Cain His Brother (32 page)

“Possibly, my dear, but some women do imagine things to be quite-“

“Imagine?” She was nonplussed. “The man put his hands on her, John! He tore her gown! How can she have imagined that?”

“Well… perhaps he merely brushed against her, the motions of the cab, and all that…” He thought of his own brush with Drusilla, and the absurd interpretation it seemed she had put upon that. His sympathy was entirely with this fellow, whoever he was. He broke out in a sweat thinking how easily he could have been in his place. “Rather a hysterical woman, my dear,” he added. “Don't like to distress you, but I wouldn't accept all she says, if I were you. Single women in their thirties and all that. Given to fancies of a rather heated nature. It can happen. Misunderstood a civility for something much more. Easy enough.”

She frowned. “Do you really think so, John? I find it hard to believe.”

“Of course you do, my dear.” He forced a smile, al though it felt painted onto his face. “Because you are a woman, and properly married with a home of your own, and all that goes with it. You would never imagine such things. But not all women are as you, you must appreciate that. Be advised, Mariah. A good friend of mine, whose name I will not mention to avoid his embarrassment, has had a similar experience with a young woman, and he was as innocent as the day, I assure you. But in the heat of her… her imagination, she totally misread him, and accused him of…

well… it is not fit for you to hear.”

“Oh, my goodness!” She was totally taken aback. “Well, I never. I really had not thought…”

“It does you credit.” He rose and left the table. “But I urge you to dismiss the matter altogether, and on no account be drawn into discussion of it. Now you must excuse me, my dear. Please do not let me disturb you.”

And as he passed the fire he dropped the letter into it and hesitated long enough to see the flames consume it, to his infinite relief. It would not be spoken of again.

Four days later, the trial of Caleb Stone began in the Central Criminal Court in the Old Bailey. For the prosecution was Oliver Rathbone, for the defense Ebenezer Goode. Goode was also a Queen's Counsel of flair and skill. He had taken the case not for the fee, there was none, but for the high profile of the issue, and perhaps even more for the challenge.

Rathbone knew him slightly. They had appeared in opposition to each other before. Goode was a man in his mid-forties, tall and rather gangling, but the most remarkable things about him were his prominent, very bright, pale blue-gray eyes and his broad, startling smile. He was full of enthusiasm and had a highly eccentric sense of humor. He was also inordinately fond of cats.

The spectators' seats were not as crowded as for a trial where the accused was a member of high society, or the victim a more colorful character than Angus Stonefteld. There was no hint of sexual scandal, and apparently no money involved. And since there was no corpse, the question of murder was one of the issues yet to be proved. Those who had come were there largely to witness the duel between Rathbone and Goode to prove that very point.

They were connoisseurs of the adversarial procedure.

It was a fine, blustery day outside. Shafts of sunlight brightened the windows and shone in hazy beams across the wooden panels of the walls, the floor and the carved panoply of the judge's seat. The jurors were ready, twelve carefully chosen men of solemnity, proven worthiness, and of course the appropriate qualifications of property ownership.

Rathbone called his first witness, Genevieve Stonefield. There was only the mildest stir of anticipation as she crossed the court and climbed the steps to the witness-box. On Rathbone's advice she was wearing not black, but a mixture of dark gray and navy. It was sober, unostentatious, and extremely flattering. She looked tired and strained, but the essential passion and intelligence in her face were heightened, and as she turned at the top of the steps and looked towards the room, there was a sudden rustle of in- terest. One man drew in his breath in surprise and a woman clicked her teeth.

Rathbone smiled. Genevieve Stonefield was that sort of woman. She caused emotions, perhaps of envy, in the female members of the crowd, even if they did not quite know why. There was something in her yet to be awakened, something more elemental than in most women. He must handle it with the utmost care. Perhaps it was a fortunate thing a jury could only ever be composed of men.

She was sworn in and gave her name and address, staring solemnly at Rathbone as if there were no one else present. Not once did her eyes stray to the judge or the jury, not even to the clerk who gave her the Bible.

Rathbone rose to his feet and approached the high witness stand, but stopped some distance away so he did not have to crane his neck to see her.

He began quietly.

“Mrs. Stonefield, would you please tell the court all you can remember of events on the last day you saw your husband. Begin with your conversation at breakfast.”

She took a deep breath, and her voice was almost steady when she replied.

“There was nothing remarkable in the post,” she said. “A few letters from friends, an invitation-” She stopped and had to make a considerable effort to control herself. It was not visible, no tears or trembling, no groping for a handkerchief, just a long hesitation before she resumed. “It was to a musical evening, in three days' time, which he said we should accept. It was a violin recital. He was particularly fond of the violin. He found its tones emotionally very stir- ring, in a way nothing else quite touched.”

