was almost a sob. He took his time before he spoke.
‘It wasn’t your fault, Sally. These things happen …’
But Sally Stacey would not listen to any words of consolation.
‘She burst into my office,’ she went on, bleakly, ‘… it must have been about six months later … She just stood there like a wild animal … and she hurled abuse at me … Because of me, she said, she was stuck with a husband she loathed and a thing she couldn’t look after … She called it a thing … She was only nineteen, Lennox …’
‘Have you seen or heard from her since?’
‘No.’ Sally shook herself. ‘I had to tell you now because of the letters … just in case there is a connection.’
‘I don’t see how there can be. This happened, what, two years ago? And anyway, the letters are coming to me, not you.’
‘Amy Frobisher said that day she wished all lawyers would burn in hell … we were all liars and cheats, we wrecked people’s lives and didn’t care … I could only sit there and hear her out. Afterwards I wrestled with my conscience … Had I really done wrong?’
She was talking now to herself and although Kemp could have answered her, he chose not to. He could have told her she had been wrong, not in her personal conviction, but in allowing it to intrude upon her legal judgement. She would have been very persuasive with Amy Robsart, the strength of her religion lending sincerity and force to her argument, and the young girl in no state to withstand that persuasion. Sally had forgotten that the girl had rights too. The lawyer in Sally should have warned her she was stepping outside her brief; she ought to have stayed within the legal frame, offered advice only on that.
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