Cain His Brother - Anne Perry [173]
Goode rose to his feet, and was also overruled.
The coroner adjourned the sitting until the following day.
Rathbone and Goode left the court together, deep in anxiety. There was no word from Monk.
The first witness of the morning was Hester Latterly.
“Miss Latterly.” The coroner smiled at her benignly. “There is no need to be nervous, my dear. Simply answer the questions to the best of your ability. If you do not know the answer, then say so.”
“Yes sir.” She nodded and smiled back at him innocently.
“You were leaving the courtroom after attending the trial, when you were informed by the gaoler Bailey that someone was injured and needed medical assistance, is that correct?” He was not going to allow her to ramble by telling the story in her own words. He had summarized it for her most precisely.
Rathbone swore under his breath.
“If Monk doesn’t come within an hour, it is all going to be over,” Goode said. “Where in God’s name is he? Is there an early train from Chilverley this morning? Should I go and look for him?”
Rathbone glanced around desperately. “I’ll send a clerk,” he said.
“Mr. Rathbone?” the coroner said with a frown.
“I beg your pardon,” Rathbone apologized grimly.
The coroner turned to Hester. “Miss Latterly?”
“Yes?”
“Would you please answer the question?”
“I beg your pardon, sir. What was it?”
Very carefully the coroner repeated himself.
“Yes sir,” she replied. “I had attended the trial with Lady Ravensbrook.” She then repeated the entire procedure of her departure, Bailey’s arrival, Enid’s reaction, her own reaction, the instructions she had given to the coachman and her reasons for doing so, all the alternatives and why they were unacceptable, Enid’s assurance that she would be perfectly able to manage and that she would indeed go home, and then her return with Bailey through the courtroom buildings and her arrival at the cells. Nothing the coroner could say—and he tried several times—would stop her. She seemed not to hear him.
Rathbone shot a sideways glance at Goode, and saw his incredulity, and the beginning of a bleak amusement.
“Yes,” the coroner said grimly. “Thank you. What did you see when you arrived at the cells, Miss Latterly? Please confine yourself to what is relevant.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Please confine yourself to what is relevant, Miss Latterly.”
“To what, sir?”
“To what is relevant, Miss Latterly!” the coroner said extremely loudly.
“Relevant to what, sir?”
The coroner controlled himself with some effort.
“To the matter of Caleb Stone’s death, madam.”
“I am afraid I don’t know what is relevant,” she replied without a flicker of expression in her face. “It would seem, from what I observed, that he was possessed by such a frantic hatred of his erstwhile guardian, Lord Ravensbrook, that he was prepared, at any cost whatever, even the certain sacrifice of his own life by hanging … surely a most damnable way to die, to inflict upon him some injury, even to wish his death. I am sorry. That is a very complicated sentence. Perhaps I had better rephrase it—”
“No!” the coroner shouted. Then he drew a deep breath. “That is not necessary, Miss Latterly. Your meaning is perfectly plain, even if not your reasons for believing so.”
She launched into her reasons for believing so, impervious to his attempted interruptions. She seemed to be hard of hearing, verging upon outright deafness. She described in detail exactly how Lord Ravensbrook had appeared to her, describing every sign with clinical thoroughness, and drawing upon her experience of soldiers in shock in the Crimea to illustrate that her opinion was an expert one. Then she described his wounds, their appearance, her treatment of them, how she had been obliged to make use of Rathbone’s shirt, and why the gaolers’ shirts would not do, her apologies to Rathbone for the inconvenience and her belief that Ravensbrook would make good his loss. When she had