A sudden, fearful death - Anne Perry [171]
She mounted the stand with a little assistance from the clerk and faced Rathbone nervously. She was very pale and seemed to keep her posture only with difficulty. But she did stop and quite deliberately look up and across at her husband in the dock, meet his eyes, and smile.
Sir Herbert blinked, gave an answering smile, and then looked away. One could only guess his emotions.
Rathbone waited, giving the jury time to observe and remember, then he stepped forward and spoke to her courteously, very gently.
“Lady Stanhope, I apologize for having to call you to testify at what must be a most distressing time for you, but I am sure you would wish to do everything possible to assist your husband to prove his innocence.”
She swallowed, staring at him.
“Of course. Anything …” She stopped, obviously also remembering his instruction not to say more than she was asked for.
He smiled at her. “Thank you. I don’t have a great deal to ask you, simply a little about Sir Herbert and your knowledge of his life and his character.”
She looked at him blankly, not knowing what to say.
This was going to be extremely difficult. He must steer a course between catering to her so much he learned nothing and being so forceful he frightened her into incoherence. He had thought when he had originally spoken to her that she would be an excellent witness, now he was wondering if he had made an error in calling her. But if he had not, her absence would have been noticed and wondered upon.
“Lady Stanhope, how long have you been married to Sir Herbert?”
“Twenty-three years,” she replied.
“And you have children?”
“Yes, we have seven children, three daughters and four sons.” She was beginning to gain a little more confidence. She was on familiar ground.
“Remember you are on oath, Lady Stanhope,” he warned gently, not for her but to draw the jury’s attention, “and must answer honestly, even if it is painful to you. Have you ever had cause to doubt Sir Herbert’s complete loyalty to you during that time?”
She looked a little taken aback, even though he had previously ascertained that her answer would be in the negative or he would not have asked.
“No, most certainly not!” She flushed faintly and looked down at her hands. “I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me. I am quite aware that many women are not so fortunate. But no, he has never given me cause for distress or anxiety in that way.” She took a breath and smiled very slightly, looking at Rathbone. “You must understand, he is devoted to his profession. He is not a great deal interested in personal affection of that sort. He loves his family, he likes to be comfortable with people, to be able, if you understand what I mean, to take them for granted.” She smiled apologetically, looking steadily at Rathbone and keeping her eyes from everyone else. “I suppose you might say that is lazy, in a sort of way, but he puts all his energy into his work. He has saved the lives of so many people—and surely that is more important than making polite conversation, flattering people and playing little games of etiquette and manners? Isn’t it?” She was asking him for reassurance, and already he was conscious of the sounds of sympathy and agreement from the crowd, little murmurs, shiftings and nods, matters of affirmation.
“Yes, Lady Stanhope, I believe it is,” he said gently. “And I am sure there are many thousands of people who will agree with you. I don’t think I have anything further to ask you, but my learned friend may. Please would you remain there, just in case.”
He walked slowly back to his seat, meeting Lovat-Smith’s glance as he did so, and knowing his opponent was weighing up what he might gain or lose by questioning Lady Stanhope. She had the jury’s sympathy. If he appeared to embarrass or fluster her he might jeopardize his own position, even if he discredited her testimony. How much of the jurors