Defend and Betray (31 page)

“Ris?” Edith said tentatively. She was confused as. to the reason, but aware that her sister was suffering in some fierce, lonely way, and she wanted to help.

“Of course,” Damaris said slowly, still staring at her mother.”I wasn't going to discuss it.” She swallowed hard. “I was just remembering that Thaddeus could be ... very kind. It seemed... it seemed an appropriate time to—think of it.”

“You have thought of it,” Felicia pointed out. “It would have been better had you done so silently, but since you have not, I should consider the matter closed, if I were you. We all appreciate your words on your brother's virtues.”

“I don't know what you are talking about,” Randolph said sulkily.

“Kindness.” Felicia looked at him with weary patience. “Damaris is saying that Thaddeus was on occasion extremely kind. It is not always remembered of him, when, we are busy saying what a brave soldier he was.” Then again without warning emotion flooded her face. “All a man's good qualities should be remembered, not just the public ones,” she finished huskily.

“Of course.” He frowned at her, aware that he had been sidetracked, but not sure how, still less why. “No one denies it.”

Felicia considered the matter sufficiently explained. If he did not understand, it was quite obvious she did not intend to enlighten him. She turned to Hester, her emotion gone, her expression perfectly controlled.

“Miss Latterly. Since, as my husband has said, jealousy is one of the ugliest and least sympathetic of all human emotions, and becomes a woman even less than a man, can you tell us what manner of defense this Mr. Rathbone intends to put forward?” She looked at Hester with the same cool, brave face she might have presented to the judge himself. “I imagine he is not going to be rash enough to attempt to lay die blame elsewhere, and say she did not do it .at all?”

“That would be pointless,” Hester answered, aware that Cassian was watching her with a guarded, almost hostile expression. “She has confessed, and there is unarguable proof that she did it. The defense must rest in the circumstances, the reason why.”

“Indeed.” Felicia's eyebrows rose very high. “And just what sort of a reason does this Mr. Rathbone believe would excuse such an act? And how does he propose to prove it?”

“I don't know.” Hester faced her pretending a confidence far from anything she felt. “It is not my prerogative to know, Mrs. Carlyon. I have no part in this tragedy, other than as a friend of Edith's, and I hope of yours. I mentioned Mr. Rathbone's name to you before I knew that there was no question that Alexandra was guilty of the act. But even had I known it, I would still have told you, because she needs a lawyer to speak for her, whatever her situation.”

“She does not need someone to persuade her to fight a hopeless cause,” Felicia said acidly.”Or lead her to imagine that she can avoid her fate. That is an unnecessary cruelty, Miss Latterly, tormenting some poor creature and stringing out its death in order to entertain the crowd!”

Hester blushed hotly, but there was far too much guilt in her for her to find any denial.

It was Peverell who came to her rescue.

“Would you have every accused person put to death quickly, Mama-in-law, to save them the pain of struggle? I doubt that that is what they would choose.”

“And how would you know that?” she demanded. “It might well have been exactly what Alexandra would choose. Only you have all taken that opportunity away from her with your interference.”

“We offered her a lawyer,” Peverell replied, refusing to back away. “We have not told her how to plead.”

“Then you should have. Perhaps if she had pleaded guilty then this whole sorry business would be over with. Now we shall have to go into court and conduct ourselves with all the dignity we can muster. I presume you will be testifying, since you were there at that wretched party?”

“Yes. I have no choice.”

“For the prosecution?” she enquired.

“Yes.”

“Well at least if you go, one imagines Damaris will be spared. That is something. I don't know what you can possibly tell them that will be of use.” There was half a question in her voice, and Hester knew, watching her tense face and brilliant eyes, that she was both asking Peverell what he intended saying, and warning him of family loyalties, trusts, unspoken ties that were deeper than any single occasion could test or break.

“Neither do I, Mama-in-law,” he agreed. “Presumably only my observations as to who was where at any particular time. And maybe the fact that Alex and Thaddeus did seem to be at odds with each other. And Louisa Furnival took Thaddeus upstairs alone, and Alex seemed extraordinarily upset about it.”

“You'll tell them that?” Edith said, horrified.

