A sudden, fearful death (53 page)

"And handsome?" Rathbone
asked with a slight smile.

Sir Herbert's eyes opened wider in
surprise. He had obviously not expected the question, or thought of an answer
beforehand.

"Yes—yes I suppose she was. I
am afraid I notice such things less than most men. In such circumstances I am
more interested in a woman's skills." He glanced at the jury in half
apology. "When you are dealing with the very ill, a pretty face is little
help. I do recall she had very fine hands indeed." He did not look down at
his own beautiful hands resting on the witness box railing.

"She was very skilled?"
Rathbone repeated.

"I have said so."

"Enough to perform a surgical operation
herself?"

Sir Herbert looked startled, opened
his mouth as if to speak, then stopped.

"Sir Herbert?" Rathbone
prompted.

"She was an excellent
nurse," he said earnestly. "But not a doctor! You have to understand,
the difference is enormous. It is an uncrossable gulf." He shook his
head. "She had no formal training. She knew only what she learned by
experience and observation on the battlefield and in the hospital at
Scutari." He leaned a trifle farther forward, his face creased with
concentration. "You have to understand the difference between such
haphazardly gained knowledge, unorganized, without reference to cause and
effect, to alternatives, possible complication—without knowledge of anatomy,
pharmacology, the experience and case notes of other doctors—and the years of
formal training and practice and the whole body of lateral and supplementary
learning such education provides." Again he shook his head, more vehemently
this time. "No, Mr. Rathbone, she was an excellent nurse, I have never known
better—but she was most certainly not a doctor. And to tell you the
truth"—he faced Rathbone squarely, his eyes brilliantly direct—"I
believe that the tales we have heard of her performing operations in the field
of battle did not come in that form from her. She was not an arrogant woman,
nor untruthful. I believe she must have been misunderstood, and possibly even
misquoted."

There were quite audible murmurs of
approval from the body of the court, several people nodded and glanced at
neighbors, and on the jury benches two members actually smiled.

It had been a brilliant move
emotionally, but tactically it made Rathbone's next question more difficult to
frame. He debated whether to delay it, and decided it would be seen as evasive.

"Sir Herbert ..." He
walked a couple of steps closer to the witness box and looked up. "The
prosecution's evidence against you was a number of letters from Prudence
Barrymore to her sister in which she writes of her profound feelings toward
you, and the belief that you returned those feelings and would shortly make her
the happiest of women. Is this a realistic view, a practical and honest one?
These are her own words, and not misquoted."

Sir Herbert shook his head, his
face creased with confusion.

"I simply cannot understand
it," he said ruefully. "I swear before God, I have never given her
the slightest cause to think I held her in that kind of regard, and I have
spent hours, days, trying to think of anything I could have said or done that
could give her such an impression, and I honestly can think of nothing."

He shook his head again, biting his
lip. "Perhaps I am casual in manner, and may have allowed myself to speak
informally to those with whom I work, but I truly cannot see how any person
would have interpreted my remarks as statements of personal affection. I simply
spoke to a trusted colleague in whom I had the utmost confidence." He hesitated.
Several jurors nodded in sympathy and understanding. From their faces it
seemed they too had had such experiences. It was all eminently reasonable. A
look of profound regret transformed his features.

"Perhaps I was remiss?"
he said gravely. "I am not a romantic man. I have been happily married
for over twenty years to the only woman whom I have ever regarded in that
light." He smiled self-consciously.

Above in the gallery women nudged
each other under-standingly.

"She would tell you I have
little imagination in that region of my life," Sir Herbert continued.
"As you may see, I am not a handsome or dashing figure. I have never been
the subject of the romantic attentions of young ladies. There are far more
..." He hesitated, searching for the right word. "More charming and
likely men for such a role. We have a number of medical students, gifted, young,
good-looking, and with fine futures ahead of them. And of course there are
other senior doctors as well, with greater gifts than mine in charm and
appealing manner. Quite frankly, it never occurred to me that anyone might view
me in that light."

Rathbone adopted a sympathetic
stance, although Sir Herbert was doing so well he hardly needed help.

"Did Miss Barrymore never say
anything which struck you as more than usually admiring, nothing personal
rather than professional?" he asked. "I imagine you are used to the very
considerable respect of your staff and the gratitude of your patients, but
please think carefully, with the wisdom of hindsight."

Sir Herbert shrugged and smiled
candidly and apologetically.

"Believe me, Mr. Rathbone, I
have tried, but on every occasion on which I spent time, admittedly a great
deal of time, with Nurse Barrymore, my mind was on the medical case with which
we were engaged. I never saw her in any other connection." He drew his
brows together in an effort of concentration.

"I thought of her with
respect, with trust, with the utmost confidence in her dedication and her
ability, but I did not think of her personally." He looked down. "It
seems I was grievously in the wrong in that, which I profoundly regret. I have
daughters of my own, as you no doubt know, but my profession has kept me so
fully occupied that their upbringing has been largely left to their mother. I
do not really know the ways of young women as well as I might, as well as many
men whose personal lives allow them more time in their homes and with their
families than does mine."

There was a whisper and rustle of
sympathy around the court.

"It is a price I do not pay
willingly." He bit his lip. "And it seems perhaps it may have been
responsible for a tragic misunderstanding by Nurse Barrymore. I—I cannot think
of any specific remarks I may have made. I really thought only of our patients,
but this I do know." His voice dropped and became hard and intense.
"I at no time whatever entertained any romantic notions about Miss
Barrymore, or said or did anything whatever that was improper or could be
construed by an unbiased person to be an advance or expression of romantic
intent. Of that I am as certain as I am that I stand here before you in this
courtroom."

