The William Monk Mysteries_ The First Three Novels - Anne Perry [484]
There was another rustle of interest, and the first shadow of doubt across the faces of the jury. It was the only time they had been given any cause to question the case as Lovat-Smith had presented it. It was a very small shadow, no more than a flicker, but it was there.
Hargrave turned to step down.
“Just one more thing, Dr. Hargrave,” Rathbone said quickly. “What was General Carlyon wearing when you were called to tend this most unpleasant wound?”
“I beg your pardon?” Hargrave looked incredulous.
“What was General Carlyon wearing?” Rathbone repeated. “In what was he dressed?”
“I have no idea. For God’s sake! What does it matter?”
“Please answer my question,” Rathbone insisted. “Surely you noticed, when you had to cut it away to reach the wound?”
Hargrave made as if to speak, then stopped, his face pale.
“Yes?” Rathbone said very softly.
“He wasn’t.” Hargrave seemed to regather himself. “It had already been removed. He had on simply his underwear.”
“I see. No—no blood-soaked trousers?” Rathbone shrugged eloquently. “Someone had already at least partially treated him? Were these garments lying close to hand?”
“No—I don’t think so. I didn’t notice.”
Rathbone frowned, a look of suddenly renewed interest crossing his face.
“Where did this—accident—take place, Dr. Hargrave?”
Hargrave hesitated. “I—I’m not sure.”
Lovat-Smith rose from his seat and the judge looked at him and shook his head fractionally.
“If you are about to object that it is irrelevant, Mr. Lovat-Smith, I will save you the trouble. It is not. I myself wish to know the answer to this. Dr. Hargrave? You must have some idea. He cannot have moved far with a wound such as you describe. Where did you see him when you attended it?”
Hargrave was pale, his face drawn.
“In the home of Mr. and Mrs. Furnival, my lord.”
There was a rustle of excitement around the room, a letting out of breath. At least half the jurors turned to look up at Alexandra, but her face registered only complete incomprehension.
“Did you say in the house of Mr. and Mrs. Furnival, Dr. Rathbone?” the judge said with undisguised surprise.
“Yes, my lord,” Hargrave replied unhappily.
“Mr. Rathbone,” the judge instructed, “please continue.”
“Yes, my lord.” Rathbone looked anything but shaken; indeed he appeared quite calm. He turned back to Hargrave. “So the general was cleaning this ornamental knife in the Furnivals’ house?”
“I believe so. I was told he was showing it to young Valentine Furnival. It was something of a curio. I daresay he was demonstrating its use—or something of the sort …”
There was a nervous titter around the room. Rathbone’s face registered a wild and fleeting humor, but he forbore from making the obvious remark. Indeed he turned to something utterly different, which took them all by surprise.
“Tell me, Dr. Hargrave, what was the general wearing when he left to go back to his own house?”
“The clothes in which he came, of course.”
Rathbone’s eyebrows shot up, and too late Hargrave realized his error.
“Indeed?” Rathbone said with amazement. “Including those torn and bloodstained trousers?”
Hagrave said nothing.
“Shall I recall Mrs. Sabella Pole, who remembers the incident quite clearly?”
“No—no.” Hargrave was thoroughly annoyed, his lips in a thin line, his face pale and set. “The trousers were quite intact—and not stained. I cannot explain it, and did not seek to. It is not my affair. I simply treated the wound.”
“Indeed,” Rathbone agreed with a small, unreadable smile. “Thank you, Dr. Hargrave. I have no further questions for you.”
The next witness was Evan, for the police. His testimony was exactly what most would have foreseen and presented no interest for Monk. He watched Evan’s sensitive, unhappy face as he recounted being called to the Furnivals’ house, seeing the body and drawing the inevitable conclusions, then the questioning of all the people concerned. It obviously pained him.
Monk found his attention wandering. Rathbone