Slaves of Obsession - Anne Perry [86]
Henry said nothing, but his expression was eloquent.
Outside, the shadows were lengthening on the lawn and the air was definitely cooler. A three-quarter moon was luminous in the fading sky. The sun had gone even from the poplars.
“I am obliged to defend Breeland also.” Oliver stated the inevitable. “Unless he insists on his own man, in which case I imagine Merrit Alberton will choose to have the same person, whatever her family wants.”
“And will you accept him as a client, believing him guilty?” Henry asked. “Knowing that his condemnation will certainly mean the girl’s as well?”
It was a moral dilemma Oliver disliked acutely. He found the murders unusually repellent because they were brutal, and as far as he could see, also unnecessary. Breeland, or anyone else, could have stolen the guns without killing Alberton and the guards. They could have been left unconscious and bound, and still been unable to prevent the theft. By the time they were found Breeland had been safely away. The killing accomplished nothing and it was a gratuitous cruelty.
He would far rather have defended Merrit, even if it were no better than pleading her youth and a certain amount of duress or intimidation, and that she had not foreseen the violence. No such argument was feasible for Breeland.
“I don’t know,” he confessed. “I need to understand a great deal more before I can even formulate what defense to make.”
The silence remained unbroken for some time. Henry stood up and closed the French doors, then returned to his seat.
“There is also the matter of the blackmail,” Oliver resumed, and to Henry’s surprise, told him what Monk had said briefly of Alberton’s urgent reason for consulting him. “I suppose that could be involved,” he finished dubiously.
“Well, you certainly need to find out who was responsible,” Henry agreed. “Perhaps they took revenge for not having been sold their guns.”
“But Breeland lied about the guns!” Oliver went back to the one fact that seemed inescapable. “Monk traced them down the river to Bugsby’s Marshes, not to the railway station and Liverpool.” He stared at the empty fireplace.
“But why murder?” Henry asked. “From what you have said, Breeland did not have to kill Alberton to take the guns. Consider this girl very carefully, Oliver. And consider the widow as well.”
Oliver was startled. “A domestic crime?”
“Or a financial one,” Henry amended. “Whatever it is, make sense of it in your own mind before you go into court. I am afraid you have no choice but to employ Monk to learn much more before you commit yourself to anything. I think you would be well advised to delay the trial for as long as you are able to, and know far more about the Alberton family before you speak on their behalf, or you will not serve your client well.”
Oliver sank further into the chair, content to sit with his thoughts in the quiet room, without any necessity to stand up and light the gas.
Henry sucked thoughtfully on his pipe, but he knew he could allow the subject of the Alberton case to drop for this evening.
Rathbone was startled by Judith Alberton. He had expected the handsome house, suitably draped in black, curtains drawn, wreath on the door, and the straw in the street outside to muffle the sound of the horses’ hooves as they passed, the mirrors draped or turned to the wall. Some people even stopped the clocks. All widows wore mourning, the unrelieved black gown, except for perhaps a jet brooch or a locket, the decoration made of hair, which he found repellent.
But Judith Alberton’s face was so remarkable in its beauty, and the extraordinary power of emotion in it, that what she wore was irrelevant.
“Thank you for coming so soon, Sir Oliver,” she greeted him as he came into the dim withdrawing room. “I am afraid our predicament is very serious, as I expect Mr. Monk has told you. We are desperately in need of the most skilled help we can find. Has he described our situation?”
“An outline of it, Mrs. Alberton,” he replied, accepting the seat she indicated. “But there is a great deal more I need to understand