It was superb. Rathbone himself
could not have written anything better.

"Thank you, Sir Herbert. You
have explained this tragic situation in a manner I believe we can all
understand." He looked at the jury with a rueful gesture. "I myself
have experienced embarrassing encounters, and I daresay the gentlemen of the
jury may have also. The dreams and priorities in life of young women are at times
different from ours, and perhaps we are dangerously, even tragically,
insensitive to them." He turned back to the witness stand. "Please remain
where you are. I have no doubt my learned friend will have questions to ask
you."

He smiled at Lovat-Smith as he
walked back to the table and resumed his seat.

Lovat-Smith stood up and
straightened his gown before moving across to the center of the floor. He did
not look to right or left, but directly up at Sir Herbert.

"In your own words, Sir
Herbert, you are not a ladies' man, is that correct?" His voice was
courteous, even smooth. There was no hint of panic or defeat in it, just a
deference toward a man held in public esteem.

Rathbone knew he was acting.
Lovat-Smith was as well aware as he himself how excellent Sir Herbert's
testimony had been. All the same his confidence gave Rathbone a twinge of
unease.

"No," Sir Herbert said
carefully, "I am not."

Rathbone shut his eyes. Please
Heaven Sir Herbert would remember his advice now. Say nothing more! Rathbone said
over and over to himself. Add nothing. Offer nothing. Don't be led by him. He
is your enemy.

"But you must have some
considerable familiarity wim the ways of women ..." Lovat-Smith said,
raising his eyebrows and opening his light blue eyes very wide.

Sir Herbert said nothing.

Rathbone breathed out a sigh of
relief.

"You are married, and have
been for many years," Lovat-Smith pointed out. "Indeed you have a
large family, including three daughters. You do yourself an injustice, sir. I
have it on excellent authority that your family life is most contented and well
ordered, and you are an excellent husband and father."

"Thank you," Sir Herbert
said graciously.

Lovat-Smith's face tightened. There
was a faint titter somewhere in the body of the court, instantly suppressed.

"It was not intended as a
compliment, sir," Lovat-Smith said sharply. Then he hurried on before
there was more laughter. "It was to point out that you are not as unacquainted
with the ways of women as you would have us believe. Your relationship with
your wife is excellent, you say, and I have no reason to doubt it. At least it
is undeniably long and intimate."

Again a titter of amusement came
from the crowd, but it was brief and stifled almost immediately. Sympathy was
with Sir Herbert; Lovat-Smith realized it and would not make that mistake
again.

"Surely you cannot expect me
to believe you are an innocent in the nature and affections of women, in the
way which they take flattery or attention?'

Now Sir Herbert had no one to guide
him as Rathbone had done. He was alone, facing the enemy. Rathbone gritted his
teeth.

Sir Herbert remained silent for
several minutes.

Hardie looked at him inquiringly.

Lovat-Smith smiled.

"I do not think," Sir Herbert
answered at last, lifting his eyes and looking squarely at Lovat-Smith,
"that you can reasonably liken my relationship with my wife to that with
my nurses, even the very best of them, which undoubtedly Miss Barrymore was. My
wife knows me and does not misinterpret what I say. I do not have to be
watchful that she has read me aright. And my relationship with my daughters is
hardly of the nature we are discussing. It does not enter into it." He
stopped abruptly and stared at Lovat-Smith.

Again jurors nodded, understanding
plain in their faces.

Lovat-Smith shifted the line of his
attack slightly.

"Was Miss Barrymore the only
young woman of good birth with whom you have worked, Sir Herbert?"

Sir Herbert smiled. "It is
only very recently that such young women have taken an interest in nursing,
sir. In fact, it is since Miss Nightingale's work in the Crimea has become so
famous that other young women desired to emulate her. And of course there are
those who served with her, such as Miss Barrymore, and my present most
excellent nurse, Miss Latterly. Previously to that, the only women of gentle
birth who had any business in the hospital—one could not call it work in the
same sense—were those who served in the Board of Governors, such as Lady Ross
Gilbert and Lady Callandra Daviot. And they are not romantically
impressionable young ladies."

Rathbone breathed out a sigh of
relief. He had negotiated it superbly. He had even avoided saying offensively
that Berenice and Callandra were not young.

Lovat-Smith accepted rebuff
gracefully and tried again.

"Do I understand correctly,
Sir Herbert, that you are very used to admiration?"

Sir Herbert hesitated. "I
would prefer to say 'respect,' " he said, deflecting the obvious vanity.

"I daresay." Lovat-Smith
smiled at him, showing sharp, even teeth. "But admiration is what I meant.
Do not your students admire you intensely?"

"You were better to ask them,
sir."

"Oh come now!"
Lovat-Smith's smile widened. "No false modesty, please. This is not a
withdrawing room where pretty manners are required." His voice hardened
suddenly. "You are a man accustomed to inordinate admiration, to people
hanging upon your every word. The court will find it difficult to believe you
are not well used to telling the difference between overenthusiasm,
sycophancy, and an emotional regard which is personal, and therefore uniquely
dangerous."

"Student doctors are all young
men," Sir Herbert answered with a frown of confusion. "The question
of romance does not arise."

Two or three of the jurors smiled.

"And nurses?" Lovat-Smith
pursued, eyes wide, voice soft.

"Forgive me for being somewhat
blunt," Sir Herbert said patiently. "But I thought we had already
covered that. Until very recently they have not been of a social class where a
personal relationship could be considered."

Lovat-Smith did not look in the
least disconcerted. He smiled very slightly, again showing his teeth. "And
your patients, Sir Herbert? Were they also all men, all elderly, or all of a
social class too low to be considered?"