“I shall have to, if they ask me,” he said apologetically. “That is what I saw.”

“ButPev—”

He leaned forward. “My dear, they already know it. Maxim and Louisa were there, and they will say that. And Fenton Pole, and Charles and Sarah Hargrave . . .”

Damaris was very pale. Edith buried her face in her hands.

“This is going to be awful.”

“Of course it is going to be awful,” Felicia said thickly. “That is the reason why we must think carefully what we are going to say beforehand, speak only the truth, say nothing malicious or undignified, whatever we may feel, answer only what we are asked, exactly and precisely, and at all times remember who we are!”

Damaris swallowed convulsively.

Cassian stared at her with huge eyes, his lips parted.

Randolph sat up a trifle straighter.

“Offer no opinions,” Felicia continued. “Remember that the vulgar press will write down everything you say, and quite probably distort it. That you cannot help. But you can most certainly help your deportment, your diction, and the feet that you do not lie, prevaricate, giggle, faint, weep or otherwise disgrace yourself by being less than the ladies you are—or the gentlemen, as the case is. Alexandra is the one who is accused, but the whole family will be on trial.”

“Thank you, my dear.” Randolph looked at her with a mixture of obligation, gratitude and an awe which for one ridiculous moment Hester imagined was akin to fear. “As always you have done what is necessary.”

Felicia said nothing. A flicker of pain passed across her rigid features, but it was gone again almost as soon as it was there. She did not indulge in such things; she could not afford to.

“Yes, Mama,” Damaris said obediently. “We will all do our best to acquit ourselves with dignity and honesty.”

“You will not be required,” Felicia said, but there was a slight melting in her tone, and their eyes met for a moment. “But of course if you choose to attend, you will be noticed, and no doubt some busybody will recognize you as a Carlyon.”

“Will I go, Grandmama?” Cassian asked, his face troubled.

“No, my dear, you will certainly not go. You will remain here with Miss Buchan.”

“Won't Mama expect me to be there?”

“No, she will wish you to be here where you can be comfortable. You will be told all you need to know.” She turned away from him to Peverell again and continued to discuss the general's last will and testament. It was a somewhat simple document that needed little explanation, but presumably she chose to argue it as a final closing of any other subject.

Everyone bent to continue with the meal, hitherto eaten entirely mechanically. Indeed Hester had no idea what any of the courses had been or even how many there were.

Now her mind turned to Damaris, and the intense, almost passionate emotion she had seen in her face, the swift play from sorrow to amazement to fear, and then the deep pain.

And according to Monk, several people had said she had behaved in a highly emotional manner on the evening of the general's death, bordering on the edge of hysteria, and been extremely offensive to Maxim Furnival.

Why? Peverell seemed to know nothing of its cause, nor had he been able to comfort her or offer any help at all.

Was it conceivable that she knew there was going to be violence, even murder? Or had she seen it? No—no one else had seen it, and Damaris had been distracted with some deep torment of her own long before Alexandra had followed Thaddeus upstairs. And why the rage at Maxim?

But then if the motive for the murder was something other than die stupid jealousy Alexandra had seized on, perhaps Damaris knew what it was? And knowing it, she might have foreseen it would end as it did.

Why had she said nothing? Why had she not trusted that Peverell and she together might have prevented it? It was perfectly obvious Peverell had no idea what troubled her; the expression in his eyes as he looked at her, the way he half spoke, and then fell silent, were all eloquent witness of that.

Was it the same horror, force, or fear that kept Alexandra silent even in the shadow of the hangman's rope?

In something of a daze Hester left the table and together with Edith went slowly upstairs to her sitting room. Damaris and Peverell had their own wing of the house, and frequently chose to be there rather than in the main rooms with the rest of the family. Hester thought it was extremely long-suffering of Peverell to live in Carlyon House at all, but possibly he could not afford to keep Damaris in this style, or anything like it, otherwise. It was a curious side to Damaris's character that she did not prefer independence and privacy, at the relatively small price of a modest household, instead of this very lavish one. But then Hester had never been used to luxury, so she did not know how easy it was to become dependent upon it.

