A sudden, fearful death (13 page)

"In the Royal Free Hospital on
the Gray's Inn Road," she replied. "One of the nurses has been
strangled and placed down the laundry chute. I have come straight from there.
Sir Herbert Stanhope is the chief medical officer and a surgeon of some
note."

"I've heard of him, of course.
An excellent man." Runcorn nodded. "Indeed, an excellent man. He sent
you to report this matter?"

"In a sense." It was
foolish to resent the reference to Sir Herbert, as if he had taken charge and
she were merely a messenger, and yet she knew that was what it would come to in
the end. "I was one of those who found the body," she added.

"Most distressing for
you," Runcorn said sympathetically. "May I send for something to
restore you? Perhaps a cup of tea?"

"No thank you," she said rather
more briskly than she had meant. She was shaken and her mouth felt dry.
"No thank you. I should prefer to return to the hospital and allow your
officer to begin his investigation of the matter," she added. "I have
left Dr. Beck standing guard over the corpse to see that nothing is moved or
altered. He has been there for some time by now."

"Of course. Most commendable
of you, ma'am." Runcorn said it with what he doubtless intended to be approval,
but to Callandra it sounded intolerably condescending. She nearly asked him if
he had expected her to behave like a fool and leave the body for anyone to move
or alter, but recalled herself only just in time. She was more distressed than
she had thought. She found to her surprise that her hands were trembling. She
thrust them into the concealing folds of her skirt so Runcom would not see
them. She stared at him expectantly.

He rose to his feet, excusing
himself, and went to the door, opening it and calling in a constable.
"Send Inspector Jeavis up here right away. I have a new case for him and
Sergeant Evan."

The answer was indistinguishable,
but it was barely a few moments before a dark saturnine man put his head around
the door inquiringly, then followed immediately, his lean body dressed in very
formal black trousers and a black frock coat. A white winged collar made him
look like a city clerk or an undertaker. His manner was peculiarly both hesitant
and assured. He looked at Runcorn and then at Callandra, as if to ask
permission, though he did not wait for it but stood equally between them.

"Jeavis, this is Lady
Callandra Daviot," Runcorn began, then he realized he had made a social
error. He should have presented him to her, not the other way around. He
blushed angrily but there was no way to retrieve it.

Without thought Callandra rescued
him. It was the instinctive thing to do.

"Thank you for sending for Mr.
Jeavis so rapidly, Mr. Runcorn. I'm sure it will prove to be the best
arrangement possible. Good morning, Mr. Jeavis."

"Good morning, ma'am." He
bowed very slightly, and she found him instantly irritating. He had a sallow
face and thick black hair and very fine eyes, the darkest she had ever seen,
but curiously light brows. It was unfair to prejudge the man, and she knew it
even while she did it. "Perhaps you would be good enough to tell me what
crime you have suffered?" he inquired.

"None at all," she
replied hastily. "I am on the Board of Governors at the Royal Free
Hospital in the Gray's Inn Road. We have just discovered the corpse of one of
our young nurses in the laundry chute. She appears to have been
strangled."

"Oh dear. How very unpleasant.
When you say 'we,'

ma'am, whom precisely do you
mean?" Jeavis asked. In spite of his obsequious manner his look was
penetrating and highly intelligent. She had the sense of being very thoroughly
weighed and that the judgment would have none of the social deference he
suggested outwardly.

"Myself and Dr. Kristian Beck,
who is one of the physicians at the hospital," she replied. "And in
a sense the women in the laundry room, and a child who is employed as a
skivvy."

"Indeed. What caused you to be
examining the laundry chute, ma'am?" His head cocked curiously to one
side. "Surely that is not part of the duties of a lady such as yourself?"

She explained to him how it had
come about and he listened without taking his eyes from her face.

Runcorn fidgeted from one foot to
the other, uncertain whether to interrupt or not, and at a loss for something
to say to keep his place in the proceedings.

