Weighed in the balance - Anne Perry [95]
She winced but refused to be crushed. “Can we prove he was murdered?” she said quickly. She used the plural as if she were as much involved as he. “It might help. After all, it would show that she was mistaken as to the person who did it but that she was not imagining there really was a crime. And only her accusation has brought it to light.” Her voice was getting faster and rising in tone. “If she had stayed silent, then their prince could have been murdered and no one would have known. That would have been a terrible injustice.”
He looked at her eagerness, and it cut him.
“And do you think they would really prefer to have the world know that one of the royal family, possibly at the instigation of the Queen herself, murdered the Prince?” he said bitterly. “If you think anyone is going to thank her for that, you are a great deal stupider even than I thought you!”
This time she was crushed, but not utterly.
“Some of her own people may not thank her,” she said in a small voice. “But some of them will. And the jury will be English. We still think it very wrong to murder anyone, especially an injured and helpless man. And we admire courage. We will not like what she has said, but we will know that it has cost her dearly to say it, and we will respect that.” She looked straight at him, daring him to contradict her.
“I hope so,” he agreed with a lurch of emotion inside him as he realized yet again how intensely she cared. She had never even met Zorah. She probably knew nothing of her, except this one event of her life. It was Rathbone who filled her thoughts and whose future frightened her. He felt a sudden void of loneliness. He had not appreciated that she was so fond of Rathbone. Rathbone had always seemed a trifle aloof towards her, even patronizing at times. And Monk knew how she hated being patronized. He had had a taste of her temper when he had done it himself.
“They are bound to.” She sounded positive, as though she were trying to convince herself. “You will be able to prove it, won’t you?” she went on anxiously, a furrow between her brows. “It was poison—”
“Yes, of course it was. It would hardly be mistaken for a natural death if he’d been shot or hit over the head,” he said sarcastically.
She ignored him. “How?”
“In his food or medicine, I presume. I’m going back to Wellborough Hall tonight to see if I can find out.”
“Not how was he poisoned,” she corrected impatiently. “Naturally, it was disguised in something he ate. I mean how are you going to prove it? Are you going to have the body dug up and examined? How will you get that done? They’ll try to prevent you. Most people feel very strongly about that sort of thing.”
He had very little idea how he was going to do it. He was as confused and as worried as she was, except that he did not feel as personally involved with Rathbone as she seemed to. He would be sorry, of course, if Rathbone fell from grace and his career foundered. He would do all he could to prevent it. They had been friends and battled together to win other cases, sometimes against enormous odds. They had cared about the same things and trusted each other without the necessity for words or reasons.
“I know,” he said gently. “I hope to persuade them to tell me the truth and avoid that. I think the political implications may be powerful enough to accomplish it. Suspicion can do a great deal of damage. People will do a lot to avoid it.”
She met his eyes steadily, her anger vanished. “Can I help?”
“I can’t think of any way, but if I do, I shall tell you,” he promised. “I don’t suppose you have learned anything of relevance about Friedrich or Gisela? No, of course not, or you would have said so.” He smiled bleakly. “Try not to worry so much. Rathbone is a better courtroom lawyer than you seem to be giving him credit for.” It was an idiotic thing to say, and he winced inwardly as he heard himself, but he wanted to comfort her, even if comfort was meaningless and temporary.