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Oliver Rathbone rose to his feet.

“I object, my lord. The witness—”

“Sustained,” the judge interrupted him. “Mrs. Furnival, we wish to know only what you observed at the time, not what later events may have led you to conclude, correctly or incorrectly. It is for the jury to interpret, not for you. At this time you felt it to be a fit of pique—that is all.”

Louisa’s face tightened with annoyance, but she would not argue with him.

“My lord,” Lovat-Smith acknowledged the rebuke. He turned back to Louisa. “Mrs. Furnival, you took General Carlyon upstairs to visit with your son, whose age is thirteen, is that correct? Good. When did you come downstairs again?”

“When my husband came up to tell me that Alexandra—Mrs. Carlyon—was extremely upset and the party was becoming very tense and rather unpleasant. He wished me to return to try to improve the atmosphere. Naturally I did so.”

“Leaving General Carlyon still upstairs with your son?”

“Yes.”

“And what happened next?”

“Mrs. Carlyon went upstairs.”

“What was her manner, Mrs. Furnival, from your own observation?” He glanced at the judge, who made no comment.

“She was white-faced,” Louisa replied. Still she ignored Alexandra as if the dock had been empty and she were speaking of someone absent. “She appeared to be in a rage greater than any I have ever seen before, or since. There was nothing I could do to stop her, but I still imagined that it was some private quarrel and would be settled when they got home.”

Lovat-Smith smiled. “We assume you did not believe it would lead to violence, Mrs. Furnival, or you would naturally have taken steps to prevent it. But did you still have no idea as to its cause? You did not, for example, think it was jealousy over some imagined relationship between the general and yourself?”

She smiled, a fleeting, enigmatic expression. For the first time she glanced at Alexandra, but so quickly their eyes barely met. “A trifle, perhaps,” she said gravely. “But not serious. Our relationship was purely one of friendship—quite platonic—as it had been for years. I thought she knew that, as did everyone else.” Her smile widened. “Had it been more, my husband would hardly have been the friend to the general he was. I did not think she was … obsessive about it. A little envious, maybe—friendship can be very precious. Especially if you feel you do not have it.”

“Exactly so.” He smiled at her. “And then?” he asked, moving a little to one side and putting his hands deeper into his pockets.

Louisa took up the thread. “Then Mrs. Carlyon came downstairs, alone.”

“Had her manner changed?”

“I was not aware of it …” She looked as if she were waiting for him to lead her, but as he remained silent, she continued unasked. “Then my husband went out into the hall.” She stopped for dramatic effect. “That is the front hall, not the back one, which we had been using to go up to my son’s room—and he came back within a moment, looking very shaken, and told us that General Carlyon had had an accident and was seriously hurt.”

“Seriously hurt,” Lovat-Smith interrupted. “Not dead?”

“I think he was too shocked to have looked at him closely,” she answered, a faint, sad smile touching her mouth. “I imagine he wanted Charles to come as soon as possible. That is what I would have done.”

“Of course. And Dr. Hargrave went?”

“Yes—after a few moments he was back to say that Thaddeus was dead and we should call the police—because it was an accident that needed explaining, not because any of us suspected murder then.”

“Naturally,” Lovat-Smith agreed. “Thank you, Mrs. Furnival. Would you please remain there, in case my learned friend has any questions to ask you.” He bowed very slightly and turned to Rathbone.

Rathbone rose, acknowledged him with a nod, and moved forward towards the witness box. His manner was cautious, but there was no deference in it and he looked up at Louisa very directly.

“Thank you for a most clear description of the events of that tragic evening, Mrs. Furnival,” he began, his voice smooth and beautifully