A sudden, fearful death (28 page)

"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?"