A Sudden Fearful Death

chapter 6
Hester found hospital routine increasingly difficult. She obeyed Mrs. Flaherty because her survival depended upon it, but she found herself grinding her teeth to keep from answering back, and more than once she had to change a sentence midway through in order to make it innocuous. Only the thought of Prudence Barrymore made it possible. She had not known her well. The battlefield was too large, too filled with confusion, pain, and a violent, sickening urgency for people to know each other unless they had had occasion to work together. And chance had dictated that she had worked with Prudence only once, but that once was engraven on her memory indelibly. It was after the battle of Inkermann, in November of '54. It was less than three weeks after the disaster of Balaclava and the massacre resulting from the Light Brigade's suicidal charge against the Russian guns. It was bitterly cold, and relentless rain meant that men stood or marched in mud up to their knees. The tents were worn with holes and they slept wet and filthy. Their clothes were growing ragged and there was nothing with which to mend them. They were underfed because supplies were in desperate straits, and they were exhausted with constant labor and anxiety.

The siege of Sebastopol was achieving nothing. The Russians were dug in deeper and deeper, and the winter was fast approaching. Men and horses died of cold, hunger, injuries, and above all disease.

Then had come the battle of Inkermann. It had been going badly for the British troops to begin with, and when they finally sent for the French reinforcements, three battalions of Zouaves and Algerians coming in at a run, bugles blowing, drums beating and their general shouting encouragement in Arabic, it had become a rout. Of the forty thousand Russians, over a quarter were killed, wounded, or taken prisoner. The British lost six hundred killed, the French a mere hundred and thirty. In each case three times as many were wounded. The whole battle was fought in shifting, swirling mists, and as often as not men stumbled on the enemy by chance, or were lost, and injured their own men in the confusion.

Hester could recall it vividly. Standing in the warm sunny London hospital ward, she did not even need to close her eyes to see it in her mind, or feel the cold, and hear the noise, the cries and groans, the voices thick with pain. Three days after the battle the burial parties were still working. She could see in her dreams their bent forms, huddled against the howling wind, shovels in their hands, heads down, shoulders hunched, trudging through the mud; or stopped to lift another corpse, often frozen in the violent positions of hand-to-hand fighting, faces disfigured with terror, and gored by terrible bayonet wounds. At least four thousand Russians were heaped in communal graves.

And the wounded were continually being discovered in the scrub and brushwood, screaming.

Hour after hour the surgeons had labored in the medical tents, striving to save lives, only to have men die on the long rough cart journeys to the ships, and then by sea to Scutari, where, if they survived that, they would die in the hospital of fevers or gangrene.

She could recall the smell and the exhaustion, the dim light of lanterns swaying, their yellow glare on the surgeon's face as he worked, knife or saw in his hand, striving above all to be quick. Speed was everything. There was seldom time for such niceties as chloroform, even though it was available. And many preferred the "stimulant" of a well-used knife rather than the silent slipping away into death of anesthetics.

She could remember the numberless white faces of men, haggard, shocked with injury, the knowledge of mutilation, the scarlet, and the warm smell of blood, the neat pile of amputated limbs just outside the tent flap in the mud.

She could see Prudence Barrymore's face, eyes intent, mouth drawn tight with emotion, smears of blood on her cheek and across her brow where she had pushed her hair out of her eyes. They had worked in silent unison, too weary to speak a word when a glance would serve. There was no need to express an emotion which was so completely shared. Their world was one of private horror, pity, need, and a kind of terrible victory. If one could survive this, then Hell itself could offer little worse.

It was not something you could call friendship; it was at once less and more. The sharing of such experiences created a bond and set them apart from all others. It was not something that could be told to another person. There were no words with a meaning both could understand which would impart the physical horror or the heights and depths of emotion.

It brought an extraordinary kind of loneliness that Prudence was gone, and a driving anger that it should be in this way.

On night duty-which Mrs. Flaherty gave her whenever she could; she disliked Crimean nurses and all the arrogance and the change they represented-Hester would walk around the wards by lamplight, and past memories crowded in on her. More than once she heard a dull thud and turned around with a shudder, expecting to see a rat stunned as it dropped off the wall, but there was nothing except a bundle of sheets and bandages and a slop pail.

Gradually she distinguished the other nurses and spoke to them when she had a natural opportunity. Very often she simply listened. They were frightened. Prudence's name was mentioned often, to begin with, with fear. Why had she been murdered? Was there a madman loose in the hospital, and might any one of them be next? Inevitably there were stories of sinister shadows in empty corridors, sounds of muffled screams and then silence, and almost every male member of staff was the subject of speculation.

They were in the laundry room. The huge coppers were silent, no clanking of steam in the pipes, no hissing and bubbling. It was the end of the day. There was little left to do but fold and collect sheets.

"What was she like?" Hester asked with casual innocence.

"Bossy," an elderly nurse replied, pulling a face. She was fat and tired, and her red-veined nose bore mute witness to her solace in the gin bottle. "Always telling other people what to do. Thought having been in the Crimea meant she knew everything. Even told the doctors sometimes." She grinned toothlessly. "Made 'em mad, it did."

There was laughter all around. Apparently, however unpopular Prudence might have been at times, the doctors were more so, and when she clashed with them, the women were amused and were on her side.

"Really?" Hester made her interest obvious. "Didn't she get told off for it? She was lucky not to be dismissed."

"Not her!" Another nurse laughed abruptly, pushing her hands into her pockets. "She was a bossy piece, all right, but she knew how to run a ward and care for the sick. Knew it better than Mrs. Flaherty, although if you say I said that, I'll push your eyes out." She put down the last sheet with a thump.

"Who is going to tell that vinegar bitch, you stupid cow?" the first woman said acidly. "But I don't think she was that good. Thought she was, mind."

"Yes she was!" Now the second woman was getting angry. Her face was flushed. "She saved a lot of lives in this God-awful place. Even made it smell better."

"Smell better!" There was a guffaw of laughter from a big red-haired woman. "Where d'ya think yer are, some gennelman's 'ouse? Gam, ya fool! She thought she were a lady, not one o' the likes of us. A sight too good to work with scrubwomen and domestics. Got ideas about being a doctor, she 'ad. Right fool, she was, poor cow. Should have heard what his lordship had to say about that."

" 'Oo? Sir 'Erbert?'

" 'Course Sir 'Erbert. 'Oo else? Not old German George. 'E's a foreigner and full o' funny ideas anyway. Wouldn't be surprised if it were 'im wot killed 'er. That's what them rozzers are sayin' anyway."

"Are they?" Hester looked interested. "Why? I mean, couldn't it just as easily have been anyone else?"

They all looked at her.

"Wot yer mean?" the red-haired one said with a frown.

Hester hitched herself onto the edge of the laundry basket This was the sort of opportunity she had been angling for. "Well, who was here when she was killed?"

They looked at her, then at each other.

