There was a murmur of assent from one or two people in the room. Enid looked puzzled, Caleb bitter.

“A very privileged childhood, by the sound of it.” Rathbone smiled. “I gave them all I could,” Ravensbrook said without expression, except perhaps for a certain gravity which might have been sadness, or merely an effect of the light in his impassive face, with its patrician features and dark, very level eyes under their short brows.

“You speak of a jealousy growing between them,” Rathbone continued. He was battling with a witness who was all but hostile, and it was like drawing teeth. He could understand it. Having to expose his most private family life to the gaze of the public in general, and the seekers of sensation in particular, was something no decent man would wish, and to one like Milo Ravensbrook it was like facing enemy fire. But if there was to be justice it was unavoidable, not only punishment for Caleb, but a decent acknowledgment for Genevieve and her children. “Would you give the court an example of any evidences of these you can recall? Instances of behavior, resentments, quarrels . . .”

Ravensbrook looked somewhere over the heads of the crowd.

“I should prefer not to.”

“Naturally,” Rathbone commiserated. “No one wishes to recall such events, but I am afraid it is necessary if we are to discover what is the truth of this present tragedy. I am sure you wish that.” He was not perfectly sure.

Perhaps Ravensbrook would rather it went unknown, and could fade from memory as a mystery. But he could not say so.

There were several minutes of silence. One of the jurors coughed and produced a large handkerchief. Another shifted his weight as though embarrassed. The judge stared at Ravensbrook. Ebenezer Goode looked first at Ravensbrook, then at Rathbone, his face expectant.

But it was Caleb who broke the tension.

“Forgotten, have you?” he called down, his lips drawn back in something close to a snarl. “Forgotten how Angus was afraid of that damn black horse of yours-but I rode it! Forgotten how angry you were-”

“Silence!” The judge banged his gavel, but Caleb ignored him, leaning forward over the railing of the dock, his beautiful, manacled hands gripping the railing. His eyes glaring. His expression was one of such blazing hatred it struck a note of fear, even though he was imprisoned by the height of the dock above the floor of the court and had warders on either side of him. There was a power and a rage in him which could be felt across the space as though it might actually touch and darken the mind.

“. . . because I could make it behave, and you couldn't?” Caleb finished, ignoring the judge. It was as if no one existed in the room but himself and Ravensbrook. _“Remember how you beat me because I took the peaches from the conservatory?”

Goode was on his feet, but powerless.