“When my husband came up to tell me that Alexandra-Mrs. Carlyon-was extremely upset and the party was becoming very tense and rather unpleasant. He wished me to return to try to improve the atmosphere. Naturally I did so.”

“Leaving General Carlyon still upstairs with your son?”

“Yes.”

“And what happened next?”

“Mrs. Carlyon went upstairs.”

“What was her manner, Mrs. Furnival, from your own observation?” He glanced at the judge, who made no comment.

“She was white-faced,” Louisa replied. Still she ignored Alexandra as if the dock had been empty and she were speaking of someone absent.”She appeared to be in a rage greater than any I have ever seen before, or since. There was nothing I could do to stop her, but I still imagined that it was some private quarrel and would be settled when they got home.”

Lovat-Smith smiled. “We assume you did not believe it would lead to violence, Mrs. Furnival, or you would naturally have taken steps to prevent it. But did you still have no idea as to its cause? You did not, for example, think it was jealousy over some imagined relationship between the general and yourself?”

She smiled, a fleeting, enigmatic expression. For the first time she glanced at Alexandra, but so quickly their eyes barely met. “A trifle, perhaps,” she said gravely. “But not serious. Our relationship was purely one of friendship-quite platonic-as it had been for years. I thought she knew that, as did everyone else.” Her smile widened. “Had it been more, my husband would hardly have been the friend to the general he was. I did not think she was… obsessive about it. A little envious, maybe-friendship can be very precious. Especially if you feel you do not have it.”

“Exactly so.” He smiled at her. “And then?” he asked, moving a little to one side and putting his hands deeper into his pockets.

Louisa took up the thread. “Then Mrs. Carlyon came downstairs, alone.”

“Had her manner changed?”

“I was not aware of it…” She looked as if she were wailing for him to lead her, but as” he remained silent, she continued unasked. “Then my husband went out into the hall.” She stopped for dramatic effect. “That is the front hall, not the back one, which we had been using to go up to my son's room-and he came back within a moment, looking very shaken, and told us that General Carlyon had had an accident and was seriously hurt.”

“Seriously hurt,” Lovat-Smith interrupted. “Not dead?”

“I think he was too shocked to have looked at him closely,” she answered, a faint, sad smile touching her mouth. “I imagine he wanted Charles to come as soon as possible. That is what I would have done.”

“Of course. And Dr. Hargrave went?”

“Yes-after a few moments he was back to say that Thad-deus was dead and we should call the police-because it was an accident that needed explaining, not because any of us suspected murder then.”

“Naturally,” Lovat-Smith agreed. “Thank you, Mrs. Furnival. Would you please remain there, in case my learned friend has any questions to ask you.” He bowed very slightly and turned to Rathbone.

Rathbone rose, acknowledged him with a nod, and moved forward towards the witness box. His manner was cautious, but there was no deference in it and he looked up at Louisa very directly.

“Thank you for a most clear description of the events of that tragic evening, Mrs. Furnival,” he began, his voice smooth and beautifully modulated. As soon as she smiled he continued gravely. “But I think perhaps you have omitted one or two events which may turn out to be relevant. We can hardly overlook anything, can we?” He smiled back at her, but there was no lightness in the gesture, and it died instantly, leaving no trace in his eyes. “Did anyone else go up to see your son, Valentine?”

“I…” She stopped, as if uncertain.

“Mrs. Erskine, for example?”

Lovat-Smith stirred, half rose as if to interrupt, then changed his mind.

“I believe so,” Louisa conceded, her expression making it plain she thought it irrelevant.

“And how was her manner when she came down?” Rathbone said softly.

Louisa hesitated. “She seemed… upset.”

“Just upset?” Rathbone sounded surprised. “Not distressed, unable to keep her mind on a conversation, distracted by some inner pain?”

“Well…” Louisa lifted her shoulder delicately. “She was in a very strange mood, yes. I thought perhaps she was not entirely well.”

“Did she give any explanation for the sudden change from her usual manner to such a distracted, offensive, near-frenzied mood?”

Lovat-Smith rose to his feet.

“Objection, my lord! The witness did not say Mrs. Erskine was offensive or near frenzied, only that she was distressed and unable to command her attention to the conversation.”

The judge looked at Rathbone. “Mr. Lovat-Smith is correct. What is your point, Mr. Rathbone? I confess, I fail to see it.”

“It will emerge later, my lord,” Rathbone said, and Hester had a strong feeling he was bluffing, hoping that by the time Damaris was called, they would have learned precisely what it was that she had discovered. Surely it must have to do with the general.

“Very well. Proceed,” thejudge directed.

“Did you find the cause of Mrs. Erskine's distress, Mrs. Furnival?” Rathbone resumed.

“No.”

“Nor of Mrs. Carlyon's distress either? Is it an assumption that it had to do with you, and your relationship with the general?”

Louisa frowned.

“Is that not so, Mrs. Furnival? Did Mrs. Carlyon ever say anything either to you, or in your hearing, to suggest that she was distressed because of a jealousy of you and your friendship with her husband? Please be exact.”

Louisa drew in her breath deeply, her face shadowed, but still she did not glance towards the dock or the motionless woman in it.

“No.”

Rathbone smiled, showing his teeth.

“Indeed, you have testified that she had nothing of which to be jealous. Your friendship with the general was perfectly proper, and a sensible woman might conceivably have regarded it as enviable that you could have such a comfortable regard, perhaps, but not cause for distress, let alone a passionate jealousy or hatred. Indeed there seems no reason for it at all. Is that not so?”

“Yes.” It was not a flattering description, and certainly not glamorous, or the image Hester had seen Louisa project. Hester smiled to herself and glanced at Monk, but Monk had not caught the inflection. He was watching the jury.

“And this friendship between yourself and the general had existed for many years, some thirteen or fourteen years, in fact?”

“Yes.”

“With the full knowledge and consent of your husband?”

“Of course.”

“And of Mrs. Carlyon?”

“Yes.”

“Did she at any time at all approach you on the matter, or let you know that she was displeased about it?”

“No.” Louisa raised her eyebrows. “This came without any warning at all.”

“What came, Mrs. Furnival?”

“Why the…the murder, of course.” She looked a little disconcerted, not entirely sure whether he was very simple or very clever.

He smiled blandly, a slight curling of the lips. “Then on what evidence do you suppose that jealousy of you was the cause?”

She breathed in slowly, giving herself time, and her expression hardened.

“I-I did not think it, until she herself claimed it to be so. But I have experienced unreasonable jealousies before, and it was not hard to believe. Why should she lie about it? It is not a quality one would wish to claim-it is hardly attractive.”

“A profound question, Mrs. Furnival, which in time I will answer. Thank you.” He half turned away. “That is all I have to ask you. Please remain there, in case niy learned friend has any questions to redirect to you.”

Lovat-Smith rose, smiling, a small, satisfied gesture.

“No thank you, I think Mrs. Furnival by her very appearance makes the motive of jealousy more than understandable.”