“So you wrote to accept?” Rathbone interrupted. “Believing he fully intended to be there?”

“Yes.” She drew in her breath. “I never excused myself. They must think me most rude! It quite went out of my head.”

“If they did not understand at the time, I am quite certain they will now,” he assured her. “Please continue.”

“Angus received one or two household bills which he said he would attend to when he came home, then he left for his business. He said he would be home for dinner.”

“Have you seen him since, Mrs. Stonefield?”

Her voice was very quiet, almost a whisper. “No.”

“Have you had any communication from him whatever?”

“No.”

Rathbone walked a pace to the left and shifted his weight a little. He was acutely aware of Ebenezer Goode leaning back in his chair, a slight smile on his face, his eyes bright and watchful. He was at ease, confident, but never so careless as to take anything for granted.

In the dock, Caleb Stone stood motionless. His hair was long and thick and curled wildly, adding to the reckless look of his face with its wide mouth and brilliant green eyes. His very lack of movement drew the gaze in a room where everyone else fidgeted now and then, shifting position, scratching a nose or an ear, turning to look at someone or something, whispering to a neighbor. The only person who did not even glance his way was Genevieve, as if she could not bear to see his face with its mirrorlike resemblance to the husband she had loved.

“Mrs. Stonefield,” Rathbone proceeded, “has your husband ever been away from home overnight before?”

“Oh, yes, quite often. His business necessitated traveling now and then.”

“Any other purpose that you are aware of?”

“Yes…” She stared at him fixedly, her body rigid in its navy and gray wool and trimming silk. “He went quite regularly to the East End of the city, to the Limehouse area, to see his brother. He was…” She seemed lost for words.

Caleb stared as if he would force her to look at him, but she did not.

Several of the jurors were more attentive.

“Fond of him?” Rathbone suggested.

Ebenezer Goode stirred in his seat. Rathbone was leading the witness, but this time he did not object.

“In a way he loved him,” Genevieve said with a frown, still keeping her head turned away from the dock. “I think also he felt a kind of pity, because-' This time Ebenezer Goode did rise.

“Yes, yes.” The judge waved his hand in a swift motion of dismissal. “Mrs.

Stonefield, what you think is not evidence, unless you give us the reasons for your belief. Did your husband express such a sentiment?”

She looked at him with a frown. “No, my lord. It was my impression. Why else would he keep on going to see Caleb, in spite of the way Caleb treated him, unless it was loyalty, and a sort of pity? He defended him to me, even when he was most hurt.”

The judge, a small, lean man with a face so weary he looked as if he could not have slept well in years, regarded her with patient intelligence. “Do you mean his feelings were wounded, ma'am, or his person?”

“Both, my lord. But if I cannot say what I know by instinct, and because I knew my husband, but only what I can prove by evidence, then I shall say only that he was injured in his person. He had sustained bruises, abrasions, and more than once shallow knife wounds, or some other such sharp instrument.”

Rathbone could not have planned it better. Now there was not a man or woman in the whole courtroom whose attention was not held. All the jurors were sitting bolt upright and facing the witness stand. The judge's lugubrious face was sharp. In the crowd Rathbone saw Hester Latterly sitting beside Lady Ravensbrook, who was ashen-skinned and looked as if she had aged ten years in the last weeks. Monk had said she'd had typhoid fever. It had certainly taken its toll. Even so, she was a remarkable woman and nothing could rob her features of their character.

Ebenezer Goode bit his lip and rolled his eyes very slightly.

In the dock, Caleb Stone gave a short burst of laughter, and the guards on either side of him inched closer, their disgust plain.

The judge glanced at Rathbone.

“Do we understand, Mrs. Stonefield,” Rathbone picked up the thread again, “that your husband returned from these trips to see his brother, with injuries, sometimes quite serious and painful, and yet he still continued to make these journeys?”

“Yes,” she said steadily.

“What explanation did he offer you for this unusual behavior?” Rathbone inquired.

“That Caleb was his brother,” she answered, “and he could not desert him.

Caleb had no one else. They were twins, and it was a bond which could not be broken, even by Caleb's hatred and his jealousy.”

In the dock, Caleb's manacled hands, strong and slender, grasped the railing till his knuckles shone white.

Rathbone prayed she would remember precisely what they had discussed and agreed. So far it was going perfectly.

“Were you not afraid that one day the injuries might be more serious?” he asked. “Perhaps he might be crippled or maimed for life?”

Her face was pale and tense, and still she stared straight ahead of her.

“Yes-I was terrified of it. I implored him not to go again.”

“But your pleas did not change his mind?”

