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“Since the summer of 1856,” Callandra replied.
“And the relationship has been friendly, even warm?”
“Yes.” Callandra had no alternative but to admit it. To deny it might have strengthened her embracement of Hester’s honesty, but it would have required explanation of its own as to why it was cool. She and Gilfeather both knew it and the jury watched her with growing understanding of all the nuances of both what she would say and leave unsaid.
“Were you aware that she intended to take the position with the Farraline family?”
“Yes.”
“She informed you of it?”
“Yes.”
“What did she tell you about it? Please be precise, Lady Callandra. I am sure you are aware that you are on oath.”
“Of course I am,” she said tartly. “Added to which, I have no need and no desire to be anything less.”
Gilfeather nodded but said nothing.
“Proceed,” the judge directed.
“That she would enjoy the journey and that she had not been to Scotland before, so it would be a pleasure in that respect also.”
“Are you familiar with Miss Latterly’s financial position?” Gilfeather asked, his eyebrows raised, his flyaway hair wild where he had pushed his fingers through it.
“No I am not.”
“Are you quite certain?” Gilfeather sounded surprised. “Surely as a friend, a friend with considerable means of your own, you have ascertained from time to time whether she was in need of your assistance or not?”
“No.” Callandra stared back at him, defying him to disbelieve her. “She is a woman of self-respect, and considerable ability to earn her own way. I trust that if she were in difficulty she would feel close enough to me to ask, and I should have noticed for myself. That situation has never arisen. She is not someone to whom money is important, provided she can meet her commitments. She does have a family, you know-who would be perfectly happy to offer her a permanent home, did she wish it. If you are trying to paint a picture of her as desperate to keep body and soul together, you are totally mistaken.”
“I was not,” Gilfeather assured her. “I was thinking of something far less pitiable, and understandable, Lady Callandra, simply greed. A woman without pretty things, who sees a brooch she likes, and in a moment of weakness takes it, then is obliged to conceal her crime by an infinitely worse one.”
“Balderdash!” Callandra said furiously, her face burning with anger and disgust. “Complete tommyrot. You know little of human nature, sir, if you judge her that way, and ca
“Madam!” The judge banged his gavel on the bench with a clap like gunfire. “The court will not endure your opinion of the Scottish legal system and what you believe to be its shortcomings. You will answer counsel’s questions simply and add nothing of your own. Mr. Gilfeather, I suggest you endeavor to keep your witness in control, hostile or not!”
“Yes, my lord,” Gilfeather said obediently, but he was not as entirely angry as perhaps he should have been. “Now, your ladyship, if we may address the matter in hand? Would you be good enough to tell the court exactly what happened when Miss Latterly called upon you on her return from Edinburgh, after Mrs. Farraline’s death. Begin with her arrival at your home, if you please.”
“She looked extremely distressed,” Callandra answered.
“It was about a quarter to eleven in the morning, as I recall.”
“But surely the train arrives in London long before that?” he interrupted.
“Long before,” she agreed. “She had been detained by Mrs. Farraline’s death, and advising the conductor, and then the stationmaster, and finally by speaking to Mr. and Mrs. Murdoch. She came straight from the station to my house, tired and deeply grieved. She had liked Mrs. Farraline, even in the short time she had known her. She was, according to Hester, a remarkably charming woman, full of humor and intelligence.”
“Indeed, so I believe,” Gilfeather said dryly, glancing at the jury and then back at Callandra. “She is already deeply missed. What did Miss Latterly tell you had happened?”
Callandra replied as accurately as she could remember, and no one else stirred or made a sound while she was speaking. She went on, at Gilfeather’s prompting, to tell how Hester had gone upstairs to wash and had returned with the gray pearl pin, and what had transpired after that. Gilfeather tried his best to keep her answers brief, to cut her off, to best rephrase his questions so that a confirmation or denial would be sufficient, but she was not to be led.
Rathbone sat still behind Argyll listening to every word, but his eyes as often as not were upon the faces of the jury. He could see their respect for Callandra, and indeed that they liked her, but they also knew that she was biased towards the prisoner.
How much would they discount for that reason?
It was impossible to tell.
He turned to watch the Farralines instead. Oonagh was still composed, her face totally calm, watching Callandra with interest and not without respect. Beside her, Alastair looked unhappy, his aquiline face drawn, as if he had slept poorly, which was hardly surprising. Did he know about the company books? Had he begun his own inquiries since his mother’s death? Had he suspected his weaker younger brother?
What quarrels were there in that family when the door was closed and the outside, public world could neither see nor hear?
It was not surprising that none of them looked at Hester. Did they know, or at least believe, that she was i
He leaned forward and tapped Argyll on the shoulder.
Very slowly Argyll leaned backward so he could hear if Rathbone bent and whispered.
“Are you going to play on the family’s guilt?” he said under his breath. “It is very probable at least one of them knows who it is-and why.”
“Which one?”
“Alastair, I should guess. He is head of the family, and he looks wretched.”
“He won’t break as long as his sister is there to support him,” Argyll said in reply so softly Rathbone had to strain to hear him. “If I could drive a wedge between those two, I would, but I don’t know how yet, and to try it and fail would only strengthen them. I’ll only get one chance. She is a formidable woman, Oonagh Mclvor.”
“Is she protecting her husband?”
“She would, I think, but why? Why would Baird Mclvor have killed his mother-in-law?”
“I don’t know,” Rathbone confessed.
The judged glared at him and for several moments he was obliged to keep silent, until Callandra again earned the judge’s disapproval and his attention returned to her.
“Fear,” he whispered to Argyll again.
“Of whom?” Argyll asked, his face expressionless.
“Play on fear,” Rathbone replied. “Find the weakest one and put him on the box, and make the others fear he or she would give them away, either out of panic and clumsiness or to save his own skin.”
Argyll was silent for so long Rathbone thought he had not heard.
He leaned forward again and was about to repeat it when Argyll replied.
“Who is the weak one? One of the women? Eilish, with her ragged school, or Deirdra, with her flying machine?”
“No, not the women,” Rathbone said with a certainty that surprised him.
“Good,” Argyll agreed dryly, the shadow of a smile curving his lips. “Because I wouldn’t have done it.”
“How gallant.” Rathbone was bitingly sarcastic. “And damned useless.”
“Not gallant at all,” Argyll said between his teeth. “Practical. The jury will love Eilish; she is both beautiful and good. What else can you ask? And they’ll deplore Deirdra’s deceit of her husband, but they’ll secretly like her. She’s small and pretty and full of courage. The fact that she’s as mad as a hatter won’t make any difference.”