Acceptable Loss - Anne Perry [130]
But he also knew that Henry would never have asked someone else to pay the price, or take the blame for him.
Perhaps Margaret believed the same of Ballinger? Were her memories just as deep, as woven into her own life, her beliefs? Was he being unfair to her?
But his withdrawal from her had nothing to do with ambition, or even with love. It had to do with Rathbone’s own identity. She was asking him to destroy himself, but if he did that, there would be nothing left for either of them. What she was asking of him was not a case of personal sacrifice; that might have been a more difficult decision. It was an issue of doing something he believed—no, something he knew—to be wrong.
He looked up at the sky as the starlings wheeled back again into the wind, still flying as if to some understood pattern, all going home to roost for the night.
Henry seemed to know he had reached a conclusion. He did not raise the subject again. They turned and walked together back through the apple trees toward the house.
AT HOME RATHBONE AND Margaret passed the weekend in bitter silence. The politeness between them was like walking on broken glass.
At dawn on Monday morning, Rathbone went again to see Arthur Ballinger to try to persuade him not to testify. As it was, he had a good chance of acquittal. He could prove his actual innocence later, if someone else were charged.
But Ballinger was obdurate. He would not leave the courtroom with this accusation still hanging over his existence, crippling his life, shadowing and tainting the lives of his family. Even the possibility of a guilty verdict did not deter him. He simply did not believe it could happen.
Was that supreme hubris, or was he actually innocent and Rathbone had badly misjudged him? He entered the courtroom still uncertain.
As soon as he called Ballinger to the stand, there was a rustle of excitement, a movement, a stiffening of attention.
Ballinger mounted the witness stand. He looked pale but composed, as grave as an accused man should, and with appropriate humility. He was clearly taking all the advice that Rathbone had given him. He looked the model of a good man unjustly afflicted by circumstance.
Nevertheless, Rathbone was as nervous as if he were on trial himself. His mouth was dry and his muscles ached with the built-up tension of going over and over every possibility in his mind. He was afraid his voice was going to betray him by cracking. He did not even glance at Margaret, who was sitting with her mother and sisters in the gallery. He could not bear to see the coldness in her face, nor to wonder where their lives were going after this, whatever the outcome.
He dared not fail.
Ballinger was sworn in and faced Rathbone expectantly.
“Mr. Ballinger,” Rathbone began. He cleared his throat. He was unaccustomed to being so nervous. “Did you know Mickey Parfitt?”
“I met him once, several years ago, very briefly,” Ballinger replied. “I don’t remember him. I know only because of the transaction concerned.”
“Indeed. And what was that, Mr. Ballinger?” Rathbone knew that he had to draw this out now, because it was a matter of record, and if he did not, then Winchester would make more of it.
“It was the sale to Mr. Parfitt of a boat, by a client I represented,” Ballinger replied levelly.
“Was this boat the same one we have heard about, used for pornographic performances and the imprisonment of children?” Rathbone kept all expression from his face.
“I don’t know. I only advised my client in the sale of the boat.”
“And was this client whom you represented Mr. Jericho Phillips, the same Jericho Phillips you later represented when he was tried for murder earlier this year?”
There was a rustle of movement, a sigh of indrawn breath around the gallery.
The jury sat motionless, faces pale.
“It was,” Ballinger answered quietly. “I believe that every man is entitled to the protection of the law, and a fair and just trial.”
“So do we all, Mr. Ballinger.” Rathbone nodded gravely. “That is why we are