A sudden, fearful death (23 page)

He was smiling and she had no idea
what he had said. She blushed at her stupidity.

"I beg your pardon?" she
stammered.

He was surprised. "I said
'Good morning,' " he repeated. "Are you well?" He looked at her
more closely. "Has that wretched policeman been bothering you?"

"No." She smiled in
sudden relief. It was ridiculous. She could have dealt with Jeavis without a
hesitation in her stride. Good heavens, she was a match for Monk, let alone one
of Runcorn's junior minions appointed in his stead. "No," she said
again. "Not at all. But I am concerned about his efficiency. I fear he may
not be as capable of the skill as this unhappy case requires."

Kristian gave a twisted smile.
"He is certainly diligent enough. He has already questioned me three
times, and to judge from his expression, believed nothing I said." He gave
a sad little laugh. "I think he suspects me."

She caught the edge of fear in his
voice, and pretended she had not, then changed her mind and met his eyes. She
longed to be able to touch him, but she did not know how much he felt, or knew.
And this was hardly the time.

"He will be eager to prove
himself by solving the case as quickly and satisfactorily as possible,"
she said with an effort at composure. "And he has a superior with social
ambitions and a keen sense of what is politically judicious." She saw his
face tighten as he appreciated exactly what she meant, and the consequent
danger to himself as a foreigner and a man with no social connections in
England. "But I have a friend, a private inquiry agent," she went on
hastily, aching to reassure him. "I have engaged him to look into the
case. He is quite brilliant. He will find the truth."

"You say that with great
confidence," he observed quietly, halfway between amusement and a
desperate need to believe her.

"I have known him for some time
and seen him solve cases the police could not." She searched his face, the
anxiety in his eyes, the smile on his lips belying it. "He is a hard man,
ruthless, and sometimes arrogant," she went on intently. "But he has
imagination and brilliance, and he has absolute integrity. If anyone can find
the truth, it will be Monk." She thought of the past cases through which
she had known him and felt a surge of hope. She made herself smile and saw an
answering flicker in Kristian's eyes.

"If he has your confidence to
that degree, then I must rest my trust in him also," he replied.

She wanted to say something
further, but nothing came to her mind that was not forced. Rather than appear
foolish, she excused herself and walked away to look for Mrs. Flaherty, to discuss
some charitable business.

* * * * *

Hester found returning to hospital
duty after private nursing a severe strain on her temper. She had grown accustomed
to being her own mistress since her dismissal roughly a year ago. The
restrictions of English medical practice were almost beyond bearing after the
urgency and freedom of the Crimea, where there had frequently been so few army
surgeons that nurses such as herself had had to take matters into their own
hands, and there had been little complaint. Back at home again it seemed that
every pettifogging little rule was invoked, more to safeguard dignity than to
ease pain or preserve life, and that reputation was more precious than
discovery.

She had known Prudence Barrymore
and she felt a sharply personal sense of both anger and loss at her death. She
was determined to give Monk any assistance she could in learning who had killed
her. Therefore she would govern her temper, however difficult that might prove;
refrain from expressing her opinions, no matter how severely tempted; and not
at any time exercise her own medical judgment.

So far she had succeeded, but Mrs.
Flaherty tried her sorely. The woman was set in her ways. She refused to listen
to anyone's instructions about opening windows, even on the warmest, mildest
days. Twice she had told the nurses to put a cloth over buckets of slops as
they were carrying them out, but when they had forgotten on all subsequent
occasions she had said nothing further. Hester, as a disciple of Florence
Nightingale, was passionately keen on fresh air to cleanse the atmosphere and
carry away harmful effluvia and unpleasant odor. Mrs. Flaherty was terrified of
chills and preferred to rely on fumigation. It was with the greatest of
difficulty that Hester kept her own counsel.

