rathbone offered. “Are you his woman?”

Caleb grinned, his green eyes bright. It was impossible to read his thoughts, or even whether his tense, almost wolfish expression was amusement or unworded threat.

Selina’s chin came up a fraction. She avoided meeting the glance of anyone in the crowd beyond Rathbone.