"Wot yer mean? Doctors, and the like?"

" 'Course she means doctors and the like," the fat woman said derisively. "She don't think one of us did her in. If I were going to kill anyone, it'd be me oP man, not some jumped-up nurse wi' ideas above 'erself. Wot do I care about 'er? I wouldn't 'av seen 'er dead, poor cow, but I wouldn't shed no tears either."

"What about the treasurer and the chaplain?" Hester tried to sound casual. "Did they like her?"

The fat woman shrugged. "Who knows? Why should they care one way or the other?"

"Well she weren't bad-looking," the old one replied with an air of generosity. "And if they can chase Mary 'Iggins, they could certainly chase 'er."

"Who chases Mary Higgins?" Hester inquired, not sure who Mary Higgins was, but assuming she was a nurse.

"The treasurer," the young one said with a shrug. "Fancies 'er, 'e does."

"So does the chaplain," the fat woman said with a snort.

"Dirty old sod. Keeps putting 'is arm 'round 'er an' calling 'er 'dear.' Mind, I wouldn't say as 'e didn't fancy Pru' Barrymore neither, come ter think on it. Maybe 'e went too far, and she threatened to report 'im? 'E could 'a done it."

"Would he have been here at that time in the morning?" Hester asked dubiously.. They looked at each other.

"Yeah," the fat one said with certainty. '"E'd bin 'ere all night 'cos of someone important dying. 'E were 'ere all right. Maybe 'e did it, and not German George? An' 'is patient snuffed it, an all," she added. "Wot were a surprise. Thought 'e were goin' ter make it-poor sod."

There were several such conversations in between the sweeping and fetching, rolling bandages, emptying pails and changing beds. Hester learned a great deal about where everybody was at about seven o'clock on the morning that Prudence Barrymore had died, but it still left a great many possibilities as to who could have killed her. She heard much gossip about motives, most of it scurrilous and highly speculative, but when she saw John Evan she reported it to him in the brief moment they had alone in one of the small side rooms where medicines were kept. Mrs. Flaherty had just left, after instructing Hester to roll an enormous pile of bandages, and Sir Herbert was not due for at least another half hour, after he had finished luncheon.

Evan half sat on the table, watching her fingers smoothing and rolling the cloth.

"Have you told Monk yet?" he asked with a smile.

"I haven't seen him since Sunday," she replied.

"What is he doing?" he asked, his voice light but his hazel eyes watching her with brightness.

"I don't know," she answered, piling another heap of bandages on the table beside him. "He said he was going to learn more about various governors on the board, in case one of them had some relationship with Prudence, or her family, that we don't know about. Or even some connection with her in the Crimea, in any way."

Evan grunted, his eyes roaming over the cabinet with its jars of dried herbs, colored crystals, and bottles of wine and surgical spirits. "That's something we haven't even thought of." He pulled a face. "But then Jeavis wouldn't. He tends to think in terms of the obvious and usually he's right. Runcorn would never countenance disturbing the gentry, unless there is no other choice. Does Monk think it's personal, in that way?"

She laughed. "He's not told me. It could be anybody. It seems the chaplain was here all that night-and Dr. Beck..."

Evan's head jerked up. "The chaplain. I didn't know that. He didn't say so when we spoke to him. Although to be honest I'm not sure Jeavis asked him. He was more concerned with his opinion of Prudence, and anybody's feelings about her that the chaplain might know of."

"And did he know of any?" she asked.

He smiled, his eyes bright with amusement. He knew she would tell Monk whatever he said.

"Nothing promising," he began. "Mrs. Flaherty didn't like her, but that's not surprising. The other nurses largely tolerated her, but they had little in common. One or two of the younger ones admired her-a little hero worship there, I think. One of the student doctors seems to have felt rather the same, but she gave him little encouragement." His expression took on a shadow of wry sympathy, as if he could imagine it clearly. "Another one of the students, tall fellow with fair hair that falls over his brow, he didn't like her. Thought she had ambitions above a woman's place." His eyes met Hester's. "Arrogant fellow, he seemed to me," he added. "But then he doesn't care for policemen either. We get in the way of the real work, which of course is his work."

"You didn't like him," she stated the obvious, reaching for another heap of bandages. "But was he in the hospital that morning?"

He pulled a face. "Unfortunately not. Nor was the one who admired her."

"Who was, that you know?"

"About half the nurses, the treasurer, Dr. Beck, Sir Herbert, two student doctors named Howard and Cantrell, Mrs. Flaherty, one of the Board of Governors called Sir Donald MacLean, another called Lady Ross Gilbert. And the front doors were open so anyone could have come in unobserved. Not very helpful, is it?"

"Not very," she agreed. "But then I suppose opportunity was never going to be our best chance for evidence."

He laughed. "How very efficient you sound. Monk's right-hand man-I mean, woman."

She was about to explode in argument that she was most certainly not Monk's hand of any sort when Mrs. Flaherty's thin upright figure appeared in the doorway, her face pink with anger, her eyes brilliant.

"And what are you doing, Nurse Latterly, standing about talking to this young man? You are very new here, and regardless of your friendship with certain well-placed persons, I would remind you we set a very high moral standard, and if you fall below it, you will be dismissed!"

For an instant Hester was furious. Then she saw the absurdity of her morality's being questioned in regard to John Evan.

"I am from the police, Matron Flaherty," Evan said coldly, standing upright. "I was questioning Miss Latterly. She had no alternative but to answer me, as have all the staff in the hospital, if they wish to assist the law rather than be charged with obstructing it."

Color flared up Mrs. Flaherty's cheeks. "Fiddlesticks, young man!" she said. "Nurse Latterly was not even here when poor Nurse Barrymore met her death. If you have not even learned that, then you are hopelessly incompetent. I don't know what we pay you for!"

"Of course I am aware of that," Evan said angrily. "It is precisely because she could not be guilty that her observation is so useful."

"Observation of what?" Mrs. Flaherty's white eyebrows rose very high. "As I have just pointed out, young man, she was not here. What could she have seen?"

Evan affected extreme patience. "Mrs. Flaherty, seven days ago someone strangled one of your nurses and stuffed the body down the laundry chute. Such an act is not an isolated piece of lunacy. Whoever did it had a powerful motive, something which springs from the past Similarly, the memory of that crime, and the fear of being caught, will carry forward into the future. There is much to observe now for those with the ability to see it."

Mrs. Flaherty grunted, looked at Hester her strong face, her slender almost lean figure, very square-shouldered, very upright; then at Evan standing beside the table piled with bandages, his soft wing of brown hair waving off the brow, his long nosed, sensitive, humorous face; and snorted her disbelief. Then she swung on her heel and marched off.

Evan did not know whether to be angry or to laugh; the mixed emotions were plain in his expression.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I did not mean to compromise your reputation. It never occurred to me."

