“Like his father?” Hester searched her brains, which was stupid. There was no reason in the world why it should be anyone she had even heard of, much less met; in fact, there was every reason why it should not. Yet there was something tugging at the corners of her mind, a gesture, something about the eyes, the color of hair, the heavy lids…

“Charles Hargrave,” Damaris said very quietly, and in-standy Hester knew it was the truth: the eyes, the height, the way of standing, the angle of die shoulders.

Then another, ugly thought pulled at the edge of her mind, insistent, refusing to be silenced.

“But why did that upset you so terribly? You were frantic when you came down again, not quiet shaken, but frantic. Why? Even if Peverell found out Valentine was Hargrave's son-and I assume he doesn't know-even if he saw the resemblance between Valentine and Dr. Hargrave, there is no reason why he should connect it with you.”

Damaris shut her eyes and again her voice was sharp with pain.

“I didn't know Thaddeus abused Cassian, believe me, I really didn't. But I knew Papa abused him-when he was a child. I knew the look in his eyes, that mixture of fear and excitement, the pain, the confusion, and the kind of secret pleasure. I suppose if I'd ever really looked at Cass lately I'd have seen it there too-but I didn't look. And since the murder I just thought it was part of his grief. Not that I've spent much time with him anyway-I should have, but I haven't. I know about Thaddeus, because I saw it once… and ever after it was in my mind.”

Hester drew breath to say sometiring-and nothing seemed adequate.

Damaris closed her eyes.

“I saw the same look in Valentine's face.” Her voice was tight, as if her throat were burned inside. “I knew he was being abused too. I thought it was Maxim-I hated him so much I would have killed him. It never occurred to me it was Thaddeus. Oh God. Poor Alex.” She gulped. “No wonder she killed him. I would have too-in her place. In fact if I'd known it was he who abused Valentine, I would have anyway. I just didn't know. I suppose I assumed it was always fathers.” She laughed harshly, a tiny thread of hysteria creeping back into her voice. “You should have suspected me. I would have been just as guilty as Alexandra-in thought and intent, if not in deed. It was only inability that stopped me-nothing else.”

“Many of us are innocent only through lack of chance- or of means,” Hester said very softly. “Don't blame yourself. You'll never know whether you would have or not if the chance had been there.”

“I would.” There was no doubt in Damaris's voice, none at all. She looked up at Hester. “What can we do for Alex? It would be monstrous if she were hanged for that. Any mother worth a damn would have done the same!”

“Testify,” Hester answered without hesitation. “Tell the truth. WeVe got to persuade the jury that she did the only thing she could to protect her child.”

Damaris looked away, her eyes filling with tears.

“Do I have to tell about Valentine? Peverell doesn't know! Please…”

“Tell him yourself,” Hester said very quietly. “He loves you-and he must know you love him.”

“But men don't forgive easily-not things like that.” The despair was back in Damaris's voice.

Hester felt wretched, still hoping against all likelihood that it was not Peverell.

“Peverell isn't'men,' “ she said chokingly. “Don't judge him by others. Give him the chance to be all-all that he could be.” Did she sound as desperate and as hollow as she felt? “Give him a chance to forgive-and love you for what you really are, not what you think he wants you to be. It was a mistake, a sin if you like-but we all sin one way or another. What matters is that you become kinder and wiser because of it, that you become gentler with others, and that you have never repeated it!”

“Do you think he will see it like that? He might if it were anyone else-but it's different when it's your own wife.”

“For heaven's sake-try him.”

“But if he doesn't, I'll lose him!”

“And if you lie, Alexandra will lose her life. What would Peverell think of that?”

“I know.” Damaris stood up slowly, suddenly all her grace returning. “I’ve got to tell him. God knows I wish I hadn't done it. And Charles Hargrave, of all people. I can hardly bear to look at him now. I know. Don't tell me again, I do know. I’ve got to tell Pev. There isn't any way out of it-lying would only make it worse.”

“Yes it would.” Hester put out her hand and touched Damaris's arm. “I'm sorry-but I had no choice either.”

“I know.” Damaris smiled with something of the old charm, although the effort it cost her was apparent. “Only if I do this, you'd better save Alex. I don't want to say all this for nothing.”

“Everything I can. I'll leave nothing untried-I promise.”

Chapter 12

Alexandra sat on the wooden bench in the small cell, her face white and almost expressionless. She was exhausted, and the marks of sleeplessness were plain around her eyes. She was for thinner than when Rathbone had first seen her and her hair had lost its sheen.

“I can't go on,” she said wearily. “There isn't any point. It will only damage Cassian-terribly.” She took a deep breath. He could see the rise of her breast under the thin gray muslin of her blouse. “They won't believe me. Why should, they? There's no proof, there never could be. How could you prove such a thing? People don't do it where they can be seen.”

“You know,” Rathbone said quietly, sitting opposite her and looking at her so intensely that in time she would have to raise her head and meet his eyes.

She smiled bitterly. “And who's going to believe me?”

“That wasn't my point,” he said patiently. “If you could know, then it is possible others could also. Thaddeus himself was abused as a child.”

She jerked her head up, her eyes full of pity and surprise.

“You didn't know?” He looked at her gently. “I thought not.”

“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “But if he was, how could he, of all people, abuse his own son?” Her incomprehension was full of confusion and pain. “Surely if-why? I don't understand.”

“Neither do I,” he answered frankly. “But then I have never walked that path myself. I had quite another reason for telling you, one of very much more urgent relevance.” He stopped, not fully sure if she was listening to him.

“Have you?” she said dully.

“Yes. Can you imagine how he suffered? His lifelong shame, and the fear of being discovered? Even some dim sense of what he was committing upon his own child-and yet, the need was so overwhelming, so consuming it still drove him-”

“Stop it,” she said furiously, jerking her head up. “I'm sorry! Of course I'm sorry! Do you think I enjoyed it?” Her voice was thick, choking with indescribable anguish. “I racked my brain for any other way. I begged him to stop, to send Cassian away to boarding school-anything at all to put him beyond reach. I offered him myself, for any practice he, wanted!” She stared at him with helpless fury. “I used to love him. Not passionately, but love just the same. He was the father of my children and I had covenanted to be loyal to him all my life. I don't think he ever loved me, not really, but he gave me all he was capable of.”

She sank lower on the bench and dropped her head forward, covering her face with her hands. “Don't you think I see his body on that floor every time I lie in the dark? I dream about it-I've redone that deed in my nightmares, and woken up cold as ice, with the sweat standing out on my skin. I'm terrified God will judge me and condemn my soul forever.”

She huddled a little lower into herself. “But I couldn 't let that happen to my child and do nothing-just let it go on. You don't know how he changed. The laughter went out of him-all the innocence. He became sly. He was afraid of me-of me! He didn't trust me anymore, and he started telling lies-stupid lies-and he became frightened all the time, and suspicious of people. And always there was the sort of… secret glee in him… a-a-guilty pleasure. And yet he cried at night-curled up like a baby, and crying in his sleep. I couldn't let it go on!”