Instinctively she liked Kristian
Beck. There seemed to be both compassion and imagination in his face. His
modesty and dry humor appealed to her and she felt he was greatly skilled at
his profession. Sir Herbert Stanhope she liked less, but was obliged to concede
he was a brilliant surgeon. He performed operations lesser men might not have
dared, and he was not so careful of his reputation as to fear novelty or
innovation. She admired him and felt she should have liked him better than she
did. She thought she detected in him a dislike of nurses who had been in the
Crimea. Perhaps she was reaping a legacy of Prudence Barrymore's abrasiveness
and ambition.

The first death to occur after her
arrival was that of a thin little woman, whom she judged to be about fifty and
who had a growth in the breast. In spite of all that Sir Herbert could do, she
died on the operating table.

It was late in the evening. They had
been working all day and they had tried everything they knew to save her. It
had all been futile. She had slipped away even as they struggled. Sir Herbert
stood with his bloodstained hands in the air. Behind him were the bare walls of
the theater, to the left the table with instruments and swabs and bandages, to
the right the cylinders of anesthetic gases. A nurse stood by with a mop,
brushing the hair out of her eyes with one hand.

There was no one in the gallery,
only two students assisting.

Sir Herbert looked up, his face
pale, skin drawn tight across his cheekbones.

"She's gone," he said
flatly. "Poor creature. No strength left."

"Had she been ill long?"
one of the two student doctors asked.

"Long?" Sir Herbert said
with an abrupt jerky laugh. "Depends how you think of it. She's had
fourteen children, and God knows how many miscarriages. Her body was exhausted."

"She must have stopped bearing
some time ago," the younger one said with a squint down at her scrawny
body. It was already looking bloodless, as if death had been hours since.
"She must be at least fifty."

"Thirty-seven," Sir
Herbert replied with a rasp to his voice as though he were angry and held this
young man to blame, his ignorance causing the situation, not resulting from it.

The young man drew breath as if to
speak, then looked more closely at Sir Herbert's tired face and changed his
mind.

"All right, Miss
Latterly," Sir Herbert said to Hester. "Inform the mortuary and have
her taken there. I'll tell the husband."

Without thinking Hester spoke.
"I'll tell him, if you wish, sir?"

He looked at her more closely,
surprise wiping away the weariness for a moment.

"That's very good of you, but
it is my job. I am used to it. God knows how many women I've seen die either in
childbirth or after bearing one after another until they were exhausted, and
prey to the first fever that came along."

"Why do they do it?" the
young doctor asked, his confusion getting the better of his tact. "Surely
they can see what it will do to them? Eight or ten children should be enough
for anyone."

"Because they don't know any
differently, of course!" Sir Herbert snapped at him. "Half of them
have no idea how conception takes place, or why, let alone how to prevent
it." He reached for a cloth and wiped his hands. "Most women come to
marriage without the faintest idea what it will involve, and a good many never
learn the connection between conjugal relations and innumerable
pregnancies." He held out the soiled cloth. Hester took it and replaced it
with a clean one. "They are taught it is their duty, and the will of
God," he continued. "They believe in a God who has neither mercy nor
common sense." His face was growing darker as he spoke and his narrow eyes
were hard with anger.

"Do you tell them?" the
young doctor asked.

'Tell them what?" he said
between his teeth. 'Tell them to deny their husbands one of the few pleasures
the poor devils have? And then what? Watch them leave and take someone
else?"

"No of course not," the
young man said irritably. "Tell them some way of..." He stopped,
realizing the futility of what he said. He was speaking about women of whom the
great majority could neither read nor count. The church sanctioned no means of
birth control whatever. It was God's will that all women should bear as many
children as nature would permit, and the pain, fear, and loss of life were all
part of Eve's punishment, and should be borne with fortitude, and in silence.

"Don't stand there,
woman!" Sir Herbert said, turning on Hester sharply. "Have the poor
creature's remains taken to the mortuary."

* * * * *

Two days later, Hester was in Sir
Herbert's office, having brought some papers for him from Mrs. Flaherty.