"Nor to me," Hester admitted with a faint heat in her cheeks. It was all so ridiculous. "Perhaps if we meet again, it had better be outside the hospital?"

"And outside Jeavis's knowledge too," he said quickly. "He would not appreciate me giving aid and comfort to the enemy." _ "The enemy. Am I the enemy?"

"By extension, yes." He put his hands in his pockets. "Runcorn still hates Monk and never ceases to tell Jeavis how much more satisfactory he is, but the men still speak of Monk, and Jeavis is no fool. He knows why Runcorn prefers him, and he's determined to prove himself and lay Monk's ghost." He smiled. "Not that he ever will. Runcorn can't forget all the years Monk trod on his heels, the times he was right when Runcorn was wrong, the little things, the unspoken contempt, the better-cut suits, the voice a little rounder." He was watching Hester's eyes. "Just the fact that he tried so often to humiliate Monk, and could never quite succeed. He won in the end, but it didn't taste like victory.

He keeps wanting to bring him back so he can win again, and this time savor it properly."

"Oh dear." Hester rolled the last of the bandages and tied the end. She was sorry for Jeavis, and in a faint equivocal way for Runcorn, but mostly she had a sharp prickle of satisfaction on Monk's account. She was not quite smiling, but very nearly. "Poor Inspector Jeavis."

Evan looked startled for a moment, then comprehension lit his face, and an inner gentleness. "I had better go and see the chaplain." He inclined his head. "Thank you!"

That afternoon Hester was sent for to assist Sir Herbert in an operation. She was told by a large nurse with powerful shoulders, a coarse-featured face, and remarkable eyes. Hester had seen her several times, always with a feeling of unease, and it was only this time that she realized why her eyes were so arresting. One was blue and the other quite clear cold green. How could she have failed to notice it before? Perhaps the sheer physical strength of the woman had so filled her mind as to leave no room for other impressions.

"Sir 'Erbert wants yer," the woman said grimly. Her name was Dora Parsons; that much Hester remembered.

Hester put down the pail she was carrying. "Where?'

"In 'is office, o' course. I s'pose your goin' to take her place then? Or yer think y'are!"

"Whose place?"

The woman's huge, ugly face was sharp with contempt. "Don't act gormless wi' me, miss 'igh 'n' mighty. Jus' 'cos yer've bin ter the Crimea an' everybody's fallen over their-selves about yer, don't think yer can get away wi' anything at all, 'cos yer can't! Givin' yerself airs like yer too good fer the rest of us." She spat viciously to demonstrate her scorn.

"I assume you mean Nurse Barrymore?" Hester said icily, although the woman's physical power was intimidating. She would guard very carefully against finding herself alone with her in the laundry room, out of earshot. But bullies chase those in whom they sense fear.

"O' course I mean Nurse Barrymore." Dora mimicked Hester's voice. "Are there any other fancy Crimean nurses around 'ere?"

"Well, you are in a better position than I to know that," Hester retorted. "I assume from your words that you disliked her?"

"Me and 'alf a score others," Dora agreed. "So don't you go tryin' ter say I was the one what done 'er in, or I'll 'ave yer." She leered. "I could break your skinny little neck in two shakes, I could."

"It would seem unnecessary to tell the police." Hester controlled her voice with an effort. Deliberately she thought of Prudence in the surgeon's tent on the battlefield, and then lying dead in the laundry room, to make herself angry. It was better than being afraid of this wretched woman. "Your behavior makes it so obvious that the stupidest constable could see it for himself. Do you often break people's necks if they annoy you?"

Dora opened her mouth to reply, then realized that what she had been going to say led her straight into a trap.

"Well are you goin' ter Sir 'Erbert, or shall I tell him as yer declines to, seein' as yer too busy?"

"I'm going." Hester moved away, around the huge figure of Dora Parsons and swiftly out of the room and along the corridor, boot heels clattering on the floor. She reached Sir Herbert's door and knocked sharply, as if Dora were still behind her.

"Come!" Sir Herbert's voice was peremptory.

She turned the handle and went in.

He was sitting behind his desk, papers spread in front of him. He looked up.

"Oh-Miss-er... Latterly. You're the Crimean nurse, aren't you?"

"Yes, Sir Herbert." She stood straight, her hands clasped behind her in an attitude of respect.

"Good," he said with satisfaction, folding some papers and putting them away. "I have a delicate operation to perform on a person of some importance. I wish you to be on hand to assist me and to care for the patient afterwards. I cannot be everywhere all the time. I have been reading some new theories on the subject. Most interesting." He smiled. "Not, of course, that I would expect them to be of concern to you."

He had stopped, as if he half thought she might answer him. It was of considerable interest to her, but mindful of her need to remain employed in the hospital (and that might depend upon Sir Herbert's view of her), she answered as she thought he would wish it.

"I hardly think it lies within my skill, sir," she said demurely. "Although, of course, I am sure it is most important, and may well be something I shall have to learn when the time is fit."

The satisfaction in his small intelligent eyes was sharp.

"Of course, Miss Latterly. In due time, I shall tell you all you need to know to care for my patient. A very fitting attitude."

She bit her tongue to refrain from answering back. But she did not thank him for what was undoubtedly intended as a compliment. She did not think she could keep her voice from betraying her sarcasm.

He seemed to be waiting for her to speak.

"Would you like me to see the patient before he comes to the operating room, sir?" she asked him.

"No, that will not be necessary. Mrs. Flaherty is preparing him. Do you sleep in the nurses' dormitory?"

"Yes." It was a sore subject. She hated the communal living, the rows of beds in the long room, like a workhouse ward, without privacy, no silence in which to sleep or to think or to read. Always there were the sounds of other women, the interruptions, the restless movements, the talking, sometimes the laughter, the coming and going. She washed under the tap in one of the two large sinks, ate what little there was as opportunity offered between the long twelve-hour shifts.

It was not that she was unused to hard conditions. Heaven knew the Crimea had been immeasurably worse.

She had been colder, hungrier, wearier, and often in acute personal danger. But there it had seemed unavoidable; it was war. And there had been a comradeship and a facing of common enemies. Here it was arbitrary, and she resented it. Only the thought of Prudence Barrymore made her endure it.

"Good." Sir Herbert smiled at her. It lit his face and made him look quite different. Even though it was only a gesture of politeness, she could see a softer, more human man behind the professional. "We do have a few nurses who maintain their own homes, but it is not a satisfactory arrangement, most particularly it they are to care for a patient who needs their undivided attention. Please make yourself available at two o'clock precisely. Good day to you. Miss Latterly."

"Thank you, Sir Herbert." And immediately she withdrew.