There was a knock on the door, and
on Runcorn's command John Evan came in. His lean young face lit up when he saw
Callandra, but in spite of past circumstances and commitments shared he had
enough aplomb to affect merely recognition and no more.

"Good morning, Sergeant,"
she said formally.

"Good morning, ma'am," he
replied, then looked inquiringly at Runcorn.

"A murder in the Royal Free
Hospital," Runcorn said, seizing the chance to regain control. "You
will go with Inspector Jeavis and investigate. Keep me informed of all your
findings."

"Yes sir."

"Oh, Jeavis," Runcorn
added as Jeavis opened the door for Callandra.

"Yes sir."

"Don't forget to report to Sir
Herbert Stanhope at the hospital. Don't go blundering in as if it were a
manhunt down the Whitechapel Road. Remember who he is!"

"Naturally sir," Jeavis
said soothingly, but his face tightened with a quick flick of temper. He did
not like to be reminded of social niceties.

Evan shot a rapid glance at
Callandra, amusement glinting in his hazel eyes, and a wealth of memory and
silent humor passed between them.

Back in the hospital it was
entirely different By the time they came in, in spite of Mrs. Flaherty's best
efforts, the news was everywhere. The chaplain hurried up to them, coattails
flapping, his round eyes startled. Then when he realized just who Jeavis was,
he recovered again hastily, muttered something no one could distinguish,
offered a hurried imprecation, and disappeared clutching his prayer book in
both hands.

A young nurse stared inquisitively
before going away about her duty. The treasurer shook his head with foreboding
and directed them to Sir Herbert's rooms.

Sir Herbert met them at the door,
opening it wide to show the gracious interior, carpeted in Prussian blue,
gleaming with polished wood, and a bar of sunlight across the floor from the
southern window.

"Good day, Inspector," he
said gravely. "Please come in and I shall give you all the information I
have in this affair. Thank you, Lady Callandra. You have discharged your duty
excellently. Indeed, more than your duty, and we are all most obliged." As
he ushered Jeavis and Evan inside, at the same time he stood so that he blocked
the way for Callandra. There was nothing she could do but accept the dismissal
and go back down to the laundry room to see if Kristian was still there.

The huge basement was full of steam
again; copper pipes gurgled and clanked, the vast boiler hissed when the lid
was lifted off and the laundrywomen poked in wooden poles to lever out the
linen and carried it, arms straining, over to the sinks that lined the far
wall. The sinks were mounted with giant mangles through which the linen was
pressed to remove as much of the water as possible. Work had resumed, time and
taskmasters waited for no one, and the corpse had lost their immediate
interest. Most of the women had seen plenty of corpses before. Death came often
enough.

Kristian was still standing near
the laundry basket, his back to it, leaning a little on its rim to take his
weight. As soon as he saw Callandra his head lifted and his eyes met her
questioningly.

"The police are in with Sir
Herbert," she said in answer to his unspoken question. "A man called
Jeavis; I suppose he's quite good."

He looked at her more closely.
"You sound doubtful."

She sighed. "I wish it were
William Monk."

"The detective who went into
private work?" There was a flash of humor across his face, so quick she
barely caught it.

"He would have had ..."
She stopped, unsure what she meant. No one could say that Monk was sensitive.
He was as ruthless as a juggernaut.

Kristian was waiting, trying to
read her meaning.

She smiled at him.
"Imagination, intelligence," she said, knowing that was still not
quite what she meant. "The perception to see beyond the obvious," she
went on. "And no one would have fobbed him off with a suitable answer if
it was not the truth."

"You have a high regard for
him," Kristian observed, his dry rueful smile returning. "Let us hope
Mr. Jeavis is as gifted." He looked back at the basket. There was an unwashed
sheet now folded over to cover the dead face. "Poor woman," he said
very gently. "She was a good nurse, you know; in fact, I think she was the
best here. What a ridiculous tragedy that she should come all through the
campaigns in the Crimea, the danger and the disease, and the ocean voyages, to
die at the hands of some criminal in a London hospital." He shook his head
and there was a terrible sadness in his face. "Why would anyone want to
kill such a woman?"

