"An affair with her sister's husband?" Sir Herbert was both shocked and skeptical.
"No," Rathbone replied patiently. "It is possible her sister's husband might read the letters. It is not unknown for a man to read his wife's letters."
"Oh!" Sir Herbert's face cleared. "Yes of course. That would be perfectly natural. I have done that from time to time myself. Yes-that is an explanation. Now you must find who the man is that she means. What about that man Monk? Can't he find him?" Then the moment's ease slipped away from him. "But there is so little time. Can you ask for an adjournment, a continuance, or whatever it is called?"
Rathbone did not answer.
"It gives me much more ammunition with which to question Mrs. Barker," he replied instead, then remembered with a chill that it was Faith Barker who had offered the letters to Monk in the conviction they would hang Sir Herbert. Whatever Prudence had meant, her sister was unaware of any secret the letters contained. He struggled to keep his disillusion from his face, and knew he failed.
"There is an explanation," Sir Herbert said desperately, his fists clenched, his powerful jaw gritted tight. "God damn it-I never had the slightest personal interest in the woman! Nor did I ever say anything which could..." Suddenly sheer, blind horror filled him. "Oh God!" He stared at Rathbone, terror in his eyes.
Rathbone waited, teetering on the edge of hope.
Sir Herbert swallowed. He tried to speak, but his lips were dry. He tried again.
"I praised her work! I praised it a great deal. Do you think she could have misinterpreted that as admiration for her person? I praised her often!" There was a fine sweat of fear on his lip and brow. "She was the finest nurse I ever had. She was intelligent, quick to learn, precise to obey, and yet not without initiative. She was always immaculately clean. She never complained of long hours, and she fought like a tiger to save a life." His eyes were fixed on Rathbone's. "But I swear before God, I never meant anything personal by my praise for her-simply what I said. No more, never more!" He put his head in his hands. "God preserve me from working with young women-young women of good family who expect and desire suitors."
Rathbone had a very powerful fear that he was going to get his wish-and be preserved from working with anyone at all-although he doubted God had anything to do with it.
"I will do everything I can," he said with a voice far firmer and more confident than he felt. "Keep your spirits high. There is very much more than a reasonable doubt, and your own manner is one of our strongest assets. Geoffrey Taunton is by no means clear, nor Miss Cuthbert-son. And there are other possibilities also-Kristian Beck, for one."
"Yes." Sir Herbert rose slowly, forcing himself to regain his composure. Years of ruthless self-discipline finally conquered his inner panic. "But reasonable doubt. Dear Heaven-that would ruin my career!"
"It does not have to be forever," Rathbone said with complete honesty. "If you are acquitted, the case will remain open. It may be a very short time, a few weeks, before they find the true killer."
But they both knew that even reasonable doubt had still to be fought for to save Sir Herbert from the gallows-and they had only a few days left.
Rathbone held out his hand. It was a gesture of faith. Sir Herbert shook it, holding on longer than was customary, as if it were a lifeline. He forced a smile which had more courage in it than confidence.
Rathbone left with a greater determination to fight than he could recall in years.
* * * * *
After his testimony Monk left the court, his stomach churning and his whole body clenched with anger. He did not even know against whom to direct it, and that compounded the pain inside him. Had Prudence really been so blind? He did not wish to think of her as fallible to such a monstrous degree. It was so far from the woman for whom he had felt such grief at the crowded funeral in the church at Hanwell. She had been brave, and noble, and he had felt a cleanness inside from having known of her. He had understood her dreams, and her fierce struggle, and the price she had paid for them. Something in him felt at one with her.