The operation was actually very interesting. For over two hours she totally forgot her own dislike of hospital discipline and the laxness she saw in nursing, living in the dormitory, and the threatening presence of Dora Parsons; she even forgot Prudence Barrymore and her own reason for being here. The surgery was for the removal of stones from a very portly gentleman in his late fifties. She barely saw his face, but the pale abdomen, swollen with indulgence, and then the layers of fat as Sir Herbert cut through them to expose the organs, was fascinating to her. The fact that the patient could be anesthetized meant that speed was irrelevant. That release from urgency, the agonizing consciousness of the patient's almost unbearable pain, brought her close to euphoria.

She watched Sir Herbert's slender hands, with their tapered fingers, with an admiration which was akin to awe. They were delicate and powerful and he moved rapidly but without haste. Never once did he appear to lose his intense concentration, nor did his patience diminish. His skill had a kind of beauty which drove everything else from her mind. She was oblivious of the tense faces of the students watching; one black-haired young man standing almost next to her kept sucking in his breath, and normally the sound of it would have irritated her beyond bearing. Today she hardly heard it.

When at last Sir Herbert was finished he stood back, his face radiant with the knowledge that he had performed brilliantly, that his art had cut away pain, and that with careful nursing and good luck the wound would heal and the man be restored.

"There now, gentlemen," he said with a smile. "A decade ago we could not have performed such a protracted operation. We live in an age of miracles. Science moves forward in giant steps and we are in the van. New horizons beckon, new techniques, new discoveries. Right, Nurse Latterly. I can do no more for him. It is up to you to dress the wound, keep his fever down, and at the same time make sure he is exposed to no chill. I shall come to see him tomorrow."

"Yes, Sir Herbert." For once her admiration was sufficiently sincere that she spoke with genuine humility.

The patient recovered consciousness slowly, and in considerable distress. He was not only in great pain, but he suffered nausea and vomiting, and he was deeply concerned lest he should tear the stitches in his abdomen. It occupied all her time and attention to do what she could to ease him and to check and recheck that he was not bleeding. There was little she could do to determine whether he bled internally except keep testing him for fever, clamminess of skin, or faintness of pulse.

Several times Mrs. Flaherty looked in to the small room where she was, and it was on the third of these visits that Hester learned her patient's name.

"How is Mr. Prendergast?" Mrs. Flaherty said with a frown, her eye going to the pail on the floor and the cloth cover over it She could not resist passing comment. "I assume that is empty, Miss Latterly?"

"No. I am afraid he has vomited," Hester replied.

Mrs. Flaherty's white eyebrows rose. "I thought you Crimean nurses were the ones who were so determined not to have slops left anywhere near the patients? Not one to practice as you preach, eh?"

Hester drew in her breath to wither Mrs. Flaherty with what she considered to be obvious, then remembered her object in being here.

"I thought it was the lesser evil," she replied, not daring to meet Mrs. Flaherty's icy blue eyes in case her anger showed. "I am afraid he is in some distress, and without my presence he might have torn his stitches if he were sick again. Added to which, I have only one pail, and better that than soiling the sheets."

Mrs. Flaherty gave a wintry smile. "A little common sense, I see. Far more practical use than all the education in the world. Perhaps we'll make a good nurse of you yet, which is more than I can say for some of your kind." And before Hester could retaliate, she hurried on. "Is he feverish? What is his pulse? Have you checked his wound? Is he bleeding?"

Hester answered all those questions, and was about to ask if she could be relieved so she might eat something herself, since she had not had so much as a drink since Sir Herbert had first sent for her, but Mrs. Flaherty expressed her moderate satisfaction and whisked out, keys swinging, footsteps clicking down the corridor.

Perhaps she was doing her an injustice, but Hester thought Mrs. Flaherty knew perfectly well how long she had been there without more than momentary relief, for the calls of nature, and took some satisfaction in it.

Another junior nurse who had admired Prudence came in at about ten o'clock in the evening, when it was growing dark, a hot mug of tea in her hand and a thick mutton sandwich. She closed the door behind her swiftly and held them out.

"You must be gasping for something," she said, her eyes bright.

"I'm ravenous," Hester agreed gratefully. 'Thank you very much."

"How is he?" the nurse asked. She was about twenty, brown-haired with an eager, gentle face.

"In a lot of pain," Hester answered, her mouth full. "But his pulse is still good, so I'm hoping he isn't losing any blood."

"Poor soul. But Sir Herbert's a marvelous surgeon, isn't he?"

"Yes." Hester meant it. "Yes, he's brilliant." She took a long drink at the tea, even though it was too hot.

"Were you in the Crimea too?" the nurse resumed, her face lit with enthusiasm. "Did you know poor Nurse Banymore? Did you know Miss Nightingale?" Her voice dropped a fraction in awe at the great name.

"Yes," Hester said with very slight amusement. "I knew them both. And Mary Seacole."

The girl was mystified. "Who's Mary Seacole?"

"One of the finest women I ever met," Hester replied, knowing her answer was borne of perversity as well as truth. Profound as was her admiration for Florence Nightingale, and for all the women who had served in the Crimea, she had heard so much praise for most of them but nothing for the black Jamaican woman who had served with equal selflessness and diligence, running a boardinghouse which was a refuge for the sick, injured, and terrified, administering her own fever cures, learned in the yellow fever areas of her native West Indies.

The girl's face quickened with curiosity. "Oh? I never heard mention of her. Why not? Why don't people know?"

"Probably because she is Jamaican," Hester replied, sipping at the tea. "We are very parochial whom we honor." She thought of the still rigidly absurd social hierarchy even among the ladies who picnicked on the heights overlooking the battle, or rode their fine horses on parade the mornings before-and after, and the tea parties amid the carnage. Then with a jolt she recalled herself to the present. "Yes, I knew Prudence. She was a brave and unselfish woman- then."

"Then!" The girl was horrified. "What do you mean?

She was marvelous. She knew so much. Far more than some of the doctors, I used to think-Oh!" She clapped her hand to her mouth. "Don't tell anyone I said that! Of course she was only a nurse..."

"But she was very knowledgeable?" A new and ugly thought entered Hester's mind, spoiling her pleasure in the sandwich, hurrying as she was.

"Oh, yes!" the girl said vehemently. "I suppose it came with all her experience. Not that she talked about it very much. I used to wish she would say more... It was wonderful to listen to her." She smiled a little shyly. "I suppose you could tell the same sort of thing, seeing as you were there too?"

"I could," Hester agreed. "But sometimes it is hard to find words to convey something that is so dreadfully different. How can you describe the smell, and the taste of it, or being so tired-or feeling such horror and anger and pity? I wish I could make you see it through my eyes for a moment, but I can't. And sometimes when you can't do a thing properly, it is better not to belittle it by doing it badly."

"I understand." Suddenly there was a new brightness in her eyes and a tiny smile as something unexplainable at last made sense.

Hester took a deep breath, finished the tea, then asked the questions that crowded her mind. "Do you think Prudence knew enough that she might have been aware if someone else had made a mistake-a serious one?"

