A sudden, fearful death (63 page)

Monk waited in the withdrawing
room, an elegant expensive room with French furniture, gilded wood, and
brocade curtains. How much of it had been paid for by desperate women? He had
no time even to look at it now. He stood in the center facing the double doors,
waiting for her.

She threw them open and came in,
smiling, dressed in a magnificent aquamarine robe which billowed around her.

She looked like a medieval queen:
all she lacked was a circlet over her long, bright hair.

"How perfectly extraordinary,
Mr. Monk," she said with complete composure. There was nothing but
curiosity in her face. "What on earth can have happened that brings you
here at this time of night? Do tell me!" She regarded him with undisguised
interest, looking him up and down, her eyes at last resting on his face.

"The trial will probably
finish tomorrow," he answered, his voice hard and clear, his diction
exaggeratedly perfect. "Sir Herbert will be acquitted."

Her eyebrows rose even higher.
"Don't say you have come here in the middle of the night to tell me that?
I expected it—but regardless, when it happens will be quite soon enough."
There was still amusement and question in her face. She did not entirely
believe he was so absurd. She was waiting for his real reason for coming.

"He is guilty," he said
harshly.

"Indeed?" She came
farther in and closed the doors behind her. She was a remarkably handsome
woman in a unique way. The whole room was filled with her presence, and he had
a powerful feeling that she knew it. "That is only your own opinion, Mr.
Monk. If you had proof you would be at Mr. Lovat-Smith's house, telling him,
not here doing ..." She hesitated. 'Whatever it is you are doing? You have
not so far explained yourself...."

"I don't have proof," he
answered. "But you do."

"I do?" Her voice rose in
sheer amazement. "My dear man, you are talking the most arrant rubbish. I
have nothing of the kind."

"Yes you do." He remained
staring at her, meeting her eyes and holding them. Gradually she recognized the
power in him, and the implacable intent. The amusement died out of her face.

"You are mistaken," she
said softly. "I do not." She turned away and began fiddling idly with
an ornament on the marble-topped table. "The whole idea of her wishing to
marry him is utterly foolish. Mr. Rathbone has demonstrated that."

"Of course it is," he
agreed, watching her long fingers caress the porcelain of the figurine.
"She was using her knowledge to try to get him to help her gain admittance
to a medical school."

"That is preposterous,"
she said, still not looking at him. "No school would take a woman. He must
have told her that."

"I imagine he did, but not
until after he had used her skills to the full, had her work long hours
unrewarded, and given her hope. Then, when she became impatient and wanted a
commitment, he killed her."

She put the ornament down and
turned to face him. The humor was back in her eyes.

"All he had to do was tell her
it was hopeless," she answered. "Why on earth would he kill her? You
are being ridiculous, Mr. Monk."

"Because she threatened to
tell the authorities he was performing abortions—for money," he replied,
his voice tight with rage. "Unnecessary abortions to save rich women the
embarrassment of children they did not want."

He saw the blood drain from her
cheeks, but her expression did not alter.

"If you can prove that, what
are you doing here telling me, Mr. Monk? It is a very serious charge—in fact,
he would be imprisoned for it. But without proof, what you say is
slander."

"You know it is true—because
you procure his patients for him," he said.

"Do I?" Her eyes widened
and there was a smile on her lips, but it was fixed, and already there was
something dead in it. "That too is slanderous, Mr. Monk."

"You knew he performed
abortions, and you could testify of it," he said very levelly. "Your
word would not be slander, because you have all the facts, dates, names,
details."

"Even if I had such
knowledge"—she was gazing at him without a flicker, her eyes boring into
his—"surely you would not expect me to condemn myself by saying so? Why on
earth should I?"

He smiled too, a slow showing of
the teeth.

"Because if you do not, I
shall make it known to all the right people in society—a whisper, a laugh, a
word hushed as you approach—that you were his first patient...."

Her face did not alter. She was not
frightened.

"When you came back from the
Indies," he went on relentlessly. "And that your child was
negroid."

All the color fled from her skin
and he heard the gasp of her indrawn breath and then a choking in her throat.

"Is that slanderous too, Lady
Ross Gilbert?" he said between his teeth. "Take me to court and sue
me! I know the nurse who put the child into the rubbish and threw it
away."

She gave a harsh cry which was
strangled in her throat before it was out.

"On the other hand," he
went on, "should you testify against Sir Herbert, that you referred desperate
women to him, whom you could name did not discretion prevent you, and upon whom
he performed abortions, then I shall forget I ever knew of such a thing—and you
will never hear from me, or from the nurse, again."

"Won't I?" she said with
desperate, vicious disbelief. "And what is to stop you coming back again
and again— for money, or whatever it is you want?"

"Madam," he said icily,
"apart from your testimony, you have nothing I want."

She reached forward and slapped him
as hard as she could.

He almost lost his balance from the
force of it, and his cheek burned where her open hand had struck him, but he
smiled very slowly.

"I am sorry if that
disappoints you," he said softly. "Be in court tomorrow. Mr. Rathbone
will call you—for the defense, of course. How you manage to impart your
information is up to you." And with a very slight bow he walked past her
to the door, through the hallway, and out into the street.

* * * * *

The trial was all but over. The
jury was bored. They had already reached their verdict in their own minds and
could not understand why Rathbone was calling more witnesses to testify to what
everyone already believed. Sir Herbert was a paragon of professional virtue and
a tediously correct man in his personal and domestic life. Lovat-Smith was
openly irritated. The public was restless. For the first time since the trial
began, there were even empty seats in the gallery.

