A sudden, fearful death (55 page)

"Yes, Lady Stanhope, I believe
it is," he said gently. "And I am sure there are many thousands of
people who will agree with you. I don't think I have anything further to ask
you, but my learned friend may. Please would you remain there, just in
case."

He walked slowly back to his seat,
meeting Lovat-Smith's glance as he did so, and knowing his opponent was
weighing up what he might gain or lose by questioning Lady Stanhope. She had
the jury's sympathy. If he appeared to embarrass or fluster her he might
jeopardize his own position, even if he discredited her testimony. How much of
the jurors' verdict would rest on fact, how much on anticipation, emotion,
prejudice, whom they believed or liked, and whom they did not?

Lovat-Smith rose and approached the
witness stand with a smile. He did not know how to be humble, but he understood
charm perfectly.

"Lady Stanhope, I also have
very little to ask you and shall not keep you long. Have you ever been to the
Royal Free Hospital?"

She looked surprised. "No—no I
have never had the need, fortunately. All my confinements have been at home,
and I have never required an operation."

"I was thinking rather more of
a social visit, ma'am, not as a patient. Perhaps out of interest in your
husband's profession?"

"Oh no, no, I don't think that
would be at all necessary, and really not suitable, you know?' She shook her
head, biting her lip. "My place is in the home, with my family. My
husband's place of work is not—not appropriate .. ." She stopped,
uncertain what else to add.

In the gallery two elderly women glanced
at each other and nodded approvingly.

"I see." Lovat-Smith
turned a little sideways, glancing at the jury, then back at Lady Stanhope.
"Did you ever meet Nurse Prudence Barrymore?"

"No." Again she was
surprised. "No, of course not."

"Do you know anything about
the way in which a skilled nurse normally works with a surgeon caring for a
patient?"

"No." She shook her head,
frowning with confusion. "I have no idea. It is—it is not anything that
occurs to me. I care for my house and my children."

"Of course, and most
commendable," Lovat-Smith agreed with a nod of his head. "That is
your vocation and your skill."

"Yes."

"Then you really are not in a
position to say whether your husband's relationship with Miss Barrymore was unusual,
or personal, or whether it was not—are you?"

"Well—I ..." She looked
unhappy. "I—I don't know."

"There is no reason why you
should, ma'am," Lovat-Smith said quietly. "Neither would any other
lady in your position. Thank you. That is all I have to ask you."

A look of relief crossed her face,
and she glanced up at Sir Herbert. He smiled at her briefly.

Rathbone rose again.

"Lady Stanhope, as my learned
friend has pointed out, you know nothing about the hospital or its routines and
practices. But you do know your husband and his personality, and you have for
nearly a quarter of a century?"

She looked relieved. "Yes, yes
I do."

"And he is a good, loyal, and
affectionate husband and father, but dedicated to his career, not socially
skilled, not a ladies' man, not sensitive or aware of the emotions .and
daydreams of young women?"

She smiled a little ruefully,
looked up at the dock as if uncertain, apology plain in her face. "No sir,
not at all, I am afraid."

A shadow of relief, almost
satisfaction, touched Sir Herbert. It was a complex emotional expression, and
the jury noticed it with approval.

"Thank you, Lady
Stanhope," Rathbone said with rising confidence. "Thank you very
much. That is all."

Rathbone's last witness was Faith
Barker, Prudence's sister, recalled now for the defense. When he had first
spoken to her she had been utterly convinced that Sir Herbert was guilty. He
had murdered her sister, and for her that was a crime for which there was no
forgiveness. But Rathbone had spoken to her at length, and finally she had made
pronounced concessions. She was still uncertain, and there was no mercy in her
for Sir Herbert, but on one point at least she was adamant, and he felt the
risk of what else she might say was worth it.

She took the stand with her head
high, face pale, and marked with the depth of grief. Her anger also was unmistakable,
and she shot Sir Herbert in the dock opposite her a look of unsuppressed
loathing. The jury saw it and were distinctly uncomfortable; one man coughed
and covered his mouth in a gesture of embarrassment. Rathbone saw it with a
rising heart. They believed Sir Herbert; Faith Barker's grief made them
uncomfortable. Lovat-Smith saw it also. His jaw tightened and he pursed his
lips.

"Mrs. Barker," Rathbone
began clearly and very politely. "I know that you are here at least in
part against your will. However, I must direct you to exercise all your fairness
of mind, that integrity which I am sure you have in common with your sister,
and answer my questions only with what is asked. Do not offer your own opinions
or emotions. At such a time they cannot but be profound and full of pain. We
sympathize with you, but we sympathize also with Lady Stanhope and her family,
and all other people this tragedy has touched."

"I understand you, Mr.
Rathbone," she replied stiffly. "I shall not speak out of malice, I
swear to you."

"Thank you. I am sure you will
not. Now please, if you would consider this matter of your sister's regard for
Sir Herbert and what you know of her character. What we have heard of her from
witnesses of very different natures, and different circumstances in which they
knew her, all paints the picture of a woman of compassion and integrity. We
have not heard from anyone of a single cruel or selfish act on her part. Does
that sound like the sister you knew?"

"Certainly," Faith agreed
without hesitation.

"An excellent woman?"
Rathbone added.

"Yes."

"Without fault?" He
raised his eyebrows.

"No, of course not." She
dismissed the idea with a faint smile. "None of us is without fault."

"Without being disloyal, I am
sure you can tell us in which general area her flaws lay?"

Lovat-Smith rose to his feet.
"Really, my lord, this is hardly enlightening, and surely not relevant?
Let the poor woman rest in as much peace as is possible, considering the manner
of her death."

Hardie looked at Rathbone.