"Oh..." The girl looked thoughtful, turning the possibility over in her mind. Then with a thrill of horror she realized what Hester meant. Her hand came up sharply, her eyes wide and dark. "Oh no! Oh dear Heaven! You mean did she see someone make a real mistake, a dreadful one, and he murdered her to keep her quiet? But who would do such a wicked thing?"

"Someone who was frightened his reputation would be ruined," Hester answered. "If the mistake was fatal..."

"Oh-I see." The girl continued to stare at her aghast.

"Whom did she work with recently?" Hester pursued. She was aware that she was treading into a dangerous area, dangerous for herself if this innocent, almost naive-seeming girl were to repeat the conversation, but her curiosity overpowered her sense of self-preservation. The danger was only possible, and some time in the future. The knowledge was now. "Who had been caring for someone who died unexpectedly?"

The girl's eyes were fixed on Hester's face. "She worked very close with Sir Herbert until just before she died. And she worked with Dr. Beck too." Her voice dropped unhappily. "And Dr. Beck's patient died that night-and that was unexpected. We all thought he'd live. And Prudence and him had a quarrel... Everyone knows that, but I reckon as if he had done anything like that, she'd have told. She was as straight as they come. She wouldn't've hidden it to save anyone. Not her."

"So if it were that, then it happened probably the day before she was killed, or even that night?"

"Yes."

"But Dr. Beck's patient died that night," Hester pointed out.

"Yes," the girl conceded, the light brightening in her eyes again and her voice lifting.

"So whom did she work with that night?" Hester asked. "Who was even here that night?"

The girl hesitated for several moments, thinking so she remembered exactly. The patient in the bed turned restlessly, throwing the sheet off himself. Hester rearranged it more comfortably. There was little else she could do.

"Well, Sir Herbert was here the day before," the girl went on. "Naturally, but not through the night" She looked at the ceiling, her vision inward. "He hardly ever stays all night He's married of course. Ever such a nice lady, his wife, so they say. And seven children. Of course he's a real gentleman, not like Dr. Beck-he's foreign, and that's different isn't it? Not that he isn't very nice too, and always so polite. I never heard a wrong word from him. He quite often stops all night, if he's got a really bad patient. That isn't unusual."

"And other doctors?"

"Dr. Chalmers wasn't here. He usually only comes in the afternoon. He works somewhere else in the mornings. Dr. Didcot was away in Glasgow. And if you mean the students, they hardly ever come in before about nine o'clock." She pulled a face. "If you ask them, they'll say they were studying, or something of the sort, but I have my own ideas about that." She let her breath out in a highly expressive little snort.

"And nurses? I suppose nurses could make mistakes too," Hester pursued it to the end. "What about Mrs. Flaherty?"

"Mrs. Flaherty?" The girl's eyebrows shot up with a mixture of alarm and amusement. "Oh my goodness! I never thought of her. Well-she and Prudence fairly disliked each other." She gave a convulsive little shiver. "I suppose either would have been pleased enough to catch the other out. But Mrs. Flaherty is awful little. Prudence was tall, about two or three inches taller than you, I'd say, and six inches taller than Mrs. Flaherty."

Hester was vaguely disappointed. "Was she here?"

"Yes... she was." Her face lit up with a kind of glee and then she was instantly ashamed of it. "I remember clearly because I was with her."

"Where?"

"In the nurses' dormitory. She was telling them off to a standstill." She looked at Hester to gauge how far she dare go with her honesty. She met Hester's eyes, and threw caution to the winds. "Over an hour she was, inspecting everything in sight. I know she had a quarrel with Prudence, because I saw Prudence walk away, and Mrs. Flaherty went to take it out on the nurses in the dormitory. I think she must have got the worst of the argument."

"You saw Prudence that morning?" Hester tried to take the urgency out of her voice in case she precipitated the girl unwittingly into imagining rather than remembering.

"Oh yes," she said with certainty.

"Do you know what time?"

"About half past six."

"You must have been one of the last people to see her alive." She saw the girl pale and a mixture of fear and sadness cross her young face. "Have the police asked you about it?"

"Well-not really. They asked me if I saw Dr. Beck and Sir Herbert."

"Did you?"

"I saw Dr. Beck going along the corridor toward the wards. They asked me what he was doing and how he looked. He was just walking, and he looked terrible tired, like 'e'd been up all night-which I suppose he had. He didn't look furious or frightened like he'd just murdered someone, just sad."

"Who else did you see?"

"Lots of people," she said quickly. "There's lots of people around, even at that hour. The chaplain, and Mr. Plumstead-he's the treasurer. Don't know what he was doing here then." She shrugged. "And a gentleman I don't know, but dressed smart, like, with brownish hair. He didn't seem to know his way 'round. He walked into the linen room, then a second later came right out, looking awkward, like he knew he'd made a fool of himself. I reckon he wasn't a doctor. We don't get visiting doctors at that time. And he looked sort of angry, as if he'd been crossed in something. Not furious, just irritated."

She looked at Hester, her face troubled. "Do you think he could be the one? He didn't look like a madman to me, in fact he looked rather nice. Like somebody's brother, if you know what I mean? He probably came to visit a patient, and wasn't allowed in. It happens sometimes, especially if people call at the wrong time."

"That may be what he was," Hester agreed. "Was that before or after you saw Prudence?"

"Before. But he could have waited around, couldn't he?"

"Yes-if he even knew her."

"Don't seem very likely, does it," the girl said unhappily. "I reckon it was more likely one of us here. She quarreled something fierce with Mrs. Flaherty. Only last week Mrs. Flaherty swore either Prudence would have to go or she would. I reckoned it was temper, but maybe she meant it." She looked at Hester half hopefully.

"But you said you saw Prudence after the quarrel, then Mrs. Flaherty went to the dormitory, where she stayed for at least an hour," Hester pointed out.

"Oh-yes, so I did. I suppose it can't have been her." She pulled a small face. "Not that I really thought it was, for all that she hated Prudence. Not that she was the only one."

The patient stirred again, and they both stopped and looked at him, but after a muffled groan he sank back into sleep.

"Who else?" Hester prompted.

"Really hated? Well, I suppose Dora Parsons. But she curses at a lot of people, and she's certainly strong enough to have broken her back, never mind strangled her. Have you seen her arms?"

"Yes," Hester admitted with a shiver. But as much as she feared Dora Parsons herself, it was fear of being hurt, not killed. She found it hard to believe sheer ignorant dislike of a woman she believed to have ambitions that were arrogant and misplaced, and to imagine herself superior, was motive for a sane person to commit murder. And for all her coarseness, Dora Parsons was an adequate nurse, rough but not deliberately cruel, tireless and patient enough with the sick. The more Hester thought about it, the less did she think Dora would murder Prudence out of nothing more than hatred.

"Yes, I am sure she has the strength," she went on. "But no reason."

"No, I suppose." She sounded reluctant, but she smiled as she said it. "And I'd better go before Mrs. Flaherty comes back and catches me. Shall I empty the slop pail for you? I'll be quick."

