people, of law, or of events.
"I said I was a friend of Sir Oliver's because I am," Hester answered. "I have known him well for some time." She met Zorah's gaze squarely, defying her to question precisely what that might mean.
Zorah looked at her with growing amusement.
"And you are concerned that this case will cause him some professional embarrassment?' she deduced. "Have you come to beg me, for his sake, to recant and say that I was mistaken, Miss Latterly?"
"No, I have not," Hester replied tartly. "If you would not do it before, I cannot see any reason why you would now. Anyway, it would hardly help things as they are. If Sir Oliver does not find who killed Friedrich, and prove it, you will be in the dock yourself, sooner or later. Probably sooner."
She sat down without being invited. "And I can tell you, it is an extremely unpleasant place. You cannot imagine quite how unpleasant until you have been there. You may put a brave face on it, but inside you will be terrified. You are not stupid enough to fail to realize that losing there does not mean a financial loss or a little unpleasantness socially. It means the hangman's rope."
Zorah's face tightened a little. "You don't mince words, do you, Miss Latterly? Have you come on Sir Oliver's behalf? What is it you want?" She still regarded her visitor with a faint contempt.
Hester did not know if that contempt was for her plainer, very conventional dress, so much more predictable and less dashing, less individual and certainly less flattering than Zorah's own. Possibly it was a countess's contempt for a woman of very moderate breeding who was obliged to earn her own living. If it was the contempt of a woman of courage and adventurous spirit for a woman who stayed at home and busied herself with suitable feminine occupations, she could match Zorah stride for stride any day.
"On the assumption that you are telling the truth, as far as you know it," Hester responded, "I want you to exercise your intelligence, instead of merely your strength of will, and start trying to work out what happened at Wellborough Hall. Because if we do not succeed in that, it is not only Sir Oliver's career which will suffer for having made a serious misjudg-ment in taking on a highly unpopular case, but it will be your life in jeopardy. And what I think may actually be more important to you, it will ruin the reputation and honor of that group of men and women in your country who are prepared to fight for Felzburg's continued independence. Now, I need your attention. Countess Rostova?"
Slowly Zorah sat up, a look of surprise and dawning disbelief on her face.
"Do you often address people in this fashion, Miss Latterly?"
"I have not recently had occasion to," Hester admitted. "But in the army I frequently exceeded my authority. Emergencies have that effect. One is forgiven for it afterwards, if one succeeds. If one fails, it is the least of one's problems."
"The army ..." Zorah blinked.
"In the Crimea. But that is all quite irrelevant to this." She brushed it away with a gesture of her hand. "If you would be good enough to turn your mind to Wellborough Hall?"
"I think I could like you, Miss Latterly," Zorah said quite seriously. "You are eccentric. I had no idea Sir Oliver had such interesting friends. He quite goes up in my esteem. I confess, I had thought him rather dry."
Hester found herself blushing, and was furious.
"Wellborough Hall," she repeated, like a schoolmistress with a refractory pupil.
Obediently, and with a very tight smile, Zorah began to recount the events from the time of her own arrival. Her tongue was waspish, and at times extremely funny. Then, when she spoke of the accident, her voice changed and all lightness vanished. She looked somber, as if even at the time she had realized that it would lead towards Friedrich's death.
Abruptly, she called the maid and requested luncheon, without referring to Hester or asking what she might like. She ordered thin toast, Beluga caviar, white wine, and a dish of fresh apples and a variety of cheeses. She glanced once at Hester to see her expression, then, finding satisfaction in it, dispatched the maid to carry out her duties.
She continued her tale.
Every so often Hester stopped her, asking to hear some point in greater detail, a room described, a person's expression or tone of voice recollected more sharply.
When Hester