A sudden, fearful death (42 page)

The prosecution was conducted by
Wilberforce Lovat-Smith, one of the most gifted barristers of his generation
and a man Rathbone knew well. He had faced him frequently across the floor of
the court, and held him in high regard, and not a little liking. He was of
barely average height, dark-complexioned with a sharp-featured face and
heavy-lidded, surprisingly blue eyes. His appearance was not impressive. He
looked rather more like an itinerant musician or player than a pillar of the
establishment. His gown was a fraction too long for him, indifferently
tailored, and his wig was not precisely straight. But Rathbone did not make the
mistake of underestimating him.

The first witness to be called was
Callandra Daviot. She walked across the space between the benches toward the
witness stand with her back straight and her head high. But as she climbed the
steps she steadied herself with her hand on the rail, and when she turned to
Lovat-Smith her face was pale and she looked tired, as if she had not slept
well for days, even weeks. It was apparent that either she was ill or she was
carrying some well-nigh-intolerable burden.

Hester was not present; she was on
duty at the hospital. Apart from the fact that financially she required the employment,
both she and Monk believed she might still leam something useful there. It was
a remote chance, but any chance at all was worth taking.

Monk was sitting in the center of
the row toward the front, listening and watching every inflection and expression.
He would be at hand if Rathbone wanted to pursue any new thread that should
appear. He looked at Callandra and knew that something was deeply wrong. He
stared at her for several minutes, until well into the beginning of her
evidence, before he realized what troubled him about her appearance even more
than the gauntness of her face. Her hair was totally, even beautifully tidy. It
was quite out of character. The fact that she was in the witness box did not
account for it. He had seen her at far more important and formal occasions,
even dressed before departing to dine with ambassadors and royalty, still with
wisps of hair curling wildly out of place. It touched him with an unanswerable
unhappiness.

"They were quarreling about
the fact that the laundry chute was apparently blockedT' Lovat-Smith was saying
with affected surprise. There was total stillness in the courtroom, although
everyone in it knew what was coming. The newspapers had screamed it in banner
headlines at the time, and it was not a thing one forgot. Still the jurors
leaned forward, listening to every word, eyes steady in concentration.

Mr. Justice Hardie smiled almost
imperceptibly.

"Yes," Callandra was
offering no more than exactly what she was asked for.

"Please continue, Lady
Callandra," Lovat-Smith prompted. She was not a hostile witness, but she
was not helpful either. A lesser man might have been impatient with her.
Lovat-Smith was far too wise for (hat. The court sympathized with her, thinking
the experience would have shocked any sensitive woman. The jurors were all
men, naturally. Women were not considered capable of rational judgment
sufficient to vote as part of the mass of the population. How could they
possibly weigh the matter of a man's life or death as part of a mere twelve?
And Lovat-Smith knew juries were ordinary men. That was both their strength and
their weakness. They would presume Callandra was an average woman,
susceptible, fragile, like all women. They had no idea she had both wit and
strength far more than many of the soldiers her husband had treated when he was
alive. Accordingly he was gentle and courteous.

"I regret having to ask you
this, but would you recount for us what happened next, in your own words. Do
not feel hurried___"

The ghost of a smile crossed
Callandra's mouth.

"You are very civil, sir. Of
course. I shall tell you. Dr. Beck peered down the chute to see if he could
discover what was blocking it, but he could not. We sent one of the nurses for
a window pole to push down the chute and dislodge whatever it was. At that
time ..." She swallowed hard and continued in a hushed voice. "We
assumed it was a tangle of sheets. Of course the window pole failed."

"Of course," Lovat-Smith
agreed helpfully. "What did you do then, ma'am?"

"Someone, I forget which of
the nurses, suggested we fetch one of the skivvies who was a child, and very
small, and send her down the chute to clear it."

"Send the child down?"
Lovat-Smith said very clearly. "At this time you were still of the belief
it was linen blocking the way?"

There was a shiver of apprehension
around the room. Rathbone pulled a face, but very discreetly, out of view of
the jury. In the dock Sir Herbert sat expressionless. Judge Hardie drummed his
fingers silently on the top of his bench.

Lovat-Smith saw it and understood.
He invited Callandra to continue.

"Of course," she said
quietly.

"Then what happened?"

"Dr. Beck and I went down to
the laundry room to await the blockage."

"Why?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Why did you go downstairs to
the laundry room, ma'am?"

"I—I really don't remember. It
seemed the natural thing to do at the time. I suppose to find out what it was,
and see that the quarrel was resolved. That is why we intervened in the
beginning, to resolve the quarrel."

“I see. Yes, quite natural. Will
you please tell the court what occurred then?"

Callandra was very pale and seemed
to require an effort to maintain her control. Lovat-Smith smiled at her encouragingly.

"After a moment or two there
was a sort of noise...." She drew in her breath, not looking at
Lovat-Smith. "And a body came out of the chute and landed in the laundry
basket below it."

She was prevented from continuing
immediately by the rustles and murmurs of horror in the public gallery. Several
of the jurors gasped and one reached for his handkerchief.

In the dock Sir Herbert winced very
slightly, but his eyes remained steadily on Callandra.

"At first I thought it was the
skivvy," she resumed. "Then an instant later a second body landed and
scrambled to get out. It was then we looked at the first body and realized
quite quickly that she was dead."

Again there was a gasp of indrawn
breath around the room and a buzz of words, cut off instantly.

Rathbone glanced up at the dock.
Even facial expressions could matter. He had known more man one prisoner to
sway a jury against him by insolence. But he need not have worried. Sir Herbert
was composed and grave, his face showing only sadness.