"Yes please. And thank you for the sandwich and the tea."

The girl smiled with sudden brilliance, then blushed, took the pail, and disappeared.

* * * * *

It was a long night, and Hester got little sleep. Her patient dozed fitfully, always aware of his pain, but when daylight came a little before four in the morning his pulse was still strong and he had only the barest flush of fever. Hester was weary but well satisfied, and when Sir Herbert called in at half past seven she told him the news with a sense of achievement.

"Excellent, Miss Latterly." He spoke succinctly, beyond Prendergast's hearing, although he was barely half awake. "Quite excellent. But there is a long way to go yet." He looked at him dubiously, pushing out his lip. "He may develop fever any time in the next seven or eight days, which could yet prove fatal. I wish you to remain with him each night. Mrs. Flaherty can see to his needs during the day." He ignored her temporarily while he examined the patient, and she stepped back and waited. His concentration was total, his brows furrowed, eyes intent while his fingers moved dextrously, gently. He asked one or two questions, more for reassurance of his attention man from a need for information, and he was unconcerned when Prendergast gave few coherent replies, his eyes sunken with shock of the wound and the bleeding.

"Very good," Sir Herbert said at last, stepping back. "You are progressing very well, sir. I expect to see you in full health in a matter of weeks."

"Do you? Do you think so?" Prendergast smiled weakly. "I feel very ill now."

"Of course you do. But that will pass, I assure you. Now I must attend to my other patients. The nurses will care for you. Good day, sir." And with no more than a passing nod to Hester he left, striding along the corridor, shoulders squared, head high.

As soon as she was relieved, Hester also left. She was barely halfway along the corridor in the direction of the nurses' dormitory when she encountered the imposing figure of Berenice Ross Gilbert. Although in any social circumstance she would have considered herself Lady Ross Gilbert's equal, even if perhaps that opinion had not been shared, in her gray stuff nursing dress, and with her occupation known, she was at every kind of disadvantage, and she was uncomfortably aware of it.

Berenice was dressed splendidly, as usual, her gown a mixture of rusts and golds with a touch of fuchsia pink, and cut to the minute of fashion. She smiled with casual charm, looking straight through Hester, and continued on her way. However, she had only gone a few steps when Sir Herbert came out of one of the doorways.

"Ah!" he said quickly, his face lighting up. "I was just hoping to..."

"Good morning, Sir Herbert," Berenice cut across him, her voice brittle and a trifle loud. "Another very pleasant day. How is Mr. Prendergast? I hear you performed a brilliant operation. It is an excellent thing for the reputation of the hospital, and of course for English medicine in general. How did he pass the night? Well?"

Sir Herbert looked a little taken aback. He was facing Berenice with his profile to Hester, whom he had not noticed standing in the shadows a dozen yards away. She was a nurse, so to some extent invisible, like a good domestic servant.

Sir Herbert's eyebrows rose in obvious surprise.

"Yes, he is doing very well so far," he replied. "But it is too early yet for that to mean a great deal. I didn't know you were acquainted with Mr. Prendergast."

"Ah no, my interest is not personal."

"I was going to say that I-" he began again.

"And of course," she cut across him again, "I am concerned with the hospital's reputation and your enhancement of it, Sir Herbert." She smiled fixedly. "Of course this whole wretched business of poor Nurse-whatever her name was."

"Barrymore? Really, Berenice..."

"Yes, of course, Barrymore. And we have another Crimean nurse, so I hear-Miss-er..." She half turned toward Hester and indicated her.

"Ah-yes." Sir Herbert looked startled and slightly out of composure. "Yes-it seems like a fortunate acquisition-so far. A very competent young woman. Thank you for your kind words, Lady Ross Gilbert." Unconsciously he pulled down the front of his jacket, straightening it a little. "Most generous of you. Now if you would excuse me, I have other patients I must attend. Charming to see you."

Berenice smiled bleakly. "Naturally. Good morning, Sir Herbert."

Hester moved at last toward the dormitory and the opportunity for an hour or two's rest. She was tired enough to sleep even through the constant comings and goings, the chatter, the movement of others, even though she longed for privacy. The peace of her own small lodging room seemed a haven it never had previously, when she had compared it with her father's home with its spaciousness, warmth, and familiar elegance.

She did not sleep long and woke with a start, her mind frantically trying to recall some impression she had gained. It was important, it meant something, and she could not grasp it.

An elderly nurse with a bald patch on one side of her head was standing a few feet away, staring at her.

"That there rozzer wants yer," she said flatly. "The one wi' the eyes like a ferret. You'd better look sharp. 'E ain't one to cross." And having delivered her message she took herself off without glancing backwards to see whether Hester obeyed or not.

Blinking, her eyes sore, her head heavy, Hester climbed out of the cot (she did not think of it as hers), pulled on her dress, and straightened her hair. Then she set off to find Jeavis; from the woman's description it could only be Jeavis who wanted her, not Evan.

She saw him standing outside Sir Herbert Stanhope's room, looking along the corridor toward her. Presumably he knew where the dormitory was, and thus expected her the way she came.

"Morning, miss," he said when she was within a few feet of him. He looked her up and down with curiosity. "You'd be Miss Latterly?"

"Yes, Inspector. What may I do for you?" She said it more coolly than she had intended, but something in his manner irritated her.

"Oh yes. You were not here when Miss Barrymore met her death," he began unnecessarily. "But I understand you served in the Crimea? Perhaps you were acquainted with her there?"

"Yes, slightly." She was about to add that she knew nothing of relevance, or she would have told him without his asking, then she realized that it was just possible she might learn something from him if she prolonged the conversation. "We served side by side on at least one occasion." She looked into his dark, almost browless eyes, and unwittingly thought of the bald nurse's mention of a ferret. It was cruel, but not entirely inappropriate-a dark brown, highly intelligent ferret. Perhaps it was not such a good idea to try misleading him after all.

"Difficult to tell what a woman looked like," he said thoughtfully, "when you haven't seen her alive. They tell me she was quite handsome. Would you agree with that, Miss Latterly?"

"Yes." She was surprised. It seemed so irrelevant. "Yes, she had a very-very individual face, most appealing. But she was rather tall."

Jeavis unconsciously squared his shoulders. "Indeed. I assume she must have had admirers?"

Hester avoided his eyes deliberately. "Oh yes. Are you thinking such a person killed her?"

"Never mind what we're thinking," he replied smugly. "You just answer my questions the best you can."

Hester seethed with annoyance, and hid it with difficulty. Pompous little man!

"I never knew her to encourage anyone," she said between stiff lips. "She didn't flirt. I don't think she knew how to."

"Hmm..." He bit his lip. "Be that as it may, did she ever mention a Mr. Geoffrey Taunton to you? Think carefully now. I need an exact, honest answer."