"Why indeed?" Jeavis had
arrived without either of them being aware of him. "You knew her, Dr.
Beck?"

Kristian looked startled. "Of
course." His voice rose with irritation. "She was a nurse here. We
all knew her."

"But you knew her
personally?" Jeavis persisted, his dark eyes fixed almost accusingly on
Kristian's face.

"If you mean did I know her
outside her duties here in the hospital, no I did not," Kristian answered,
his expression narrowing.

Jeavis grunted and moved over to
the laundry basket. With delicate fingers he picked up the sheet and pulled it
back. He looked at the dead woman. Callandra looked at her again carefully.

Prudence Barrymore had been in her
early thirties, a very tall woman, slender. Perhaps in life she had been
elegant; now with the awkwardness of death, there was no grace in her at all.
She lay with arms and legs sprawled, one foot poking up, her skirts fallen back
to reveal a long shapely leg. Her face was ashen now, but even with the blood
coursing she must have been pale-skinned. Her hair was medium brown, her brows
level and delicately marked, her mouth wide and sensitive. It was a passionate
face, individual, full of humor and strength.

Callandra could remember her
vividly, even though they had always met hastily, and about their separate
duties. But Prudence Barrymore had been a reformer with a burning zeal, and few
people in the hospital had been unaware of her. Not many were as interesting
alive as she had been, and it seemed a vicious mockery that she should be lying
here emptied of all that had made her vivid and special, nothing left but a
vacated shell beyond feeling or awareness, and yet looking so terribly
vulnerable.

"Cover her up," Callandra
said instinctively.

"In a moment, ma'am."
Jeavis held up his arm as if to prevent Callandra from doing it herself.
"In a moment. Strangled, you said? Yes indeed. Looks like it. Poor creature."
He stared at the deep-colored marks on her neck. It was horribly easy to
imagine them as fingerprints of someone pressing harder and harder until there
was no air left, no breath, no life.

"A nurse, was she?"
Jeavis was looking at Kristian. "Work with you, did she, Doctor?"

"Sometimes," Kristian
agreed. "She worked more often with Sir Herbert Stanhope, especially on
his more difficult cases. She was an excellent nurse, and to the best of my belief,
a fine woman. I never heard anyone speak ill of her."

Jeavis stood motionless, his dark
eyes beneath their pale brows fixed on Kristian.

"Most interesting. What made
you look in the laundry chute, Doctor?"

"It was blocked,"
Kristian replied. 'Two of the nurses were having trouble trying to put soiled
sheets down, and unable to get them to go all the way. Lady Callandra and I
went to their assistance."

"I see. And how did you
dislodge the body?"

"We sent one of the skivvies
who works here, a child of about thirteen. She slid down the chute and her
weight moved the body."

"Very efficient," Jeavis
said dryly. "If a little hard on the child. Still, I suppose working in a
hospital she's seen many dead bodies before." His sharp nose wrinkled very
slightly.

"We did not know it was a dead
body," Kristian said in distaste. "We assumed it was a bundle of
sheets."

"Did you?" Jeavis walked
over, pushed the basket out of the way, and peered up the chute for several
moments. "Where is the top of this?" he said at last, withdrawing to
look at Callandra.

"In the corridor on the ground
floor," she replied, disliking him more by the moment. "In the west
wing corridor, to be precise."

"A very odd place to put a
body, don't you think?" Jeavis remarked. "Not easy to do without
being observed." He turned to Kristian, then back to Callandra, his eyes
very wide open.

'That is not entirely
correct," Kristian answered. "The corridor has no windows, and during
the daytime the gas is not lit, it saves expense."