Defend and Betray - Anne Perry [74]
She did not even seem to notice his use of her Christian name. Indeed it seemed very natural to her.
“As it is there is nothing I can do for her. I have to tell Erskine that. I would be defrauding him if I allowed him to think I could say anything more than the merest novice barrister could.”
If she suspected fear for his reputation, the dread of losing, it did not show in her face, and he felt a twinge of shame that the thoughts had been there in his own mind.
“We have to find it!” she said uncertainly, convincing herself as well as him. “There is still time, isn’t there?”
“Till the trial? Yes, some weeks. But what good will it, do, and where do we begin?”
“I don’t know, but Monk will.” Her eyes never wavered from his face. She saw the shadow in his expression at mention of Monk’s name, and wished she had been less clumsy. “We cannot give up now,” she went on. There was no time for self-indulgence. “Whatever it is, surely we must find out if she is protecting someone else. Oh I know she did it—the proof is beyond argument. But why? Why was she prepared to kill him, and then to confess to it, and if necessary face the gallows? It has to be something—something beyond bearing. Something so terrible that prison, trial and the rope are better!”
“Not necessarily, my dear,” he said gently. “Sometimes people commit even the most terrible crimes for the most trivial of reasons. Men have killed for a few shillings, or in a rage over a petty insult …”
“Not Alexandra Carlyon,” she insisted, leaning across the desk towards him. “You have met her! Did she? Do you believe she sacrificed all she had—her husband, her family, her home, her position, even her life—over something trivial?” She shook her head impatiently. “And what woman cares about an insult? Men fight duels of honor—women don’t! We are perfectly used to being insulted; the best defense is to pretend you haven’t noticed—then you need not reply. Anyway, with a mother-in-law like Felicia Carlyon, I imagine Alexandra had sufficient practice at being insulted to be mistress of anything. She is not a fool, is she?”
“No.”
“Or a drunkard?”
“No.”
“Then we must find out why she did it! If you are thinking of the worst, what has she to lose? What better way to spend her money than to try to save her life?”
“I doubt I can …” he began. Then not only Hester’s face but memory of Alexandra herself, the remarkable eyes, the strong, intelligent features and sensuous mouth, the possibility of humor came back to him. He wanted to know; it would hurt him as long as he did not.
“I’ll try,” he conceded, and felt a surprising stab of pleasure as her eyes softened and she smiled, relaxing at last.
“Thank you.”
“But it may do no good,” he warned her, hating to curb her hope, and afraid of the darker despair and anger with him if he misled her.
“Of course,” she assured him. “I understand. But at least we shall try.”
“For what it may be worth …”
“Shall you tell Monk?”
“Yes—yes, I shall instruct him to continue his search.”
She smiled, a sudden brilliant gesture lighting her face.
“Thank you—thank you very much.”
Monk was surprised that Rathbone should request him to continue in the case. As a matter of personal curiosity he would like to have known the real reason why Alexandra Carlyon had killed her husband. But he could afford neither the time nor the finance to seek an answer when it could scarcely affect the outcome of any trial, and would almost certainly be a long and exhausting task.
But Rathbone had pointed out that if Erskine wished it, as her solicitor and acting in her best interest, then that was possibly the best use for her money. Certainly there was no other use that could serve her more. And presumably her heirs and the general’s were all cared for.
Perhaps that was a place to begin—money? He doubted it would show anything of use, but if nothing else, it must be eliminated, and since he had not even a guess as to what the answer might be, this was as good a place as any. He might be fortunately