As soon as the door was closed in the sitting room Edith threw herself onto the largest sofa and pulled her legs up under her, regardless of the inelegance of the position and the ruination of her skirt. She stared at Hester, her curious face with its aquiline nose and gentle mouth filled with consternation.

“Hester—it's going to be terrible!”

“Ofcourse.it is,” Hester agreed quietly. “Whatever the result, the trial is going to be ghastlyT Someone was murdered. That can only ever be a tragedy, whoever did it, or why.”

“Why ...” Edith hugged her knees and stared at the floor.”We don't even know that, do we.” It was not a question.

“We don't,” Hester said thoughtfully, watching Edith's face. “But do you think Damaris might?”

Edith jerked up, her eyes wide. “Damaris? Why? How would she? Why do you say that?”

“She knew something that evening. She was almost distracted with emotion—on the verge of hysteria, they said.”

“Who said? Pev didn't tell us.”

“It doesn't seem as if he knew why,” Hester replied.”But according to what Monk was able to find out, from quite early in the evening, long before the general was killed, Damaris was so frantic about something she could barely keep control of herself. I don't know why I didn't think of it before, but maybe she knew why Alexandra did it. Perhaps she even feared it would happen, before it did.”

“But if she knew ...” Edith said slowly, her face filled with distress and dawning horror. “No—she would have stopped it. Are you—are you saying Damaris was part of it?”

“No. No, certainly not,” Hester denied quickly. “I mean she may have feared it would happen, because perhaps what caused her to be so terribly upset was the knowledge of why Alexandra would do such a thing. And if it is something so secret that Alexandra would rather hang than tell anyone, then I believe Damaris will honor her feelings and keep the secret for her.”

“\fes,” Edith agreed slowly, her face very white. “Yes, she would. It would be her sense of honor. But what could it be? I can't mink of anything so—so terrible, so dark that. . .” She tailed off, unable to find words for the thought.

“Neither can I,” Hester agreed. “But it exists—it must— or why will Alexandra not tell us why she killed the general?”

“I don't know.” Edith bent her head to her knees.

There was a knock on the door, nervous and urgent.

Edith looked up, surprised. Servants did not knock.

“Yes?”, She unwound herself and put her feet down. “Come in.”

The door opened and Cassian stood there, his face pale, his eyes frightened.

“Aunt Edith, Miss Buchan and Cook are fighting again!” His voice was ragged and a little high. “Cook has a carving knife!”

“Oh—” Edith stifled an unladylike word and rose. Cassian took a step towards her and she put an arm around him. “Don't worry, I'll take care of it. You stay here. Hester. . .”

Hester was on her feet.

“Come with me, if you don't mind,” Edith said urgently. “It may take two of us, if it's as bad as Cass says. Stay here, Cass! It will be all right, I promise!” And without waiting any further she led the way out of the sitting room, along towards the back landing. Before they had reached the servants' stairs it was only too apparent that Cassian was right.

“You've no place 'ere, yer miserable old biddy! You should a' bin put out ter grass like the dried-up old mare yer are!”

“And you should have been left in the sty in the first place, you fat sow,” came back the stinging reply.

“Fat indeed, is it? And what man'd look at you, yer withered old bag o' bones? No wonder yer spend yer life looking after other folks' children! Nobody'd ever get any on you!”

“And where are yours, then? Litters of them. One every season—running around on all fours in the byre, I shouldn't wonder. With snouts for noses and trotters for feet.”

“I'll cut yer gizzard out, yer sour old fool! Ah!”

There was a shriek, then laughter.

“Oh damnation!” Edith said exasperatedly. “This sounds worse than usual.”

“Missed!” came the crow of delight. “You drunken sot! Couldn't hit a barn door if it was in front of you—you crosseyed pig!”

“Ah!”

Then a shriek from the kitchen maid and a shout from the footman.

Edith scrambled down the last of the stairs, Hester behind her. Almost immediately they saw them, the upright figure of Miss Buchan coming towards them, half sideways, half backwards, and a couple of yards away the rotund, red-faced cook, brandishing a carving knife in her hand.

“Vinegar bitch!” the cook shouted furiously, brandishing the knife at considerable risk to the footman, who was trying to get close enough to restrain her.