The Silent Cry - Anne Perry [131]
And now it was so terrible to him he could not accept that it was he who had done it. It had been another person, another self, one he did not own.
“We must find a barrister for him,” Hester said aloud. “He must have some defense when he comes to trial. Do you have someone you wish?”
“A barrister?” Sylvestra blinked. “Will they really try him? He is too ill. He must be mad, won’t they realize that? Corriden will tell them—”
“He is not too mad to stand trial,” Hester said with absolute certainty. “Whether insanity will be the best defense or not, I cannot say, but you must find a barrister. Do you have someone?”
Sylvestra seemed to find it difficult to concentrate. Her eyes looked without focus. “A barrister? Mr. Caulfield has always dealt with our affairs. Of course, I have never spoken to him. Leighton handled business, naturally.”
“Is he a solicitor?” Hester asked, almost sure of the answer. “You need a barrister for this, someone who will appear in court to represent Rhys. He must be engaged through Mr. Caulfield, but if you do not have any preferences, I am acquainted with Sir Oliver Rathbone. He is the best barrister there is.”
“I … suppose so …” Sylvestra was uncertain. Hester was not sure if it was her shock at the turn of events, or if now she doubted whether she wished to engage an unknown barrister, at unknown expense, to defend Rhys when she feared him guilty. Maybe it was simply too big a decision for her to make alone. She was not used to decision. She had always had her husband to see to such things. He would find and assess the information. His word would be final. She would probably not even be expected to contribute an opinion.
It was up to Hester to see that Rhys was defended. Possibly no one else would.
“I’ll speak to Sir Oliver and ask him to come to see you.” She chose not to make it a question, so Sylvestra could not so easily refuse. She smiled encouragingly. “Will it be reasonable if I go first thing in the morning?”
Sylvestra drew in her breath, but could not make up her mind.
“Thank you,” Hester accepted, her voice gentle, full of an assurance she was far from feeling.
Hester was in Rathbone’s office at nine o’clock. She waited until his first client had been and gone, then she was ushered into his office, the clerk advised that the next client should be handsomely entertained and informed that Sir Oliver was regrettably kept by an emergency, which was at least half true.
She did not waste his time with preamble. She was sufficiently conscious of the fact that he had seen her without an appointment, and she was presuming on his regard for her to ask a favor. She hated doing it, the more so since their last encounter, and her belief as to his feelings towards her. Had Rhys’s life not depended upon it, she would not have come. Sylvestra’s solicitor could have briefed whomever he wished.
“They have arrested Rhys for the murder of his father,” she said bluntly. “They have not removed him, of course, because he is too ill, but they will bring him to trial. His mother is at her wits’ end, and not in a position or a state of mind to find for him the best barrister for his defense.” She stopped, acutely aware of his dark eyes on her and his expression of concern leaping ahead of what she had already