A Sudden, Fearful Death

by Anne Perry

  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 theirselves 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 wa
s 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?”