“That was seven years earlier,” Ravensbrook replied, not looking at Caleb, but staring straight ahead of him still. “You took every peach. You deserved punishment.”

The judge banged his gavel again.

“Mr. Goode, either keep your client's behavior appropriate to this court or I shall have him removed and continue the case in his absence. Make that plain to him, sir.”

Caleb swung around, his face twisted with fury. “Don't talk to me through a third party, as if I weren't here, damn you! I can hear what you're saying and I can understand you. What bloody difference does it make whether I'm here or not anyway? You say what you want about me. Believe what you want. You'll believe what suits your idea of the way you want things to be!” His voice rose even more. “What does the truth matter? What do you care who killed whom, as long as your world stays the same, with the same comfortable, reassuring lies? Cover it all up! Bury it! Put a white cross over it and say a prayer to your God that he'll forgive you, then go away and forget. I'll see you all in hell, be sure of it! I'll be there and waiting for you!”

The judge looked tired and sad. “Take the prisoner down,” he instructed the warders.

Caleb sank down suddenly, his head in his hands.

Ebenezer Goode rose and walked at least halfway towards the bench. “My lord, may we have a brief adjournment so I may advise my client? I believe I can persuade him to keep silence.”

“There's no need,” Caleb interrupted, jerking his head up. “I shan't speak again. There's nothing else to say.”

The judge glanced at Rathbone.

“I am ready to proceed, my lord,” Rathbone replied. He had no desire to break the mood by an adjournment.

“Another outburst and I will act,” the judge warned.

“Yes, my lord.” Goode returned to his seat without looking towards the dock.

Rathbone faced Lord Ravensbrook again.

“I think part of my question has already been answered, but if you could mention one or two other instances, it would give the court a fuller picture. For example, how did the two brothers fare in their academic studies?”

Ravensbrook's body was as rigid as if he were in a military parade.

“Angus was excellent at his work, especially mathematics, history and geography,” he said, staring ahead of him. “He was less interested in Latin and the classics, but he studied them because I wished it. He was a most admirable boy, and abundantly repaid me all I ever did for him.”

A ghost of a smile crossed his face and vanished again.

“I believe in later years he grew to appreciate the value of Latin, at least. It is such a superb discipline for the mind. He always understood the need for that. Caleb never did. He was always unruly, desiring to rebel, to overthrow, even to destroy. It was something in him I could never govern. I tried everything I knew, and everything failed.”