“No. He said he could not abandon Caleb.” She ignored Caleb's snort of derision, almost anguish. “He could always remember the boy he had been,” she said chokingly. “And all that they had shared as children, the grief of their parents' death…” She blinked several times and her effort to maintain control was apparent.

Rathbone restrained himself from looking at the jury, but he could almost feel their sympathy like a warm tide across the room.

In the crowd, Enid Ravensbrook's haggard face was softened with pity for the distress she imagined so clearly. There was such a depth of feeling in her, Rathbone could not help the fleeting thought that perhaps she too had known such loneliness as a child.

“Yes?” he prompted Genevieve gently.

“Their sense of total loneliness,” she continued. “And the dreams and fears they had shared. When they were ill or frightened, they turned to each other. There was no one else to care for them. He could not forget that, no matter what Caleb might do to him now. He was always aware that life had been good to him, and for Caleb it had not proved so fortunate.”

In the dock Caleb let out a sound, half groan, half snarl. One of his gaolers touched him gently. The other sneered.

“Did he say that, Mrs. Stonefield?” Rathbone demanded. “Did he use those words, or is that your surmise?”

“No, he used those words, more than once.” Her voice was clear and decisive now. It was a statement.

“You were afraid that Caleb might harm your husband seriously, out of his envy at his success, and the hatred arising from that?” Rathbone asked.

“Yes.”

There was a murmur around the room, a shifting of weight. The sun had gone and the light was grayer across the wood.

“Did he not understand your feelings?” Rathbone asked.

“Oh yes,” she affirmed. “He shared them. He was terrified, but Angus was a man who set duty and honor above all, even his own life. It was a matter of loyalty. He said he owed Caleb a debt for the past and he could not live with himself if he were to run away now.”

One of the jurors nodded his approval and his determination deepened. He glanced up at the dock with bitter contempt.

“What was that debt, Mrs. Stonefield?” Rathbone asked. “Did he say?”

“Only a matter of Caleb having defended him on occasions when they were children,” she replied. “He was not specific, but I think it was from older boys, from teasing and bullying. He did imply that there had been some boy who had been especially brutal, and Caleb had always been the one to take the brunt of it and protect Angus.” The tears momentarily spilled down her face and she ignored them. “Angus never forgot that.”

“I see,” Rathbone said softly, smiling a little. “That is a sentiment of honor I imagine we can all understand and admire.” He gave the jury a moment or two to absorb the idea. Again he did not look at them. It would be far too unsubtle. “But you believe he was frightened, all the same,” he continued. “Why, Mrs. Stonefield?”

“Because before he went he would be restless and withdrawn,” she answered.

“Quite unlike his usual manner. He preferred to spend time alone, often pacing the floor. He would be pale-faced, unable to eat, his hands would shake and his mouth be dry. When someone is as deeply afraid as that, Mr.

Rathbone, it is not hard to observe it, especially if it is someone you know well, and love.”

“Of course,” he murmured. He was acutely conscious of Caleb crouched forward over the railing, and of two jurors staring at him as if he were a wild animal, and might even leap over upon them, were he not manacled. “Was there anything else?”

“Sometimes he dreamed,” she replied. “He would cry out, calling Caleb's name, and saying, `No! No!' And then he would wake up covered in perspiration, and his whole body shaking.”

“Did he discuss with you what was in these dreams?”

“No. He was too distressed.” She closed her eyes and her voice quivered.

“I would simply hold him in my arms until he went to sleep again, as I would a child.”

There was total silence in the court. For once even Caleb had his head bent forward so his face was hidden. In the crowd there were only a few sighs of pent-up breath being let go, emotions tight.

Enid looked as if she might weep, and her hand clung to Hester's.

“I appreciate that this can only be painful for you,” Rathbone resumed after a moment, allowing Genevieve time to master herself. “But there are questions I must ask. When your husband did not return, what steps did you take?”

“The following day I went into his place of business and asked Mr.

Arbuthnot, the senior clerk, if perhaps Angus had been called away on business, and somehow the message to me had been lost. He said that had not happened. He= She stopped.

“Yes, please do not tell us what Mr. Arbuthnot said.” Rathbone snuled at her very slightly. “We shall ask him in due course. Tell us merely what you did yourself, as a result of his information.”

“I waited two more days, then I called upon an agent of inquiry who had been recommended, a Mr. William Monk.”

“I shall be calling both Mr. Arbuthnot and Mr. Monk, my lord,” Rathbone said, then turned back to Genevieve. “What did you say to Mr. Monk?”

“I told him I feared my husband had gone to see his brother, and that Caleb had murdered him.” She hesitated only a moment, gripping the edge of the railing hard, straining the fabric of her navy gloves. “I instructed him to do all he could to find proof of what had occurred. He promised to do so.”