Part 29 (1/2)
”No.”
”Did you indulge in much wine that evening?”
”No-very little.” Cyprian frowned. ”I don't see the point in your question, sir. My sister was undoubtedly killed in the room next to me. That I did not hear the struggle seems to me to be irrelevant. Percival is much stronger than she . . .”He looked very pale and had some difficulty in keeping his voice under control. ”I presume he overpowered her quickly-”
”And she did not cry out?” Rathbone looked surprised.
”Apparently not.”
”But Mr. O'Hare would have us believe she took a carving knife to bed with her to ward off these unwelcome attentions of the footman,” Rathbone said reasonably. ”And yet when he came into her room she rose out of her bed. She was not found lying in it but on it, across from a normal position in which to sleep--we have Mr. Monk's evidence for that. She rose, put on her peignoir, pulled out the carving knife from wherever she had put it, then there was a struggle in which she attempted to defend herself-”
He shook his head and moved a little, shrugging his shoulders. ”Surely she must have warned him first? She would not simply run at him with dagger drawn. He struggled and wrested the knife from her”-he held up his hands-”and in the battle that ensued, he stabbed her to death. And yet in all this neither of them uttered a cry of any sort! This whole tableau was conducted in total silence? Do you not find that hard to believe, Mr. Moidore?”
The jury fidgeted, and Beatrice drew in her breath sharply.
”Yes!” Cyprian admitted with dawning surprise. ”Yes, I do. It does seem most unnatural. I cannot see why she did not simply scream.”
”Nor I, Mr. Moidore,” Rathbone agreed. ”It would surely have been a far more effective defense; and less dangerous, and more natural to a woman than a carving knife.”
O'Hare rose to his feet.
”Nevertheless, Mr. Moidore, gentlemen of the jury, the fact remains that she did have the carving knife-and she was stabbed to death with it. We may never know what bizarre, whispered conversation took place that night. But we do know beyond doubt that Octavia Haslett was stabbed to death-and the bloodstained knife, and her robe gashed and dark with her blood, were found in Percival's room. Do we need to know every word and gesture to come to a conclusion?”
There was a rustle in the crowd. The jury nodded. Beside Hester, Beatrice let out a low moan.
Septimus was called, and recounted to them how he had met Octavia returning home on the day of her death, and how she had told him that she had discovered something startling and dreadful, and that she lacked only one final proof of its truth. But under O'Hare's insistence he had to admit that no one else had overheard this conversation, nor had he repeated it to anyone. Therefore, O'Hare concluded triumphantly, there was no reason to suppose this discovery, whatever it was, had had anything to do with her death. Septimus was unhappy. He pointed out that simply because he had not told anyone did not mean that Octavia herself had not.
But it was too late. The jury had already made up its mind, and nothing Rathbone could do in his final summation could sway their conviction. They were gone only a short while, and returned white-faced, eyes set and looking anywhere but at Percival. They gave the verdict of guilty. There were no mitigating circ.u.mstances.
The judge put on his black cap and p.r.o.nounced sentence. Percival would be taken to the place from whence he came, and in three weeks he would be led out to the execution yard and hanged by the neck until he was dead. May G.o.d have mercy upon his soul, there was none other to look for on earth.
Chapter 10.
”I am sorry, ” Rathbone said very gently, looking at Hester with intense concern. ”I did everything I could, but the pa.s.sion was rising too high and there was no other person whom I could suggest with a motive powerful enough.”
”Maybe Kellard?” she said without hope or conviction. ”Even if she was defending herself, it doesn't have to have been from Percival. In fact it would make more sense if it was Myles, then screaming wouldn't do much good. He would only say she'd cried out and he'd heard her and come to see what was wrong. He would have a far better excuse than Percival for being there. And Percival she could have crushed with a threat of having him dismissed. She could hardly do that with Myles, and she may not have wanted Araminta ever to know about his behavior.”
”I know that.” He was standing by the mantel in his office and she was only a few feet away from him, the defeat crus.h.i.+ng her and making her feel vulnerable and an appalling failure. Perhaps she had misjudged, and Percival was guilty after all? Everyone else, apart from Monk, seemed to believe it. And yet there were things that made so little sense.
”Hester?”
”I'm sorry,” she apologized. ”My attention was wandering.”