There was a knock at the door, and
Sir Herbert gave permission for the person to enter. Hester was at the back of
the room in a small alcove, and her first thought was that he had forgotten she
was still present. Then as the two young women came in, she realized that
perhaps he wished her to remain.

The first was approximately thirty,
fair-haired, her face very pale, with high cheekbones and curiously narrow and
very beautiful hazel eyes. The second was much younger, perhaps no more than
eighteen. Although there was a slight resemblance of feature, her coloring was
dark, her eyebrows very clearly marked over deep blue eyes, and her hair grew
from her brow in a perfect widow's peak. She also had a beauty spot high on her
cheekbone. It was most attractive. However now she looked tired and very pale.

"Good afternoon, Sir
Herbert." The elder spoke with a catch of nervousness in her voice, but
with her chin high and her eyes direct.

He rose very slightly from his
seat, only a gesture. "Good afternoon, ma'am."

"Mrs. Penrose," she said
in answer to the unspoken question. "Julia Penrose. This is my sister,
Miss Marianne Gillespie." She indicated the younger woman a little behind
her.

"Miss Gillespie." Sir
Herbert acknowledged her with a nod of his head. "How can I help you, Mrs.
Penrose? Or is your sister the patient?"

She looked a little startled, as if
she had not expected him to be so perceptive. Neither of them could see Hester
in the alcove, motionless, her hand in the air half raised to put a book away,
peering through the space where it should have sat on the shelf. The names ran
like an electric charge in her mind.

Julia was talking, answering Sir
Herbert.

"Yes. Yes, it is my sister who
requires your help."

Sir Herbert looked at Marianne
inquiringly, but also with an appraising eye, regarding her color, her build,
the anxiety with which she wound her fingers together in front of her, the
bright frightened look in her eyes.

"Please sit down,
ladies," he invited, indicating the chairs on (he other side of the desk.
"I assume you wish to remain during the consultation, Mrs. Penrose?"

Julia lifted her chin a little in
anticipation of an attempt to dismiss her. "I do. I can verify everything
my sister says."

Sir Herbert's eyebrows rose.
"Am I likely to doubt her, ma'am?"

Julia bit her lip. "I do not
know, but it is an eventuality I wish to guard against. The situation is
distressing enough as it is. I refuse to have any more anguish added to
it." She shifted in her seat as if to rearrange her skirts. There was
nothing comfortable in her bearing. Then suddenly she plunged on. "My
sister is with child...."

Sir Herbert's face tightened.
Apparently he had noted that she had been introduced as an unmarried woman.

"I am sorry," he said
briefly, his disapproval unmistakable.

Marianne flushed hotly and Julia's
eyes glittered with fury.

"She was raped." She used
the word deliberately, with all its violence and crudeness, refusing any
euphemism. "She is with child as a result of it." She stopped, her
breath choking in her throat.

"Indeed," Sir Herbert
said with neither skepticism nor pity in his face. He gave no indication
whether he believed her or not.

Julia took his lack of horror or
sympathy as disbelief.

"If you need proof of it, Sir
Herbert," she said icily, "I shall call upon the private inquiry
agent who conducted the investigation, and he will confirm what I say."

"You did not report the matter
to the police?" Again Sir Herbert's fine pale eyebrows rose. "It is a
very serious crime, Mrs. Penrose. One of the most heinous."

Julia's face was ashen. "I am
aware of that. It is also one in which the victim may be as seriously punished
as the offender, both by public opinion and by having to relive the experience
for the courts and for the judiciary, to be stared at and speculated over by
everyone with the price of a newspaper in his pocket!" She drew in her
breath; her hands, in front of her, were shaking. "Would you subject your
wife or daughter to such an ordeal, sir? And do not tell me they would not find
themselves in such a position. My sister was in her own garden, painting in the
summer-house, quite alone, when she was molested by someone she had every cause
to trust."