Hester controlled herself with an intense effort. She wanted to slap him. But this conversation would be worth it if she learned something, however small. She gazed back at him with wide eyes.

"What does he look like, Inspector?"

"It doesn't matter what he looks like, miss," he said irritably. "What I want to know is, did she mention him?"

"She had a photograph," Hester lied without compunction. At least it was a lie in essence. Prudence had had a photograph, certainly, but it was one of her father, and Hester knew that.

Jeavis's interest was quickened. "Did she, now. What was he like, the man in this photograph?"

This was no use. "Well-er..." She screwed up her face as if in a concentrated effort to find the right words.

"Come on, miss. You must have some idea!" Jeavis said urgently. "Was he coarse or refined? Handsome or homely? Was he clean-shaven, a mustache, whiskers, a beard? What was he like?"

"Oh he was fine-looking," she prevaricated, hoping he would forget his caution. "Sort of-well-it's hard to say..."

"Oh yes."

She was afraid if she did not give him a satisfactory answer soon he would lose interest. "She had it with her all the time."

Jeavis abandoned patience. "Was he tall, straight hair, regular features, smallish sort of mouth, light eyes, very level?"

"Yes! Yes, that's who he was, exactly," she said, affecting relief. "Is that him?"

"Never you mind. So she carried that with her, did she?

Sounds like she knew him pretty close. I suppose she got letters?"

"Oh yes, whenever the post came from England. But I didn't think Mr. Taunton lived in London."

"He didn't," he agreed. "But there are trains, and it's easy enough to come and go. Trip to Ealing only takes an hour or less. Easy enough to get in and out of the hospital. I'll have to have a good deal closer talk with Mr. Taunton." He shook his head darkly. "Nice-looking gentleman like that might have other ladies to set their caps at. Funny he chose to go on with her, even when she worked in a place like this and seemed set to continue with it."

"Love is funny, Inspector," Hester said tartly. "And while a great many people marry for other reasons, there are a few who insist on marrying for love. Perhaps Mr. Taunton was one of them?"

"You've got a very sharp tongue in your head, Miss Latterly," Jeavis said with a perceptive look at her. "Was Miss Barrymore like that too? Independent, and a bit waspish, was she?'

Hester was staring. It was not a pleasing description.

"Those would not have been my choice of words, Inspector, but essentially my meaning, yes. But I don't see how she could have been killed by a jealous woman. The sort of person who would have been in love with Mr. Taunton surely would not have the strength to strangle her. Prudence was tall, and not weak by any means. Wouldn't there have been a fight? And such a person would be marked as well, scratched or bruised at least?"

"Oh no," Jeavis denied quickly. "There wasn't a struggle. It must have been very quick. Just powerful hands on her throat." He made a quick, harsh gesture, like closing a double fist, and his lips tightened with revulsion. "And it was all over. She might have scratched a hand or so, or even once at the neck or face. But there was no blood in any of her fingernails, nor anything else, no other scratches or bruises on her. There was no fight. Whoever it was, she was not expecting it."

"Of course you are right, Inspector." Hester concealed her triumph beneath humility and downcast eyes. Did Monk know there was no fight? It would be something to tell him that he might not have learned for himself. She refused to think of the human meaning of it.

"If it was a woman," Jeavis went on, brows drawn down. "It was a strong woman, one with powerful hands, like a good horse rider perhaps. It certainly wasn't any fancy lady who never held anything bigger than a cake fork in her fingers. Mind, surprise counts for a lot. Brave, was she, Miss Barrymore?"

Suddenly it was real again, Prudence's death.

"Yes-yes she was brave," Hester said with a catch in her voice. She forced memories out of her mind: Prudence's face in the lamplight, the surgeon's saw in her hand. Prudence sitting up in bed in Scutari, studying medical papers by candlelight.

"Hmm," Jeavis said thoughtfully, unaware of her emotion. "Wonder why she never screamed. You'd think she would, wouldn't you? Would you scream, Miss Latterly?"

Hester blinked away sudden tears.

"I don't know," she said honestly. "I should feel so inadequate."

Jeavis's eyes widened.

"Bit foolish, that, isn't it, miss? After all, if someone attacks you, you would be inadequate to defend yourself, wouldn't you? Miss Barrymore was, right enough. Doesn't seem there's so much noise going on here that a good scream wouldn't be heard."

"Then whoever attacked her was very quick," Hester said sharply, angry with him for his words and for the dismissive tone of them. Her emotions were too raw, too close to the surface. "Which suggests someone strong," she added unnecessarily.

"Quite so," he agreed. "Thank you for your cooperation, miss. She had an admirer when she was in the Crimea. That was really all I wished to know from you. You may continue in your duties."

"I wasn't at my duties," she said angrily. "I was asleep. I had been up with a patient all night."

"Oh, is that so." A flicker of oblique humor lit his eyes for an instant. "I'm so glad I wasn't taking you away from anything important."

Furious as she was, she liked him rather better for that than if he had become obsequious again.

* * * * *

When she saw Monk the following day in Mecklenburg Square, with all its hideous memories of murder, guilt, and the unknown, there was a tense, oppressive heat, and she was glad of the shade of the trees. They were walking side by side, quite casually, he carrying a stick as if it were a stroll after luncheon, she in a plain blue muslin dress, its wide skirts trailing on the grass at the edge of the path. She had already told him of her encounter with Jeavis.

"I knew Geoffrey Taunton was there," he said when she had finished. "He admitted that himself. I suppose he knew he was seen-by nurses, if no one else."

"Oh." She felt unreasonably crushed.

"But it is most interesting that there were no marks on her except the bruises on her throat," he went on. "I did not know that Jeavis will give me nothing at all, which I suppose is natural. I wouldn't, in his place. But apparently he didn't tell Evan that either." Unconsciously he quickened his pace, even though they were merely walking in circles around the edge of the square. "That means whoever did it was powerful. A weak person could not kill her without a struggle. And probably also someone she knew, and wasn't expecting it from. Most interesting. It raises one most important question."

She refused to ask. Then quite suddenly she perceived it, and spoke even as the thought formed in her mind. "Was it premeditated? Did he, or she, go with the intention of killing her-or did it arise from something that Prudence said, without realizing what it meant, and thus precipitated a sudden attack with no warning?"

He looked at her with surprise and sudden bright, grudging appreciation.

"Precisely." He swiped at a loose stone on the path with his stick, and missed. He swore, and caught it the second time, sending it twenty yards through the air.

"Geoffrey Taunton?" she asked.

"Less likely." He caught another stone, more successfully this time. "She was no threat to him that we know of. And I cannot imagine what such a threat could be. No, I think if he killed her, it would be in hot blood, as a result of a quarrel and his temper finally snapping. They quarreled that morning but she was still alive at the end of it. He might have gone back later, but it seems unlikely." He looked at her curiously. "What do you make of Kristian Beck?"

