Bom Hester and Monk relaxed a little. Hester smiled bleakly.

“But we must prove it,” Rathbone went on. “And that will be very hard to do. General Carlyon is a hero. People do not like their heroes tarnished, let alone utterly destroyed.” He leaned back a little, sliding his hands into his pockets. “And we have had more than enough of that with the war. We have a tendency to see people as good or evil, it is so much easier both on the brain and on the emotions, but especially the emotions, to place people into one or the other category. Black or white. It is a painful adjustment to have to recognize and accommodate into our thinking the fact that people with great qualities which we have admired may also have ugly and profoundly repellent flaws.”

He did not look at either of them, but at a space on the farther wall. “One then has to learn to understand, which is difficult and painful, unless one is to swing completely 'round, tear up one's admiration, and turn it into hate-which is also painful, and wrong, but so much easier. The wound of disillusion turns to rage because one has been let down. One's own sense of betrayal outweighs all else.”

His delicate mouth registered wry pity.

“Disillusion is one of the most difficult of all emotions to wear gracefully, and with any honor. I am afraid we will not find many who will do it. People will be very reluctant to believe anything so disturbing. And we have had far too much disturbance to our settled and comfortable world lately as it is-first the war, and all the ugly whispers there are of inefficiency and needless death, and now wind of mutiny in India. God knows how bad that will turn out to be.”

He slid a little farther down in his chair. “We need our heroes. We don't want them proved to be weak and ugly, to practice vices we can barely even bring ourselves to name-let alone against their own children.”

“I don't care a damn whether people like it or not,” Monk said violently. “It is true. We must force them to see it. Would they rather we hang an innocent woman, before we oblige them to see a truth which is disgusting?”

“Some of them well might.” Rathbone looked at him with a faint smile. “But I don't intend to allow them that luxury.”

“If they would, then there is not much hope for our society,” Hester said in a small voice. “When we are happy to turn from evil because it is ugly, and causes us distress, then we condone it and become party to its continuance. Little by little, we become as guilty of it as those who commit the act-because we have told them by our silence that it is acceptable.”

Rathbone glanced at her, his eyes bright and soft.

“Then we must prove it,” Monk said between his teem. “We must make it impossible for anyone to deny or evade.”

“I will try.” Rathbone looked at Hester, then at Monk. “But we haven't enough here yet. I'll need more. Ideally I need to name the other members of the ring, if there is one, and from what you say”-he turned to Hester-”there may be several members. And of course I dare not name anyone without proof. Cassian is only eight. J may be able to call him; that will depend upon the judge. But his testimony alone will certainly not be sufficient.”

“I think Damaris might know,” Hester said thoughtfully. “I'm not certain, but she undoubtedly discovered something at the party that evening, and it shook her so desperately she was hardly able to keep control of herself.”

“We have several people's testimony to that,” Monk added.

“If she will admit it, that will go a long way towards belief,” Rathbone said guardedly. “But it will not be easy to make her. She is called as a witness for the prosecution.”

“Damaris is?” Hester was incredulous. “But why? I thought she was on our side.”

Rathbone smiled without pleasure. “She has no choice. The prosecution has called her, and she must come, or risk being charged with contempt of court. So must Peverell Erskine, Fenton and Sabella Pole, Maxim and Louisa Furnival, Dr. Hargrave, Sergeant Evan, and Randolph Carlyon.”

“But that's everyone.” Hester was horrified. Suddenly hope was being snatched away again.”What about us? That's unjust. Can't they testify for us too?”

“No, a witness can be called by only one side. But I shall have an opportunity to cross-examine them,” Rathbone replied. “It will not be as easy as if they were my witnesses. But it is not everyone. We can call Felicia Carlyon-although I am not sure if I will. I have not subpoenaed her, but if she is there I may call her at the last moment-when she has had an opportunity to hear the other testimony.”

“She won't tell us anything,” Hester said furiously.”Even if she could. And I don't suppose she knows. But if she did, can you imagine her standing up in court and admitting that any member of her family committed incest and sodomy, let alone her heroic son, the general!”

“Not willingly.” Rathbone's face was grim, but there was a faint, cold light in his eyes. “But it is my art, my dear, to make people admit what they do not wish to, and had not intended to.”

“You had better be damnably good at it,” Monk said angrily.

“I am.” Rathbone met his eyes and for a moment they stared at each other in silence.

“And Edith,” Hester said urgently. “You can call Edith. She will help all she can.”

“What does she know?” Monk swung around to her. “Willingness won't help if she doesn't know anything.”

Hester ignored him. “And Miss Buchan. She knows.”

“A servant.” Rathbone bit his lip. “A very elderly woman with a hot temper and a family loyalty… If she turns against them they won't forgive her. She will be thrown out without a roof over her head or food to eat, and too old to work anymore. Not an enviable position.”

Hester felt hopelessness wash over her anger. A black defeat threatened to crush her.

“Then what can we do? “

“Find some more evidence,” Rathbone replied. “Find out who else is involved.”

Monk thought for a few moments, his hands knotted hard in his lap.

“That should be possible: either they came to the house or the child was taken to them. The servants will know who called. The footmen ought to know where the boy went.” His face pinched with anger. “Poor little devil!” He looked at Rathbone critically.”But even if you prove other men used him, will that prove that his father did, and that Alexandra knew it?”

“You give me the evidence,” Rathbone replied. “Everything you get, whether you think it is relevant or not. I'll decide how to use it.”

Monk rose to his feet, scraping back his chair, his whole body hard with anger.

“Then we have no time to lose. God knows there is little enough.”

“And I shall go to try and persuade Alexandra Carlyon to allow us to use the truth,” Rathbone said with a tight little smile. “Without her consent we have nothing.”

“Oliver.” Hester was aghast.

He turned to her, touching her very gently.

“Don't worry, my dear. You have done superbly. You have discovered the truth. Now leave me to do my part.”

She met his eyes, dark and brilliant, took a deep breath and let it out slowly, forcing herself to relax.

“Of course. I'm sorry. Go and see Alexandra. I shall go and tell Callandra. She will be as appalled as we are.”

Alexandra Carlyon turned from the place where she had been standing, staring up at the small square of light of the cell window. She was surprised to see Rathbone.

The door swung shut with a hollow sound of metal on metal, and they were alone.

“You are wasting your time, Mr. Rathbone,” she said huskily. “I cannot tell you anything more.”

“You don't need to, Mrs. Carlyon,” he said very gently. “I know why you killed your husband-and God help me, had I been in your place I might have done the same.”