Ballinger looked rumpled and angry, but not as embarrassingly out of control as some people did when faced with sudden and appalling misfortune. He was shaved, and his hair was tidy. There was no sign in his face of hysteria, and his eyes looked no more puffy than was natural from a night with little or no sleep.

“Good morning, Oliver,” he said without preamble. “Before you waste time on it, they are treating me perfectly well, and I have all I require in the way of such comforts as I am permitted. Margaret sent my valet with everything. You cannot yet begin to appreciate what a fine woman she is. If you are blessed with such daughters, you will be a most fortunate man. Now, will you act for me in this … this farce? I want to get it explained and discussed as soon as possible, before half the world knows about it.” He smiled grimly, with only an echo of humor. “Perhaps I will have more understanding of my clients’ fears in the future, and more sympathy.”

“Of course I will act for you, if you are sure it is what you wish,” Rathbone replied. “But have you considered the wisdom of having a member of the family in such a position? There are—”

Ballinger waved his hand sharply, dismissing the objections. “You are the finest lawyer in London, Oliver, perhaps in England. And I have no doubt whatever that you will fight for me harder than anyone else would, in spite of your past friendship with William Monk. You are my son-in-law, part of my family. I am well aware that we should not have favorite children, but Margaret is still mine. She always has been. There is a loyalty and a gentleness in her that is beyond even that of my other daughters. You will do everything that is humanly possible.”

Ballinger shook his head. “Not that it should be necessary. The whole charge is a tissue of coincidences piled upon one another because Monk has little idea of a solicitor’s responsibilities to his clients. He is also emotionally involved on a personal level through his wife and the little mudlark she has become attached to because the poor woman apparently cannot have children of her own.”

Rathbone felt a stab of guilt so acute, it was hard to believe it was not an old physical injury torn open again. At the trial of Jericho Phillips he had ridiculed Hester when she had given testimony against Phillips, painting her as a childless woman who had half adopted a street urchin to fill her own loneliness, and implying that her judgment had become warped because of it. The jury had believed him and had discounted her testimony. He had not spoken of it since with Hester, and he did not know if she had entirely forgiven him for such a betrayal. He had not forgiven himself.