They passed a nursemaid with a small child in a sailor's suit. Somewhere in the distance there was the sound of an organ-grinder and the music was familiar.

"I have seen very little of him," she answered. "But I like what I have seen."

"I don't care whether you like him or not," he said acidly. "I want to know if you think he could have killed Prudence."

"You think there was something unnatural about his patient's death that night? I doubt it. Lots of people die unexpectedly. You think they're recovering, and suddenly they don't Anyway, how would Prudence know anything was wrong? If he had made a mistake in front of her, she would have told him and corrected it. He wasn't operated on that night."

"Nothing to do with that night." He took her elbow to guide her across the path out of the way of a man walking briskly about some business.

If it had been a protective gesture she would have welcomed it, but it was officious, impatient instead, as if she were unable to take care of herself. She pulled away sharply.

"She knew something which he begged her not to take to the authorities, and she refused him," he went on regardless.

"That doesn't sound like Prudence as I knew her," she said instantly. "It must have been something very serious. She loathed authorities and had the utmost contempt for them. Anyone has who's been with the army! Are you sure you have that correctly?"

"The quarrel was overheard," he replied. "She said she would go to the authorities, and Beck pleaded with her not to. She was adamant."

"But you don't know what about?" she pressed.

"No of course I don't." He glared at her. "If I knew, I'd tackle Beck over it. Probably be able to tell Jeavis and have him arrested, which would hardly please Callandra. I think her main purpose in employing me is to prove it was not Beck. She holds him in great regard."

She was spoiling for a quarrel, but this was not the time; there was too much else more important than new emotions.

"Are you afraid it is he?" she said quietly.

He did not look at her. "I don't know. The field does not seem very wide. Did she quarrel with any of the nurses? I don't imagine she was popular, if her ideas of reform are anything like yours. I expect she infuriated several of the doctors. You certainly did, in your short stay in office."

Her good resolution died instantly.

"If you infuriate a doctor, he dismisses you!" she replied sharply. "It doesn't make sense to kill someone when there is such an easy way, without any risk to yourself, to get rid of her and at the same time make her suffer!"

He grunted. "You have a concise and logical mind. Which is useful-but unattractive. I wonder if she was the same? What about the nurses? Would they have disliked her equally?"

She felt hurt, which was ridiculous. She already knew he liked women to be feminine, vulnerable, and mysterious. She remembered how he had been charmed by Imogen, her sister-in-law. Although as she knew very well, under Imogen's gentle manner mere was no foolish or yielding woman, just one who knew how to comport herself with grace and allure. That was an art she was devoid of, and at this moment its absence was stupidly painful.

"Well?" he demanded. "You've seen them at work, you must have an idea."

"Some of them worshiped her," she said swiftly, her chin held high, her step more determined. "Others, fairly naturally, were jealous. You cannot succeed without running into risk of jealousy. You should know that!"

"Jealous enough to call it hatred?' He was being logical, unaware of any feelings.

"Possibly," she said, equally reasonably. "There is a very strong large woman called Dora Parsons who certainly loathed her. Whether it was enough to have killed her, I have no idea. Seems extreme-unless there was some specific issue."

"Had Prudence the power to have this woman dismissed if she were incompetent, or drunk-or if she stole?" He looked at her hopefully.

"I imagine so." She picked up her skirts delicately as they passed a patch of long grass by the path. "Prudence worked closely with Sir Herbert. He spoke very highly of her to me. I imagine he would take her word for such a thing." She let her skirts fall again. "Certainly Dora Parsons is the sort of woman who could be very easily replaced. There are thousands like her in London."

"And very few indeed like Prudence Barrymore," he finished the thought. "And presumably several more like Dora Parsons even within the Royal Free Hospital. So that thought is hardly conclusive."

They walked in silence for a while, absorbed in then-own thoughts. They passed a man with a dog, and two small boys, one with a hoop, the other with a spinning top on a string, looking for a level place in the path to pull it. A young woman looked Monk up and down admiringly; her escort sulked. At length it was Hester who spoke.

"Have you learned anything?"

"What?"

"Have you learned anything?" she repeated. "You must have been doing something over the last week. What is the result?"

Suddenly he grinned broadly, as if the interrogation amused him.

"I suppose you have as much right to know as I," he conceded. "I have been looking into Mr. Geoffrey Taunton and Miss Nanette Cuthbertson. She is a more determined young woman than I first supposed. And she seems to have had the most powerful motive of all for wishing to be rid of Prudence. Prudence stood between her and love, respectability, and the family status she wishes for more than anything else. Time is growing short for her-very short." They had momentarily stopped under the trees and he put his hands in his pockets. "She is twenty-eight, even though she is still remarkably pretty. I imagine panic may be rising inside her-enough to do violence. If only I could work out how she achieved it," he said thoughtfully. "She is not as tall as Prudence by some two inches, and of slight build. And even with her head in the academic clouds, Prudence cannot surely have been so insensitive as to have been unaware of Nanette's emotions."

Hester wanted to snap back that twenty-eight was hardly ancient-and of course she was still pretty. And might well remain so for another twenty years-or more. But she felt a ridiculous tightening in her throat, and found the words remained unspoken. It hardly mattered if twenty-eight were old or not-if it seemed old to him. You cannot argue someone out of such a view.

"Hester?" He frowned at her.

Hester stared straight ahead and began walking again.

"She might have been," she replied briskly. "Perhaps she valued people for their worth-their humor, or courage, integrity, their intelligence, compassion, good companionship, imagination, honor, any of a dozen things that don't suddenly cease the day you turn thirty."

"For Heaven's sake, don't be so idiotic," he said in amazement, striding along beside her. "We're not talking about worth. We're talking about Nanette Cuthbertson being in love and wanting to marry Geoffrey Taunton and have a family. That's got nothing to do with intelligence or courage or humor. What's the matter with you? Stop walking so fast or you'll fall over something! She wants children-not a halo. She's a perfectly ordinary woman. I would have thought Prudence would have had sufficient wit to see that. But talking to you-perhaps she wouldn't. You don't seem to have."

Hester opened her mouth to argue, but there was no logical answer, and she found herself at a loss for words.

He strode on in silence, still swiping occasionally at the odd stone on the path.

"Is that all you've done?" she said finally.

"What?"

"Discover that Nanette had a good motive, but no means, so far as you can find out."

"No of course it isn't." He hit another stone. "I've looked into Prudence's past, her nursing skills, her war record, anything I can think of. It's all very interesting, very admirable, but none of it suggests a specific motive for murdering her-or anyone who might have wished to. I am somewhat hampered by not having any authority."

"Well whose fault is that?" she said sharply, then immediately wished she had not, but was damned if she was going to apologize.

They walked for a further hundred yards in silence until they were back at Doughty Street, where she excused herself, pointing out that she'd had very little sleep and would be required to sit up all night with Mr. Prendergast again. They parted coolly, she back to the hospital, he she knew not where.