or an anarchist, Lord Narraway? Did you have that kind of sense for judging people, regardless of evidence, or what anyone else said?”
Narraway thought for a moment. “Occasionally,” he replied. “Certainly not most of the time. But rape is …”
“Bestial?” Knox said for him. There was a bleak humor in his eyes that could have meant anything.
Narraway was going to answer, then as he looked at Knox longer he saw the intelligence in the man, the perception and experience of things Narraway had passed by without seeing, never considering them.
“Depends on who you believe, doesn’t it, sir?” Knox answered his own question. “I daresay if I were to ask a few ladies you’d loved and left, if they bore some kind of resentment they would tell a tale you wouldn’t recognize as the truth—my lord.” He sat motionless, as if half waiting for Narraway to be angry at his impertinence. But there was no shame in his face.
Narraway did not answer immediately. Memories raced through his mind: women who had attracted him intensely and on occasions women he had used because they were attracted to him. Certainly he was not proud of it and he would have found it difficult to explain to someone else had any one of them accused him of rape. Nothing like that had ever been suggested—although in Ireland he had earned the undying hatred of one man by seducing his wife. Recollection of that burned with hot shame up his face, even now. It had been years ago, and the man and woman in question were both dead. Still, it did not lessen what he had done.
Were it recent, and someone had charged him, how could he account for it with any honor? What words would he find to tell a courtroom why he had acted as he did, all the little details, the lies, the carefully fabricated deceptions, why he had felt it was the only thing to do … at that time? The thought of Vespasia’s ever hearing about it scalded him. Would it be the end forever of their friendship, her trust, her respect? No wonder people lied!
And of course there had been other women over his long life. Some he had loved, briefly, knowing it would end. He had never seduced an unmarried woman, or made a promise he had not kept. He would like to think he had never intentionally lied unless it was for a greater good.
What a piece of spurious self-excusing! Would anyone else see it like that? Even the simplest act could be viewed in so many ways. The mind could create a dozen different interpretations of a word, a gesture, a meeting, a gift. People believed what they wanted to, saw what they expected to see.
“Could you defend yourself, if you had to, my lord?” Knox said softly. “I’ve had times when I couldn’t have.”
No one had accused Narraway of anything, and yet he felt the fear as closely as if it had touched his skin. Of course he had incidents in his life he would prefer other people knew nothing about. He cared surprisingly much what his friends thought of him—Charlotte, Pitt, other people he had known and worked with; above all, Vespasia.
He faced Knox again. “There was no misunderstanding in what happened to Catherine Quixwood,” he said grimly. “Whether it was a lover or not, whether she lied to him, betrayed him, seduced him, or whatever else, he beat and raped her and now she is dead, not of natural causes. He did that to her. He is responsible.”
“I know,” Knox said, the pain back again in his eyes, all the lightness gone. “If I can, believe me, I will see that he pays.”
Narraway said nothing, but felt his face relax into a kind of smile. It was not pleasure so much as an ease in Knox’s company, a respect for this man he had not felt for anyone else except Thomas Pitt.
IN KEEPING WITH HIS promise to Maris Hythe, Narraway sought out Rawdon Quixwood, who was still spending much of the time at his club. He waited impatiently for him in the lounge, well into the late afternoon. Most of the time he tried to concentrate on the newspapers and their comments on the forthcoming trial of Leander Starr Jameson for the armed raid he had led in Africa, patriotically inspired but disastrously misguided.
Occasionally Narraway was too restless to remain seated, so he paced up and down the largely deserted room. Then an