The William Monk Mysteries_ The First Three Novels - Anne Perry [473]
Rathbone shrugged.
The judge sighed and lowered his hand, frowning at Lovat-Smith.
“You do not need to answer that question unless you wish to,” he said to Sabella.
“No, I did not,” Sabella said huskily, her voice little more than a whisper.
“Thank you.” Lovat-Smith inclined his head; it was all he had required.
The judge leaned forward. “You may go, Mrs. Pole,” he said gently. “There is nothing further.”
“Oh,” she said, as if a little lost and wishing to find something more to say, something to help. Reluctantly she came down, assisted for the last two steps by the clerk of the court, and disappeared into the crowd, the light catching for a moment on her pale hair before she was gone.
There was an adjournment for luncheon. Monk and Hester found a man with a sandwich cart, purchased a sandwich each and ate them in great haste before returning to find their seats again.
As soon as the court reassembled and came to order the next witness was summoned.
“Fenton Pole!” the bailiff said loudly. “Calling Fenton Pole!”
Fenton Pole climbed up the stairs to the stand, his face set, his jaw hard in lines of utter disapproval. He answered Lovat-Smith tersely but very much as though he believed his mother-in-law to be guilty, but insane. Never even for an instant did he turn his head and look up at her. Twice Lovat-Smith had to stop him from expressing his view in so many words, as if it excused the family from any connection. After all madness was like a disease, a tragedy which might strike anyone, therefore they were not accountable. His resentment of the whole matter was apparent.
There were murmurs of sympathy from the crowd, even one quite audible word of agreement; but looking at the jury again Hester could see at least one man’s face cloud over and a certain disapproval touch him. He seemed to take his duty very seriously, and had probably been told much about not judging the case before all the evidence was in. And for all he sought impartiality, he did not admire disloyalty. He shot Fenton Pole a look of deep dislike. For an instant Hester felt unreasonably comforted. It was silly, and her wiser self knew it, and yet it was a straw in the wind, a sign that at least one man had not yet condemned Alexandra outright.
Rathbone asked Fenton Pole very little, only if he had any precise and incontrovertible evidence that his father-in-law was having an affair with Louisa Furnival.
Pole’s face darkened with contempt for such vulgarity, and with offense that the matter should have been raised at all.
“Certainly not,” he said vigorously. “General Carlyon was not an immoral man. To suppose that he indulged in such adulterous behavior is quite unbalanced, not rational at all, and without any foundation in fact.”
“Quite so,” Rathbone agreed. “And have you any cause, Mr. Pole, to suppose that your mother-in-law, Mrs. Carlyon, believed him to be so deceiving her, and betraying his vows?”
Pole’s lips tightened.
“I would have thought our presence here today was tragically sufficient proof of that.”
“Oh no, Mr. Pole, not at all,” Rathbone replied with a harsh sibilance to his voice. “It is proof only that General Carlyon is dead, by violence, and that the police have some cause, rightly or wrongly, to bring a case against Mrs. Carlyon.”
There was a rustle of movement in the jury. Someone sat up a trifle straighten Fenton Pole looked confused. He did not argue, although the rebuttal was plain in his face.
“You have not answered my question, Mr. Pole,” Rathbone pressed him. “Did you see or hear anything to prove to you that Mrs. Carlyon believed there to be anything improper in the relationship between Mrs. Furnival and the general?”
“Ah—well … said like that, I suppose not. I don’t know what you have in mind.”
“Nothing, Mr. Pole. And it would be quite improper for me to suggest anything to you,