Weighed in the balance - Anne Perry [160]
“And that was a typical day?” Rathbone said wearily.
“Yes.”
“There were many like that?”
“They were almost all like that, give or take a detail or two,” she replied, still standing very upright, her head high in spite of having to look slightly down to the body of the court. “We ate and drank, we rode on horseback or in carriages or gigs. We raced a little. We had picnics and parties. We played croquet. The men shot birds. We rowed on the river once or twice. We walked in the woods or the garden. If it was wet, or cold, we talked or played the piano, or read books, or looked at pictures. The men played cards or billiards, or smoked. And, of course, they gambled on anything and everything—who would win at cards, or which servant would answer a bell. In the evenings, we had musical entertainment, or theatricals, or played games.”
“And Friedrich and Gisela were always as devoted as you have described?”
“Always.”
Harvester rose to his feet. “My lord, this is intrusive, unproven and still totally irrelevant.”
Rathbone ignored him and hurried on, speaking over the other lawyer’s protest, almost shouting him down.
“Countess Rostova, after the accident, did you ever visit Prince Friedrich in his rooms?”
“Once.”
“Would you describe the room for us, please?”
“My lord!” Harvester was shouting now as well.
“It is relevant, my lord,” Rathbone said even more loudly. “I assure the court, it is critical.”
The judge banged his gavel and was ignored.
“My lord!” Harvester would not be hushed. He was now on his feet and facing Rathbone in front of the bench. “This witness has already been impugned by circumstances. Her own interest in the matter is the issue before us. Nothing she says she saw—”
“You cannot impugn it before it is said!” Rathbone cried furiously. “She must be allowed to defend herself—”
“Not by—” Harvester protested.
The judge held up his hands. “Be silent!” he roared.
They both stopped.
“Mr. Rathbone,” the judge said, resuming a normal tone. “I hope you are not about to add a further slander to your client’s already perilous situation.”
“No, my lord, I am not,” Rathbone said vehemently. “Countess Rostova will not say anything which cannot be substantiated by other witnesses.”
“Then her evidence is not the urgent matter you stated,” Harvester said triumphantly. “If other witnesses can say the same thing, why did you not have them do so?”
“Please sit down, Mr. Harvester,” the judge requested firmly. “Countess Rostova will continue with her evidence. You will have the opportunity to question her when Sir Oliver has finished. If she makes any remarks detrimental to your client’s interests, you have the recourse which you are presently taking. Proceed, Sir Oliver. But do not waste our time, and please do not push us to make moral judgments of issues other than the death of Prince Friedrich and whether your client can substantiate the terrible charge she has made. That is your sole remit here. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, my lord. Countess Rostova, will you please describe Prince Friedrich’s bedroom and the suite of rooms he and Princess Gisela occupied during his illness at Wellborough Hall?”
There was a whispering of consternation and disappointment from the crowd. They had expected something far more titillating.
Even Zorah looked a little puzzled, but she began obediently.
“They had a bedroom, dressing room and sitting room. And, of course, they had the private use of a bathroom and water closet, which I did not see. Nor did I see the dressing room.” She looked at Rathbone to know if this was what he wished.
“Would you describe the sitting room and bedroom, please.” He nodded to her.
Harvester was growing impatient, and even the judge was beginning to lose his tolerance. The jury were clearly lost. Suddenly the proceedings had degenerated from high tension to total banality.
Zorah