“What explanation did he offer you for this unusual behavior?” Rathbone inquired.
“That Caleb was his brother,” she answered, “and he could not desert him. Caleb had no one else. They were twins, and it was a bond which could not be broken, even by Caleb’s hatred and his jealousy.”
In the dock, Caleb’s manacled hands, strong and slender, grasped the railing till his knuckles shone white.
Rathbone prayed she would remember precisely what they had discussed and agreed. So far it was going perfectly.
“Were you not afraid that one day the injuries might be more serious?” he asked. “Perhaps he might be crippled or maimed for life?”
Her face was pale and tense, and still she stared straight ahead of her.
“Yes—I was terrified of it. I implored him not to go again.”
“But your pleas did not change his mind?”
“No. He said he could not abandon Caleb.” She ignored Caleb’s snort of derision, almost anguish. “He could always remember the boy he had been,” she said chokingly. “And all that they had shared as children, the grief of their parents’ death …” She blinked several times and her effort to maintain control was apparent.
Rathbone restrained himself from looking at the jury, but he could almost feel their sympathy like a warm tide across the room.
In the crowd, Enid Ravensbrook’s haggard face was softened with pity for the distress she imagined so clearly. There was such a depth of feeling in her, Rathbone could not help the fleeting thought that perhaps she too had known such loneliness as a child.
“Yes?” he prompted Genevieve gently.
“Their sense of total loneliness,” she continued. “And the dreams and fears they had shared. When they were ill or frightened, they turned to each other. There was no one else to care for them. He could not forget that, no matter what Caleb might do to him now. He was always aware that life had been good to him, and for Caleb it had not proved so fortunate.”
In the dock Caleb let out a sound, half groan, half snarl. One of his gaolers touched him gently. The other sneered.
“Did he say that, Mrs. Stonefield?” Rathbone demanded. “Did he use those words, or is that your surmise?”
“No, he used those words, more than once.” Her voice was clear and decisive now. It was a statement.
“You were afraid that Caleb might harm your husband seriously, out of his envy at his success, and the hatred arising from that?” Rathbone asked.
“Yes.”
There was a murmur around the room, a shifting of weight. The sun had gone and the light was grayer across the wood.
“Did he not understand your feelings?” Rathbone asked.
“Oh yes,” she affirmed. “He shared them. He was terrified, but Angus was a man who set duty and honor above all, even his own life. It was a matter of loyalty. He said he owed Caleb a debt for the past and he could not live with himself if he were to run away now.”
One of the jurors nodded his approval and his determination deepened. He glanced up at the dock with bitter contempt.
“What was that debt, Mrs. Stonefield?” Rathbone asked. “Did he say?”
“Only a matter of Caleb having defended him on occasions when they were children,” she replied. “He was not specific, but I think it was from older boys, from teasing and bullying. He did imply that there had been some boy who had been especially brutal, and Caleb had always been the one to take the brunt of it and protect Angus.” The tears momentarily spilled down her face and she ignored them. “Angus never forgot that.”
“I see,” Rathbone said softly, smiling a little. “That is a sentiment of honor I imagine we can all understand and admire.” He gave the jury a moment or two to absorb the idea. Again he did not look at them. It would be far too unsubtle. “But you believe he was frightened, all the same,” he continued. “Why, Mrs. Stonefield?”
“Because before he went he would be restless and withdrawn,” she answered. “Quite unlike his usual manner. He preferred to spend time alone, often pacing the floor. He would be pale-faced, unable to eat, his hands would shake and his mouth be dry. When someone is as deeply afraid as that, Mr. Rathbone, it is not hard to observe it, especially if it is someone you know well, and love.”
“Of course,” he murmured. He was acutely conscious of Caleb crouched forward over the railing, and of two jurors staring at him as if he were a wild animal, and might even leap over upon them, were he not manacled. “Was there anything else?”
“Sometimes he dreamed,” she replied. “He would cry out, calling Caleb’s name, and saying, ‘No! No!’ And then he would wake up covered in perspiration, and his whole body shaking.”
“Did he discuss with you what was in these dreams?”
“No. He was too distressed.” She closed her eyes and her voice quivered. “I would simply hold him in my arms until he went to sleep again, as I would a child.”