[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.Now of course she knew differently, and deeply regretted her silence.When pressed by O’Hare she disclosed, with what appeared to be great difficulty, that her sister had not shared her distaste for the footman, and had been unwise in her laxity towards servants in general.This, she found it painful to admit, was sometimes due to the fact that since the death of her husband, Captain Haslett, in the recent conflict in the Crimea, her sister had on a large number of occasions taken rather more wine than was wise, and her judgment had been correspondingly disturbed, her manners a good deal easier than was becoming, or as it now transpired, well advised.Rathbone asked if her sister had confided in her a fear of Percival, or of anyone else.Araminta said she had not, or she would naturally have taken steps to protect her.Rathbone asked her if, as sisters, they were close.Araminta regretted deeply that since the death of Captain Haslett, Octavia had changed, and they were no longer as affectionate as they had been.Rathbone could find no flaw in her account, no single word or attitude to attack.Prudently he left it alone.Myles added little to what was already in evidence.He substantiated that indeed Octavia had changed since her widowhood.Her behavior was unfortunate; she had frequently, it pained him to admit, been emotional and lacking in judgment as a result of rather too much wine.No doubt it was on such occasions she had failed to deal adequately with Percival’s advances, and then in a soberer moment realized what she had done, but had been too ashamed to seek help, instead resorted to taking a carving knife to bed with her.It was all very tragic and they were deeply grieved.Rathbone could not shake him, and was too aware of public sympathy to attempt it.Sir Basil himself was the last witness O’Hare called.He took the stand with immense gravity, and there was a rustle of sympathy and respect right around the room.Even the jury sat up a little straighter, and one pushed back as if to present himself more respectfully.Basil spoke with candor of his dead daughter, her bereavement when her husband had been killed, how it had unbalanced her emotions and caused her to seek solace in wine.He found it deeply shaming to have to admit to it—there was a ripple of profound sympathy for him.Many had lost someone themselves in the carnage at Balaclava, Inkermann, the Alma, or from hunger and cold in the heights above Sebastopol, or dead of disease in the fearful hospital at Scutari.They understood grief in all its manifestations, and his frank admission of it formed a bond between them.They admired his dignity and his openness.The warmth of it could be felt even from where Hester was sitting.She was aware of Beatrice beside her, but through the veil her face was all but invisible, her emotions concealed.O’Hare was brilliant.Hester’s heart sank.At last it was Rathbone’s turn to begin what defense he could.He started with the housekeeper, Mrs.Willis.He was courteous to her, drawing from her her credentials for her senior position, the fact that she not only ran the household upstairs but was responsible for the female staff, apart from those in the kitchen itself.Their moral welfare was her concern.Were they permitted to have amorous dalliances?She bristled at the very suggestion.They most certainly were not.Nor would she allow to be employed any girl who entertained such ideas.Any girl of loose behavior would be dismissed on the spot—and without a character.It was not necessary to remind anyone what would happen to such a person.And if a girl were found to be with child?Instant dismissal, of course.What else was there?Of course.And Mrs.Willis took her duties in the regard most earnestly?Naturally.She was a Christian woman.Had any of the girls ever come to her to say, in however roundabout a manner, that any of the male staff, Percival or anyone else, had made improper advances to them?No they had not.Percival fancied himself, to be true, and he was as vain as a peacock; she had seen his clothes and boots, and wondered where he got the money.Rathbone returned her to the subject: had anyone complained of Percival?No, it was all a lot of lip, nothing more; and most maids were quite able to deal with that for what it was worth—which was nothing at all.O’Hare did not try to shake her.He simply pointed out that since Octavia Haslett was not part of her charge, all this was of peripheral importance.Rathbone rose again to say that much of the character evidence as to Percival’s behavior rested on the assessment of his treatment of the maids.The judge observed that the jury would make up their own minds.Rathbone called Cyprian, not asking him anything about either his sister or Percival.Instead he established that his bedroom in the house was next door to Octavia’s, then he asked him if he had heard any sound or disturbance on the night she was killed.“No—none at all, or I should have gone to see if she were all right,” Cyprian said with some surprise.“Are you an extremely heavy sleeper?” Rathbone asked.“No.”“Did you indulge in much wine that evening?”“No—very little.” Cyprian frowned.“I don’t see the point in your question, sir.My sister was undoubtedly killed in the room next to me.That I did not hear the struggle seems to me to be irrelevant.Percival is much stronger than she …”He looked very pale and had some difficulty in keeping his voice under control.“I presume he overpowered her quickly—”“And she did not cry out?” Rathbone looked surprised.“Apparently not.”“But Mr.O’Hare would have us believe she took a carving knife to bed with her to ward off these unwelcome attentions of the footman,” Rathbone said reasonably.“And yet when he came into her room she rose out of her bed.She was not found lying in it but on it, across from a normal position in which to sleep—we have Mr.Monk’s evidence for that.She rose, put on her peignoir, pulled out the carving knife from wherever she had put it, then there was a struggle in which she attempted to defend herself—”He shook his head and moved a little, shrugging his shoulders.“Surely she must have warned him first? She would not simply run at him with dagger drawn.He struggled and wrested the knife from her”—he held up his hands—“and in the battle that ensued, he stabbed her to death.And yet in all this neither of them uttered a cry of any sort! This whole tableau was conducted in total silence? Do you not find that hard to believe, Mr.Moidore?”The jury fidgeted, and Beatrice drew in her breath sharply.“Yes!” Cyprian admitted with dawning surprise.“Yes, I do.It does seem most unnatural [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]