Again he nodded, and turned away as his eyes brimmed over.

She longed to go over and put her arms around him, let him weep, but if he did he might not be able to regain the composure, the dignity and self-reliance he must have in order to survive the next few days or weeks.

Reluctantly she turned and went out of the door, closing it softly behind her.

Hester excused herself to Edith as hastily as possible and without any explanation, then as soon as she was on the pavement she began to walk briskly towards William Street. She hailed the very first hansom she saw and requested the driver to take her to Vere Street, off Lincoln's Inn Fields, then she sat back to compose herself until she should arrive at Rathbone's office.

Once there she alighted, paid the driver and went in. The clerk greeted her civilly, but with some surprise.

“I have no appointment,” she said quickly. “But I must see Mr. Rathbone as soon as possible. I have discovered the motive in the Carlyon case, and as you must know, there is no time to be lost.”

He rose from his seat, setting down his quill and closing the ledger.

“Indeed, ma'am. Then I will inform Mr. Rathbone. He is with a client at the moment, but I am sure he will be most obliged if you are able to wait until he is free.”

“Certainly.” She sat down and with the greatest difficulty watched the hands on the clock go around infinitely slowly until twenty-five minutes later the inner office door opened. A large gentleman came out, his gold watch chain across an extensive stomach. He glanced at her without speaking, wished the clerk good-day, and went out.

The clerk went in to Rathbone immediately, and within a moment was out again.

“If you please, Miss Latterly?” He stood back, inviting her in.

“Thank you.” She barely glanced at him as she passed.

Oliver Rathbone was sitting at his desk and he rose to his feet before she was across the threshold.

“Hester?”

She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, suddenly breathless.

“I know why Alexandra killed the general!” She swallowed hard, an ache in her throat. “And my God, I think I would have done it too. And gone to the gallows before I would have told anyone why.”

“Why?” His voice was husky, little more than a whisper. “For God's sake why?”

“Because he was having carnal knowledge of his own son!”

“Dear heaven! Are you sure?” He sat down suddenly as though all the strength had gone out of him. “General Carlyon-was…? Hester…?”

“Yes-and not only he, but probably the old colonel as well-and God knows who else.”

Rathbone shut his eyes and his face was ashen.

“No wonder she killed him,” he said very quietly.

Hester came over and sat down on the chair opposite the desk. There was no need to spell it out. They both knew the helplessness of a woman who wanted to leave her husband without his agreement, and that even if she did, all children were legally his, not hers. By law she would forfeit all right to them, even nursing babies, let alone an eight-year-old son.

“What else could she do?” Hester said blankly. “There was no one to turn to-I don't suppose anyone would have believed her. They'd lock her up for slander, or insanity, if she tried to say such a thing about a pillar of the military establishment like the general.”

“His parents?” he said, then laughed bitterly. “I don't suppose they'd ever believe it, even if they saw the act.”

“I don't know,” she admitted. “The old colonel does it too-so he would be no help. Presumably Felicia never knew? I don't know how Alexandra did; the child certainly didn't tell her. He was sworn to secrecy, and terrified. He'd been told his mother wouldn't love him anymore, that she'd hate him and send him away if she ever found out.”

His face was pale, the skin drawn tight.

“How do you know?”

Detail by detail she related to him the events of the afternoon. The clerk knocked on the door and said that the next client was here. Rathbone told him to go away again.

“Oh God,” he said quietly when she had finished. He turned from the window where he had moved when she was halfway through. His face was twisted with pity, and anger for the pain and loneliness and the fear of it. “Hester…”

“You can help her, can'tyou?” she pleaded. “She'Uhang for it, if you don't, and he'll have no one. He'll be left in that house-for it to go on.”

“I know!” He turned away and looked out of the window. “I'll do what I can. Let me think. Come back tomorrow, with Monk.” His hands clenched by his sides.”We have no proof.”

She wanted to cry out that there must be, but she knew he did not speak lightly, or from defeat, only from the need to be exact. She rose to her feet and stood a little behind him.

“You've done what seemed impossible before,” she said tentatively.

He looked back at her, smiling, his eyes very soft.

“My dear Hester.

She did not flinch or ease the demand in her face.

“I'll try,” he said quietly. “I promise you I will try.”

She smiled quickly, reached up her hand and brushed his cheek, without knowing why, then turned and left, going out into the clerk's office with her head high.

The following day, late in the morning, Rathbone, Monk and Hester sat in the office in Vere Street with all doors closed and all other business suspended until they should have reached a decision. It was June 16.

Monk had just heard from Hester what she had learned at the Carlyon house. He sat pale-faced, his lips tight, his knuckles clenched. It marred his opinion of himself that he was shocked, but he was, too deeply to conceal it. It had not occurred to him that someone of the breeding and reputation of General Carlyon should indulge in such a devastating abuse. He was too angry even to resent the fact that it had not occurred to him to look for such an answer. All his thoughts were outward, to Alexandra, to Cassian, and to what was to come.

“Is it a defense?” he demanded of Rathbone. “Will the judge dismiss it?”

“No,” Rathbone said quietly. He was very grave this morning and his long face was marked by lines of tiredness; even his eyes looked weary. “I have been reading cases all night, checking every point of law I can find on the subject, and I come back each time to what is, I think, our only chance, and that is a defense of provocation. The law states that if a person receives extraordinary provocation, and that may take many forms, then the charge of murder may be reduced to manslaughter.”

“That's not good enough,” Monk interrupted, his voice rising with his emotion. “This was justifiable. For God's sake, what else could she do? Her husband was committing incest and sodomy against her child. She had not only a right but a duty to protect him. The law gave her nothing-she has no rights in her son. In law it is his child, but the law never intended he should be free to do that to him.”

“Of course not,” Rathbone agreed quietly, the effort of restraint trembling behind it. “Nevertheless, the law gives a woman no rights in her child. She has no means to support it, and no freedom to leave her husband if he does not wish her to, and certainly no way to take her child with her.”

“Then what else can she do but kill him?” Monk's face was white. “How can we tolerate a law which affords no possible justice? And the injustice is unspeakable.”

“We change it, we don't break it,” Rathbone replied.

Monk swore briefly and violently.

“I agree,” Rathbone said with a tight smile. “Now may we proceed with what is practical?”

Monk and Hester stared at him wordlessly.

“Manslaughter is the best we can hope for, and that will be extremely difficult to prove. But if we succeed, me sentence is largely at the discretion of the judge. It can be as little as a matter of months, or as great as ten years.”