”I could not raise Myles Kellard as a suspect.”
”Why not?”
He smiled very slightly. ”My dear, what evidence should I call that he had the least amorous interest in his sister-in-law? Which of his family do you imagine would testify to that? Araminta? She would become the laughingstock of London society, and she knows that. If it were rumored she might be pitied, but if she openly admits she knows of it, she will be despised. From what I have seen of her, she would find them equally intolerable.”
”I doubt Beatrice would lie,” Hester said, and then knew instantly it was foolish. ”Well, he raped the maid Martha Rivett. Percival knew that.”
”And what?” he finished for her. ”The jury will believe Percival? Or I should call Martha herself? Or Sir Basil, who dismissed her?”
”No, of course not,” she said miserably, turning away. ”I don't know what else we can do. I'm sorry if I seem unreasonable. It is just so-” She stopped and looked across at him. ”They'll hang him, won't they?”
”Yes.” He was watching her, his face grave and sad. ”There are no mitigating circ.u.mstances this time. What can you say in defense of a footman who l.u.s.ts after his master's daughter, and when she refuses him, knifes her to death?”
”Nothing,” she said very quietly. ”Nothing at all, except that he is human, and by hanging him we diminish ourselves as well.”
”My dear Hester.” Slowly and quite deliberately, his lashes lowered but his eyes open, he leaned forward until his lips touched hers, not with pa.s.sion but with utmost gentleness and long, delicate intimacy.
When he drew away she felt both more and less alone than she ever had before, and she knew at once from his face that it had caught him in some way by surprise also.
He drew breath as if to speak, then changed his mind and turned away, going over to the window and standing with his back half towards her.
”I am truly sorry I could not do better for Percival,” he said again, his voice a little rough and charged with a sincerity she could not doubt. ”For him, and because you trusted me.”
”You have discharged that trust completely,” she said quickly. ”I expected you to do all you could-I did not expect a miracle. I can see how pa.s.sion is rising among the public. Perhaps we never had a chance. It was simply necessary that we try everything within our power. I am sorry I spoke so foolishly. Of course you could not have suggested Myles-or Araminta. It would only have turned the jury even more against Percival; I can see that if I free my mind from frustration and apply a little intelligence.”
He smiled at her, his eyes bright. ”How very practical.”
”You are laughing at me,” she said without resentment. ”I know it is considered unwomanly, but I see nothing attractive in behaving like a fool when you don't have to.”
His smile broadened. ”My dear Hester, neither do I. It is extremely tedious. It is more than enough to do so when we cannot help ourselves. What are you going to do now? How will you survive, once Lady Moidore no longer considers herself in need of a nurse?''
”I shall advertise for someone else who does-until I am able to search for a job in administration somewhere.”
”I am delighted. From what you say you have not abandoned your hope of reforming English medicine.''
”Certainly not-although I do not expect to do it in the lifetime your tone suggests. If I initiate anything at all I will be satisfied.”
”I am sure you will.” His laughter vanished. ”A determination like yours will not be thwarted long, even by the Pom-eroys of the world.''
”And I shall find Mr. Monk and go over the whole case again,” she added. ”Just so I am sure there is nothing whatever we can still do.”
”If you find anything, bring it to me.” He was very grave indeed now. ”Will you promise me that? We have three weeks in which it might still be possible to appeal.”
”I will,” she said with a return of the hard, gray misery inside her. The moment's ineffable warmth was gone, Percival remembered. ”I will.” And she bade him good-bye and took her leave to seek Monk.
Hester returned to Queen Anne Street light-footed, but the leaden feeling was at the edge of her mind waiting to return now that she was forced to think of reality again.
She was surprised to learn from Mary, as soon as she was in the house, that Beatrice was still confining herself to her room and would take her evening meal upstairs. She had gone into the ironing room for a clean ap.r.o.n, and found Mary there folding the last of her own linen.
”Is she ill?” Hester said with some concern-and a pang of guilt, not only for what might be dereliction of her duty but because she had not believed the malady was now anything but a desire to be a trifle spoilt, and to draw from her family the attention she did not otherwise. And that in itself was something of a mystery. Beatrice was not only a lovely woman but vivid and individual, not made in the placid mold of Romola. She was also intelligent, imaginative and at times capable of considerable humor. Why should such a woman not be the very heartbeat of her home?