strongly in support of Gisela and already painting Zorah as a wicked woman who is bent not only on injuring an innocent and bereaved woman but also on attacking the good qualities in society in general."
She moved forwards, closer to him, her wide skirt catching on the chairs. "Several of them have already suggested a very lurid life, that she has taken foreign lovers and practiced all sort of things which are better left to the imagination."
He should have thought of that, but somehow he had not. He had seen it only in political terms. Of course, there would be ugly speculation about Zorah and her life and her motives. Sexual jealousy was the first thing that would leap to many people's minds.
It was on his tongue to tell Hester that there was nothing anyone could do to prevent that, but he saw the hurt and the hope in her face. It caught at him as if it had been his own, taking him by surprise. It had nothing to do with her life, and yet she was absorbed in it. Her whole mind was bent towards fighting the injustice - or, in Rathbone's case, even if it should prove just, of trying to prevent the wound and do something to ease the harm.
"There is quite a strong possibility he was murdered," he said grudgingly. "Not by Gisela, poor woman, but by one of the political factions." He could not resist adding, "Perhaps the Queen's brother."
She winced but refused to be crushed. "Can we prove he was murdered?" she said quickly. She used the plural as if she were as much involved as he. "It might help. After all, it would show that she was mistaken as to the person who did it but that she was not imagining there really was a crime. And only her accusation has brought it to light." Her voice was getting faster and rising in tone. "If she had stayed silent, then their prince could have been murdered and no one would have known. That would have been a terrible injustice."
He looked at her eagerness, and it cut him.
"And do you think they would really prefer to have the world know that one of the royal family, possibly at the instigation of the Queen herself, murdered the Prince?" he said bitterly. "If you think anyone is going to thank her for that, you are a great deal stupider even than I thought you!"
This time she was crushed, but not utterly.
"Some of her own people may not thank her," she said in a small voice. "But some of them will. And the jury will be English. We still think it very wrong to murder anyone, especially an injured and helpless man. And we admire courage. We will not like what she has said, but we will know that it has cost her dearly to say it, and we will respect that." She looked straight at him, daring him to contradict her.
"I hope so," he agreed with a lurch of emotion inside him as he realized yet again how intensely she cared. She had never even met Zorah. She probably knew nothing of her, except this one event of her life. It was Rathbone who filled her thoughts and whose future frightened her. He felt a sudden void of loneliness. He had not appreciated that she was so fond of Rathbone. Rathbone had always seemed a trifle aloof towards her, even patronizing at times. And Monk knew how she hated being patronized. He had had a taste of her temper when he had done it himself.
"They are bound to." She sounded positive, as though she were trying to convince herself. "You will be able to prove it, won't you?" she went on anxiously, a furrow between her brows. "It was poison - "
"Yes, of course it was. It would hardly be mistaken for a natural death if he'd been shot or hit over the head," he said sarcastically.
She ignored him. "How?"
"In his food or medicine, I presume. I'm going back to Well-borough Hall tonight to see if I can find out."
"Not how was he poisoned," she corrected impatiently. "Naturally, it was disguised in something he ate. I mean how are you going to prove it? Are you going to have the body dug up and examined? How will you get that done? They'll try to prevent you. Most people feel very strongly about that sort of thing."