"I see." Lovat-Smith held
up his hand very slightly. "How did you know this first body was dead,
Lady Callandra? I know you have some medical experience; I believe your late
husband was an army surgeon. Would you please just describe for us what the
body was like." He smiled deprecatingly. "I apologize for asking you
to relive what must be extremely distressing for you, but I assure you it is
necessary for the jury, you understand?"

"It was the body of a young
woman wearing a gray nurse's dress." Callandra spoke quietly, but her
voice was thick with emotion. "She was lying on her back in the basket,
sort of folded, one leg up. No one who was not rendered senseless would have
remained in such a position. When we looked at her more closely, her eyes were
closed, her face ashen pale, and there were purple bruise marks on her throat.
She was cold to the touch."

There was a long sigh from the
public galleries and someone sniffed. Two jurors glanced at each other, and a
third shook his head, his face very grave.

Rathbone sat motionless at his
table.

"Just one question, Lady
Callandra," Lovat-Smith said apologetically. "Did you know the young
woman?"

"Yes." Callandra's face
was white. "It was Prudence Barrymore."

"One of the hospital
nurses?" Lovat-Smith stepped back a yard. "In fact, one of your very
best nurses, I believe? Did she not serve in the Crimea with Florence Nightingale?"

Rathbone considered objecting that
this was irrelevant: Lovat-Smith was playing for drama. But he would do his
cause more harm than good by trying to deny Prudence Barrymore her moment of
posthumous recognition, as Lovat-Smith would know; he could see it in his
faintly cocky stance, as if Rathbone were no danger.

"A fine woman in every
respect," Callandra said quietly. "I had the highest regard and
affection for her."

Lovat-Smith inclined his head.
"Thank you, ma'am. The court offers you its appreciation for what must
have been a most difficult duty for you. Thank you, I have nothing further to
ask you."

Judge Hardie leaned forward as
Callandra moved fractionally.

"If you would remain, Lady
Callandra, Mr. Rathbone may wish to speak."

Callandra flushed at her own
foolishness, although she had not actually taken a step to leave.

Lovat-Smith returned to his table,
and Rathbone rose, approaching the witness box and looking up at her. He was
disturbed to see her so drawn.

"Good morning, Lady Callandra.
My learned friend has concluded with your identification of the unfortunate
dead woman. But perhaps you would tell the court what you did after
ascertaining that she was beyond your help?"

"I—we—Dr. Beck remained with
her”—Callandra stammered very slightly—"to see she was not touched, and I
went to report the matter to Sir Herbert Stanhope, so that he might send for
the police."

"Where did you find him?"

"In the theater—operating upon
a patient."

"Can you recall his reaction
when you informed him what had happened?"

Again faces turned toward the dock
as people stared at Sir Herbert, curious and titillated by horror.

"Yes—he was shocked, of
course. He told me to go to the police station and inform the police—when he
realized it was a police matter."

"Oh? He did not realize it
immediately?"

"Perhaps that was my
fault," she acknowledged. "I may have told him in such a way he
thought it was a natural death. There are frequently deaths in a
hospital."

"Of course. Did he appear to
you to be frightened or nervous?"

A ghost of bitter amusement passed
over her face.

"No. He was perfectly calm. I
believe he completed the operation."

"Successfully?" He had
already ascertained that it was successfully, or he would not have asked. He
could remember vividly asking Sir Herbert, and his candid, rather surprised
reply.

"Yes." Callandra met his
eyes and he knew she understood precisely.

"A man with a calm mind and a
steady hand," he remarked. Again he was aware of the jury looking toward
the dock.

Lovat-Smith rose to his feet.

"Yes, yes," Judge Hardie
said, waving his hand. "Mr. Rathbone, please keep your observations till
your summation. Lady Callandra was not present at the rest of me operation to
pass judgment upon it. You have already elicited that the patient survived,
which I imagine you knew? Yes— quite so. Please proceed."

"Thank you, my lord."
Rathbone bowed almost imperceptibly. "Lady Callandra, we may assume that
you did in fact inform the police. One Inspector Jeavis, I believe. Was that
the end of your concern in the case?"

"I beg your pardon?" She
blinked and her face became even paler, something like fear in her eyes and the
quick tightening of her mouth.

"Was that the end of your
concern in the case?" he repeated. "Did you take any further
actions?"

"Yes—yes I did...." She
stopped.

"Indeed? And what were they?"

Again there was the rustle of
movement in the court as silks and taffetas brushed against each other and were
crushed as people leaned forward. On the jury benches all faces turned toward
Callandra. Judge Hardie looked at her inquiringly.

"I—I employed a private agent
with whom I am acquainted," she replied very quietly.

"Will you speak so the jury
may hear you, if you please," Judge Hardie directed her.

She repeated it more distinctly,
staring at Rathbone.

"Why did you do that, Lady
Callandra? Did you not believe the police competent enough to handle the
matter?" Out of the corner of his vision he saw Lovat-Smith stiffen and
knew he had surprised him.

-Callandra bit her lip. "I was
not sure they would find the right solution. They do not always."

"Indeed they do not,"
Rathbone agreed. "Thank you, Lady Callandra. I have no further questions
for you."

Before the judge could instruct
her, Lovat-Smith rose to his feet again.

"Lady Callandra, do you
believe they have found the correct answer in this instance?"

"Objection!" Rathbone
said instantly. "Lady Callandra's opinion, for all her excellence, is
neither professional nor relevant to these proceedings."

"Mr. Lovat-Smith," Judge
Hardie said with a little shake of his head, "if that is all you have to
say, Lady Callandra is excused, with the court's thanks."