Judge Hardie leaned forward, his
face creased with impatience.

"Mr. Rathbone, the court is
always inclined to give whatever leniency it can to an accused man, but you
appear to be wasting our time. Your witnesses are all saying the same thing,
and the prosecution has not contested it. Is it really necessary to
continue?"

"No, my lord," Rathbone
conceded with a smile. As soon as he spoke the quality of suppressed excitement
in his voice caused a ripple of movement in the room, a shifting, a
straightening as the tension sharpened again. "I have only one more
witness, whom I trust will complete my case."

"Then call him, Mr. Rathbone,
and proceed," Hardie said sharply.

"I beg leave to recall Lady
Berenice Ross Gilbert," Rathbone said loudly.

Lovat-Smith frowned and leaned
forward.

Sir Herbert was still smiling in
the dock. Only the faintest shadow crossed his eyes.

"Lady Berenice Ross
Gilbert!" the clerk called out, and the cry was taken up and echoed into
the hallway.

She came in white-faced, her head
held high, and she looked neither to right nor left as she crossed the floor to
the witness stand, climbed the steps, and turned to face Rathbone. Just once
she glanced across at the dock, but her expression was unreadable. If she had
noticed Philomena Stanhope on the gallery public benches, she gave no indication.

She was reminded that she was still
under oath.

"I am aware of that," she
said. "I have no intention to tell other than the truth!"

"You are the last witness I am
calling to testify to the character and qualities of the man the prosecution
has accused." Rathbone walked into the center of the floor gracefully,
elegantly, and stood for an instant smiling up at the dock. He met Sir
Herbert's eyes, and Sir Herbert saw for an instant that there was triumph in
him, that the anger was gone, and his own composure flickered for a second.
Then the certainty returned, and he smiled back.

"Lady Ross
Gilbert"—Rathbone looked back at her— "you have served excellently on
the Board of Governors of the hospital for some time. Have you been acquainted
with Sir Hertiert during all these years?"

"Naturally."

"Only professionally, or do
you know him personally as well?"

"Slightly. He does not mix in
society very much. I imagine he is too fully occupied with the practice of his
art."

"So we have heard,"
Rathbone agreed. "I believe one of your duties as a governor is to make
sure that the morals of the nurses employed there are above reproach."

Hardie sighed impatiently. One of
the jurors had his eyes closed.

"That would be
impossible," Berenice said with a curl of contempt. "All I can do is
see that their behavior is acceptable while actually in the hospital
premises."

There was a titter of amusement
around the room. The juror opened his eyes again.

Judge Hardie leaned forward.

"Mr. Rathbone, you are
covering ground which is already exceedingly well trodden. If you have a
point, come to it!"

"Yes, my lord. I apologize.
Lady Ross Gilbert, have you at any time in your dealings with the nurses had
one of them make a complaint of any sort against Sir Herbert?"

"No. I think I said that
before." She was frowning, beginning to look anxious.

'To your knowledge his
relationships with women have always been strictly professional?"

"Yes."

"Morally without
blemish?" he insisted.

"Well ..." A flicker of
surprise crossed her face, and then sudden perception.

Hardie frowned, looking at her.

In the dock Sir Herbert's certainly
wavered.

"Have they, or have they not,
Lady Ross Gilbert?" Rathbone demanded, an edge of keenness to his voice.

"That depends upon your
interpretation of morality," she replied. Never once did she glance toward
Monk on the public benches, or Hester beside him.

Everyone was listening now,
straining not to miss a word or an inflection.

"In what category of morality
do you find the question difficult to answer?" Hardie asked her, twisting
sideways to face her. "Remember you are on oath, madam."

Rathbone made a last attempt to
save his own reputation.

"Are you saying he had an
affair with someone, Lady Ross Gilbert?" He invested the tone with
surprise and disbelief.

Someone in the gallery coughed and
was instantly hissed into silence.

"No," Berenice answered.

"Then what are you
saying?" Hardie looked confused. "Please make yourself plain!"

Now there was total silence in the
room. Every face was turned toward her. Rathbone did not dare to interrupt
again in case she lost the opportunity. He might not be able to offer her
another.

Still she hesitated.

Sir Herbert leaned over the edge of
the dock railing, his face tight, the first flicker of real fear touching him.

"Have you some charge of
immorality to bring against Sir Herbert?" Rathbone heard his voice rising
with pretended outrage. "You had better make it, madam, or cease these
insinuations!"

.-"I am on oath," she
said very quietly, looking at no one. "I know that he performed abortions
upon many women, at a price. I know it for a fact, because I was the person who
referred them to him for help."

There was utter, prickling
soundlessness. No one moved. There was not even a sigh of breath.

Rathbone did not dare look up at
the dock. He pretended disbelief.

"What?"

"I was the person who referred
them to him for help," she repeated slowly and very clearly. "I
suppose you would have to say that is immoral. It might be questionable, done
for charity—but for payment..." She let the words hang in the air.

Hardie was staring at Berenice.

"This is of the utmost
seriousness, Lady Ross Gilbert. Do you have any conception of the meaning of
what you have just said?"

"I believe so."

"And yet when you came in the
witness stand before, you said nothing of this!"

"I did not need to. I was not
asked."

His eyes narrowed. "Are you
telling us, madam, that you are so naive that you had no idea of the importance
of this evidence?"