Anne Perry - Defend and Betray

“Mr. Rathbone, have you further witnesses to call?” the judge asked.

“Yes, my lord. I can call the boottooy at the Furnival house, who was at one point a drummer in the Indian army. He will explain why he dropped his linen and fled when coming face-to-face with General Carlyon in the Furnival house on the evening of the murder… if you believe it is necessary? But I would prefer not to-I imagine the court will understand.”

“ We do, Mr. Rathbone,” the judge assured him. “Do not call him. We may safely draw the conclusion that he was startled and distressed. Is that sufficient for your purpose?”

“Yes, thank you, my lord.”

“Mr. Lovat-Smith, have you objection to that? Do you wish the boy called so that you may draw from him a precise explanation, other than that which will naturally occur to the jury?”

“No, my lord,” Lovat-Smith said immediately. “If the defense will stipulate that the boy in question can be proved to have served with General Thaddeus Carlyon?”

“Mr. Rathbone?”

“Yes, my lord. The boy's military record has been traced, and he did serve in the same immediate unit with General Carlyon.”

“Then you have no need to call him, and subject him to what must be acutely painful. Proceed with your next witness.”

“I crave the court's permission to call Cassian Carlyon. He is eight years old, my lord, and I believe he is of considerable intelligence and aware of the difference between truth and falsehood.”

Alexandra shot to her feet. “No,” she cried out. “No- you can't!”

The judge looked at her with grim pity.

“Sit down, Mrs. Carlyon. As the accused you are entitled to be present, as long as you conduct yourself appropriately. But if you interrupt the proceedings I will have to order your removal. I should regret that; please do not make it necessary.”

Gradually she sank back again, her body shaking. On either side of her two gray-dressed wardresses took her arms, but to assist, not to restrain.

“Call him, Mr. Rathbone. I will decide whether he is competent to testify, and the jury will put upon his testimony what value they deem appropriate.”

An official of the court escorted Cassian as far as the edge of the room, but he crossed the small open space alone. He was about four feet tall, very frail and thin, his fair hair neatly brushed, his face white. He climbed up to the witness box and peered over the railing at Rathbone, then at the judge.

There was a low mutter and sigh of breath around the court. Several of the jurors turned to look where Alexandra sat in the dock, as if transfixed.

“What is your name?” the judge asked Cassian quietly.

“Cassian James Thaddeus Randolph Carlyon, sir.”

“Do you know why we are here, Cassian?”

“Yes sir, to hang my mother.”

Alexandra bit her knuckles and the tears ran down her cheeks.

A juror gasped.

In the crowd a woman sobbed aloud.

The judge caught his breath and paled.

“No, Cassian, we are not! We are here to discover what happened the night your father died, and why it happened- and then to do what the law requires of us to deal justly with it.”

“Are you?” Cassian looked surprised. “Grandma said you were going to hang my mother, because she is wicked. My father was a very good man, and she killed him.”

The judge's face tightened. “Well just for now you must forget what your grandmother says, or anyone else, and tell us only what you know for yourself to be true. Do you understand the difference between truth and lies, Cassian?”

“Yes of course I do. Lying is saying what is not true, and it is a dishonorable thing to do. Gentlemen don't lie, and officers never do.”

“Even to protect someone they love?”

“No sir. It is an officer's duty to tell the truth, or remain silent, if it is the enemy who asks.”

“Who told you that?”

“My rather, sir.”

“He was perfectly correct. Now when you have taken the oath and promised to God that you will tell us the truth, I wish you either to speak exactly what you know to be true, or to remain silent. Will you do that?”

“Yes sir.”

“Very well, Mr. Rathbone, you may swear your witness.”

It was duly done, and Rathbone began his questions, standing close to the witness box and looking up.

“Cassian, you were very close to your father, were you not?”

“Yes sir,” he answered with complete composure.

“Is it true that about two years ago he began to show his love for you hi a new and different way, a very private way?”

Cassian blinked. He looked only at Rathbone. Never once had he looked up, either at his mother in the dock opposite, or at his grandparents in the gallery above.

“It cannot hurt him now for you to tell the truth,” Rathbone said quite casually, as if it were of no particular importance. “And it is most urgent for your mother that you should be honest with us.”

“Yes sir.”

“Did he show his love for you in a new and very physical way, about two years ago?”

“Yes sir.”

“A very private way?”

A hesitation. “Yes sir.”

A sound of weeping came from the gallery. A man blasphemed with passionate anger.

“Did it hurt?” Rathbone asked very gravely.

“Only at first.”

“I see. Did your mother know about this?”

“No sir.”

“Why not?”

“Papa told me it was something women didn't understand, and I should never tell her.” He took a deep breath and suddenly his composure dissolved.

“Why not?”

He sniffed. “He said she would stop loving me if she knew. But Buckie said she still loved me.”

“Oh, Buckie is quite right,” Rathbone said quickly, his own voice husky. “No woman could love her child more; I know that myself.”

“Do you?” Cassian kept his eyes fixed on Rathbone, as if to prevent himself from knowing his mother was there, in case he looked at her and saw what he dreaded.

“Oh yes. I know your mother quite well. She has told me she would rather die than have you hurt. Look at her, and you will know it yourself.”

Lovat-Smith started up from his seat, then changed his mind and subsided into it again.

Very slowly Cassian turned for the first time and looked at Alexandra.

A ghost of a smile forced itself across her features, but the pain in her face was fearful.

Cassian looked back at Rathbone.

“Yes sir.”

“Did your rather go on doing this-this new thing, right up until just before he died?”

“Yes sir.”

“Did anyone else, any other man, ever do this to you?”

There was total silence except for a low sigh from somewhere at the back of the gallery.

“We know from other people that this is so, Cassian,” Rathbone said. “You have been very brave and very honest so far. Please do not lie to us now. Did anyone else do this to you?”

“Yes sir”

“Who else, Cassian?”

He glanced at the judge, then back at Rathbone.

“I can't say, sir. I was sworn to secrecy, and a gentleman doesn't betray.”

“Indeed,” Rathbone said with a note of temporary defeat in his voice. “Very well. We shall leave the subject for now. Thank you. Mr. Lovat-Smith?”

Lovat-Smith rose and took Rathbone's place in front of the witness stand. He spoke to Cassian candidly, quietly, man toman.

“You kept this secret from your mother, you said?”

“Yes sir.”

“You never told her, not even a little bit?”

“No sir.”

“Do you think she knew about it anyway?”

“No sir, I never told her. I promised not to!” He watched Lovat-Smith as he had watched Rathbone.

“I see. Was that difficult to do, keep this secret from her?”