"Is this as totally pointless
and tasteless as it seems, Mr. Rathbone?" he said with disapproval sharp
in his lean face.

"No, my lord," Rathbone
assured him. "I have a very definite purpose in asking Mrs. Barker such a
question. The prosecution's charge against Sir Herbert rests on certain assumptions
about Miss Barrymore's character. I must have the latitude to explore them if I
am to serve him fairly."

"Then arrive at your point,
Mr. Rathbone," Hardie instructed, his expression easing only slightly.

Rathbone turned to the witness
stand.

"Mrs. Barker?"

She took a deep breath. "She
was a little brusque at times. She did not suffer fools graciously, and since
she was of extraordinary intelligence, to her there were many who fell into
that category. Do you need more?"

"If there is more?"

"She was very brave, both
physically and morally. She had no time for cowards. She could be hasty in her
judgment."

"She was ambitious?" he
asked.

"I do not see that as a
flaw." She looked at him with undisguised dislike.

"Nor I, ma'am. It was merely a
question. Was she ruthless in reaching after her ambitions, regardless of the
cost or consequences to others?"

"If you mean was she cruel or
dishonest, no, never. She did not expect or wish to gain her desires at someone
else's expense."

"Have you ever known her to
force or coerce anyone into a gesture or act they did not wish?"

"No, I have not!"

"Or to use privileged
knowledge to exert pressure upon people?"

A look of anger crossed Faith
Barker's face.

"That would be blackmail, sir,
and in every way despicable. I resent profoundly that you should mention such
a sinful act in the same breath with Prudence's name. If you had known her, you
would realize how totally abhorrent and ridiculous such a suggestion is."
Again she stared, tight-faced and implacable, at Sir Herbert, then at the jury.

"No. She despised moral
cowardice, deceit, or anything of that nature," she continued. "She
would consider anything gained by such means to be tainted beyond any value it
might once have had." She glared at Rathbone, then at the jury. "And
if you imagine she would have blackmailed Sir Herbert in order to make him
marry her, that is the most ridiculous thing of all. What woman of any honor or
integrity whatever would wish for a husband in such circumstances? Life with
him would be insupportable. It would be a living hell."

"Yes, Mrs. Barker,"
Rathbone agreed with a soft, satisfied smile. "I imagine it would be. And
I am sure Prudence was not only too honorable to use such a method, but also
too intelligent to imagine it could possibly bring her anything but lifelong
misery. Thank you for your candor. I have no further questions for you. Perhaps
my learned friend has?" He looked at Lovat-Smith with a smile.

Lovat-Smith's answering smile was
bright, showing all his teeth, and probably only Rathbone knew it was empty of
feeling.

"Oh certainly I have." He
rose to his feet and advanced toward the stand. "Mrs. Barker, did your
sister write home to you of her adventures and experiences while she was in the
Crimea?"

"Yes, of course she did,
although I did not receive all her letters. I know that because she would
occasionally make reference to things she had said on certain occasions, and I
knew nothing of them." She looked puzzled, as if she did not comprehend
the reason for his inquiry. Even Hardie seemed dubious.

"But you did receive a
considerable number of her letters?" Lovat-Smith pressed.

"Yes."

"Sufficient to have formed a
picture of her experiences, her part in the nursing, and how it affected
her?"

"I believe so." Still
Faith Barker did not grasp his purpose.

"Then you will have a fairly
vivid understanding of her character?"

"I think I have already said
so, to Mr. Rathbone," she replied, her brow puckered.

"Indeed—so you have."
Lovat-Smith took a pace or two and stopped again, facing her. "She must
have been a very remarkable woman; it cannot have been easy even to reach the
Crimea in time of war, let alone to master such a calling. Were there not
difficulties in her path?"

"Of course," she agreed
with something close to a laugh.

"You are amused, Mrs.
Barker," he observed. "Is my question absurd?"

"Frankly, sir, yes it is. I do
not mean to be offensive, but even to ask it, you cannot have the least idea of
what obstacles there are to a young single woman of good family traveling alone
to the Crimea on a troopship to begin nursing soldiers. Everyone was against
it, except Papa, and even he was dubious. Had it been anyone other than
Prudence, I think he would have forbidden it outright."

Rathbone stiffened. Somewhere in
the back of his head there was an urgent warning, like a needle pricking him.
He rose to his feet.

"My lord, we have already
established that Prudence Barrymore was a remarkable woman. This seems to be irrelevant
and wasting the court's time. If my learned friend had wished to have Mrs.
Barker testify on the subject, he had ample opportunity when she was his
witness."

Hardie turned to Lovat-Smith.

"I have to agree, Mr.
Lovat-Smith. This is wasting time and serves no purpose. If you have questions
to ask this witness in cross-examination, then please do so. Otherwise allow
the defense to proceed."

Lovat-Smith smiled. This time it
was with genuine pleasure.

"Oh it is relevant, my lord.
It has immediate relevance to my learned friend's last questions to Mrs.
Barker, regarding her sister's character and the extreme unlikelihood of her
resorting to coercion"—his smile widened—"or riot!"

"Then get to your point, Mr.
Lovat-Smith," Hardie directed.

"Yes, my lord."

Rathbone's heart sank. He knew now
what Lovat-Smith was going to do.

And he was not mistaken.
Lovat-Smith looked up at Faith Barker again.

"Mrs. Barker, your sister must
have been a woman who was capable of overcoming great obstacles, of
disregarding other peoples' objections when she felt passionately about a
subject; when it was something she wished intensely, it seems nothing stood in
her way."

There was a sighing of breath
around the room. Someone broke a pencil.

Faith Barker was pale. Now she also
understood his purpose.