“Of course he could win,” he answered her. “And if I forget it for even a moment, then I open the door for him to do just that.” He took a deep breath and tried to calm his voice and make it gentle. “Margaret, they have a case. If they didn’t, we wouldn’t be going to court tomorrow. If I could have had it dismissed, don’t you think I would have?”

“Yes! Yes, I know. But it’s ridiculous! My father? How can anyone who knows him ever imagine that he would be … paddling about in the river murdering some … pornographer?”

Rathbone reached across and touched her hand, and she grasped hold of him. She clung so tightly, she pinched his flesh, but he did not pull away, and forced himself not to wince.

“Precisely because they do not know him,” he replied. “It is my job to show the jury that he is exactly what he looks to be and claims to be—a respectable husband and father, a good solicitor, who, in the course of his professional duties, has had clients both good and bad, just as I have myself. He has done his best to help all of them, without making personal judgments as to their worthiness—which is what the law requires, and justice demands.”

She tried to blink back the tears that filled her eyes, but they spilled down her cheeks. “You’re right, Oliver, and I love you for it. I’m sorry. I’m just so frightened that somehow it will go wrong. I have no belief in justice. If it were real, he wouldn’t even be facing trial at all. And I’m sorry, but I think Monk is ruthless, and I don’t even trust Hester anymore. I think she’ll do anything for him, even lie if she has to, to stop him from looking bad—again. He can’t afford to make another terrible mistake, or he’ll lose his job.”

“You truly think she would lie for him?” he asked.

“For goodness’ sake, Oliver! She loves him,” she responded with exasperation. “She’s loyal! She’s his wife.”

“Is that loyalty?” he said very softly.

She looked puzzled. “What do you mean? Of course it is.”

“I don’t believe it is loyal to help someone do something that is wrong, something that could end in another person’s death. You would be helping them to commit a sin they would regret and pay for, for the rest of their lives. Would you want that? I wouldn’t.”

She looked confused.

“If you loved them?” he pressed.

“I … I don’t know. I would want to defend them. Wouldn’t you?” Now she was frowning. “Perhaps if I loved them enough, I wouldn’t even think that they could be wrong. Not as wrong as that.”

“And would you sacrifice your own judgment?”