plan, much less a believable idea how to defend Alban Hythe. Narraway himself certainly had none.
Symington stood in front of the jury. He smiled at them charmingly, but the warmth was without lightness. One of them frowned at him, looking as if he disapproved that anyone should attempt to excuse Hythe. Two smiled back, maybe sorry for him because in their eyes he was already beaten.
“A dreadful crime.” Symington’s smile vanished and it was as if the sun had gone down, changing him entirely. “I’m sorry that you will have to listen while the police surgeon tells you, probably in detail, how poor Mrs. Quixwood was raped and beaten, almost to death.” He shook his head fractionally. “It will be a terrible experience for you. I have had to go through the details as part of my duty, and I admit it turned my stomach and all but made me weep in pity for her.”
Bower fidgeted. He neither liked nor trusted Symington, and as much was clear in his face.
Symington was still facing the jurors. “And just as powerful as grief, it frightened me, because it could happen to any woman, to those I love.” He lowered his gaze and met theirs individually. “And to those you love—your wives, your daughters. Catherine Quixwood was a respectable, married woman, behind locked doors in her own house on the evening of the crime. Who could be safer?”
He hesitated.
The jurors were clearly uncomfortable. Many of them looked away.
Symington spread his hands. “It would be much more comfortable if it were in some way her fault. If she brought this upon herself, then we are all right, because we won’t do the things she did, will we?”
Suddenly his voice became stronger, darker in tone and yet also more intimate. “But we are not here to think of ourselves, or even to thank God for our own comfort and safety. We are here to learn the truth about the tragedy and horror of other people’s lives—to look at them honestly, to rise above our own fears and prejudices, should we have them. We all feel terror, not just of violence, but of loss, of disgrace, of public humiliation, of the impulse to lie rather than be stripped in front of the world.”
He shrugged very slightly, and the smile lit his face again. “But we are chosen by our fellows, by fate, if you like, to be fair, to be honorable above our everyday selves and to set our natural proclivity toward self-protection aside. I ask you to be merciful to the quirks and the weaknesses that we all have, and to be relentlessly just to the facts.”
The jurors looked puzzled. One middle-aged man blushed hotly.
“I will show you how else this terrible thing could have happened,” Symington said finally. “And why Alban Hythe had no part in it at all. I will convince you of this until in good conscience you cannot return a verdict of guilty. You cannot see him hang.” He smiled again, warmly, as if he liked them, and turned away, walking quite casually back to his place.
Narraway wondered how much of that was bluff. Watching him, listening, he could see no doubt in Symington at all.
Bower called his first witness: a very nervous man in a plain, dark suit that did not fit him comfortably. Narraway recognized him only when he told the court that his occupation was as butler to Rawdon Quixwood.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Luckett,” Bower started, as he walked over toward the high witness box, which was something like the prow of a ship, or a tower several feet above the floor of the courtroom, “but I must ask you to turn your mind back to the evening of May the 23rd. Mr. Quixwood was in the city at a function, I believe, at the Spanish Embassy, and Mrs. Quixwood had allowed all the servants to retire early, leaving her alone in the withdrawing room. Is that correct?”
Luckett was clearly distressed and having some difficulty composing himself. The judge looked at Symington to see if he objected to Bower putting so many words into the witness’s mouth, but Symington remained seated in his place, smiling and silent.
“Mr. Luckett …” the judge prompted.
“Yes …” Luckett said jerkily. “Yes, she often allowed us to retire if she knew she would need nothing.” He gulped. “She was very considerate.”
“She did not even retain a footman to answer the door?” Bower said with surprise.
“No, sir,” Luckett replied, shifting his weight from one foot