that night which had driven her nearly frantic with distress, so much so that she had been unable to control herself? After seeing Valentine Furnival she had come downstairs in a state bordering on hysteria. Why? Had she learned that her husband was sodomizing his nephew? But what could possibly have taken place up there that would tell her such a thing? Peverell himself had remained downstairs. Everyone had sworn to that. So she could not have seen anything. And Cassian was not even in the Furnivals' house.
But she had seen or heard something. Surely it could not be a coincidence that it had been the night of the murder? But what? What had she discovered?
Fenton Pole had been present. Was he the other one who abused Cassian, and in some way the cause of Sabella's hatred?
Or was it Maxim Furnival? Was the relationship between the general and Maxim not only one of mutual business interest but the indulgence of a mutual vice as well? Was that the reason for his frequent visits to the Furnival house, and nothing to do with Louisa? That would be a nice irony. No wonder Alexandra found a bitter and terrible humor in it.
But she had not known there was anyone else. She had thought that in killing the general she had ended it, freed Cassian from the abuse. She knew of no one else, not even the old colonel.
Evan was still testifying, this time answering Rathbone, but the questions were superfluous, only clarifying points already made, that Evan had found nothing to prove the jealousy Alexandra had denied, and he found it hard to believe in himself.
Monk's thoughts wandered away again. That wound on the General's leg. Surely it had been Cassian who had inflicted that? From what Hester had said of her interview with the boy, and her observation of him, he was ambivalent about the abuse, uncertain whether it was right or wrong, afraid to lose his mother's love, secretive, flattered, frightened, but not entirely hating it. There was a frisson of excitement in him even when he mentioned it, the thrill of inclusion in the adult world, knowing something that others did not.
Had he ever been taken to the Furnivals' house? They should have asked about that. It was an omission.
"Did the general ever take Cassian to the Furnivals' house?" he whispered to Hester next to him.
"Not that I know of," she replied. "Why?"
' "The other pederast," he replied almost under his breath. "We have to know who it is."
"Maxim Furnival?" she said in amazement, raising her voice without realizing it.
"Be quiet," someone said angrily.
"Why not?" he answered, leaning forward so he could whisper. "It's got to be someone who saw the boy regularly, and privately - and where Alexandra didn't know about it."
"Maxim?" she repeated, frowning at him.
"Why not? It's someone. Who stabbed the general? Does Rathbone know, or is he just hoping we'll find out before he's finished?"
"Just hoping," she said unhappily.
"Ssh!" a man hissed behind them, tapping Monk on the shoulder with his forefinger.
The reprimand infuriated Monk, but he could think of no satisfactory rejoinder. His face blazed with temper, but he said nothing.
"Valentine," Hester said suddenly.
"Be quiet!" The man in front swung around, his face pinched with anger. "If you don't want to listen, then go outside!"
Monk disregarded him. Of course - Valentine. He was only a few years older than Cassian. He would be an ideal victim first. And everyone had said how fond he had been of the general, or at least how fond the general had been of him. He had visited the boy regularly. Perhaps Valentine, terrified, confused, revolted by the general and by himself, had finally fought back.
How to be certain? And how to prove it?
He turned to look at Hester, and saw the same thoughts reflected in her eyes.
Her lips formed the words It is worth trying. Then her eyes darkened with anxiety. "But be careful," she whispered urgently. "If you're clumsy you could ruin it forever."
It was on the tip of his tongue to retaliate, then the reality of its importance overtook all vanity and irritation.
"I will." He promised so softly it was barely audible even to her. "I'll be 'round about. I'll try to get proof first." And he stood up, much to the fury of the person on his other side, and wriggled past the whole row, stepping on toes, banging knees and nearly losing his footing as he found his way out. The first thing was