“He does ask you, though. He wants you to handle his defence on your own lines, without restrictions. He knows you will be careful of his honour.”
“Without restriction? It’s too late now.”
“Why too late?”
“Because I have dismissed Mr. Battard, his advocate.”
“Who will defend him?”
“I.”
“Ah,” said Margaret, throwing herself into his arms, “I had given up hope of that. I have always wanted it.”
And her father, already preoccupied as he was with his new and pressing task, folded her to his breast. “You have always had faith in me, little girl. Go fetch me all the family record books now, even the oldest ones.”
While she was gone there was delivered to him the brief sent back by Mr. Battard, according to his promise. He opened it and turned over the leaves, glancing at the clock as he did so.
“Almost six. Shall I have the time?”