A Sudden, Fearful Death

by Anne Perry

  “I did not need to. I was not asked.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Are you telling us, madam, that you are so naive that you had no idea of the importance of this evidence?”

  “It did not seem to be relevant,” she replied, her voice trembling a little. “The prosecution charged that Nurse Barrymore had tried to force Sir Herbert into marrying her. I know that was absurd. She would never have done anything of the sort. Nor would he have behaved in such a way. I knew it then, and I know it now.”

  In the dock Sir Herbert was ashen, looking desperately at Rathbone.

  Hardie pursed his lips.

  Lovat-Smith stared from Hardie to Berenice, then to Rathbone. He still was not totally sure what was happening.

  Rathbone clenched his fists so tightly his nails bit into his flesh. It was slipping away again. He was guilty of murder. And he could not be tried for it twice.

  He strode forward a couple of paces.

  “Ah! Then you are not for an instant suggesting that Prudence Barrymore knew of this and was blackmailing Sir Herbert? You are not saying that—are you!” It was a challenge, hard and defiant.

  Lovat-Smith rose very slightly to his feet, still confused.

  “My lord, would you please instruct my learned friend to allow the witness to answer for herself and to not interpret for her what she has, or has not, said?”

  Rathbone could hardly endure the tension. He dared not interrupt again. He must not be seen to condemn his own client. He turned to Berenice. Please God she would take her opportunity!

  “Lady Ross Gilbert?” Hardie prompted.

  “I—I don’t recall the question,” she said wretchedly.

  Rathbone answered before Hardie could reword it and make it innocuous.

  “You are not saying that Prudence Barrymore was blackmailing Sir Herbert, are you?” he demanded, his voice louder and sharper than he had intended.

  “Yes,” she said quietly. “Yes, she was blackmailing him.”

  “But,” Rathbone protested, as if horror-stricken, “but you said—why, for God’s sake? You said yourself she had no wish whatever to marry him!”

  Berenice stared at him with unmitigated hatred.

  “She wanted him to help her gain medical training. I know that from deduction—not observation. You cannot charge me with concealing it.”

  “Ch—charge you?” Rathbone stammered.

  “For God’s sake!” She leaned over the witness stand railing, her face twisted with fury. “You know he killed her! You just have to go through this charade because you are supposed to defend him. Get on with it! Get it done!”

  Rathbone turned to her very slightly, then away again to look up at Sir Herbert in the dock.

  His face was gray, his mouth slack with disbelief, his eyes bright with sick panic.

  There was only the faintest, thinnest flicker of hope. Very slowly he turned from Rathbone to the jury. He looked at one, then another, then another, right to the last. Then he knew it was defeat … final and absolute.

  There was silence in the room. Not even a pencil moved.

  Philomena Stanhope looked up at the dock steadily, and there was something in her face very close to pity.

  Lovat-Smith held out his hand to Rathbone, his face burning with admiration.

  In the public benches Hester turned to Monk, afraid of the triumph she would see in his eyes. But it was not there. It was not a victory they had achieved, only the conclusion of a tragedy, and some measure of justice, at least for Prudence Barrymore and those who had loved her.

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  THE SINS

  OF THE WOL

  An Inspector William Monk Novel

  by Anne Perry

  Please read on for a

  compelling excerpt from

  THE SINS OF THE WOLF

  by Anne Perry….

  Published by Ivy Books.

  Available at your local bookstore.

  HESTER’S FIRST FEELING was one of profound loss. Long ago she might have had an initial moment of rejecting the fact altogether, refusing to believe Mary was dead, but she had seen too much death not to recognize it, even when it was completely without warning. Last night Mary had seemed in excellent health and buoyant spirits, and yet she must have died quite early in the night. Her body was cold to the touch, and such stiffness took from four to six hours to achieve.

  Hester pulled the blanket up over her, gently covering her face, and then stood back. The train was moving more slowly now, and there were houses in the gray, early morning beyond the rain-streaked windows.

  Then the next emotion came: guilt. Mary had been her patient, entrusted to her care, and after only a few hours she was dead. Why? What had she done so badly? What had she bungled, or forgotten, that Mary had died without even a sound, no cry, no gasp, no struggle for breath? Or perhaps there had been, only Hester had been too soundly asleep to hear, and the clatter of the train had masked it.

  She could not just continue to stand there, staring at the motionless form under the rug. She must tell the authorities, beginning with the conductor and the guard. Then of course when they reached the station there would be the station-master, and possibly the police. After that, infinitely worse, she would have to tell Griselda Murdoch. The thought of that made her feel a little sick.

  Better begin. Standing there would not help anything, and the contemplation of it was only adding to the hurt. Feeling numb she went to the compartment entranceway, in her awkwardness banging her elbow on the wooden partition. She was cold and stiff with tension. It hurt more than it would have normally, but she had no time for pain. Which way to go? Either. It made no difference. Just do something, don’t stand undecided. She went left, towards the front of the train.

  “Conductor! Conductor! Where are you?”

  A military man with a mustache peered around a corner and stared at her. He drew breath to speak, but she had rushed on.

  “Conductor!”

  A very thin woman with gray hair looked at her sharply.

  “Goodness, girl, whatever is the matter? Must you make so much noise?”

  “Have you seen the conductor?” Hester demanded breathlessly.

  “No I haven’t. But for heaven’s sake lower your voice.” And without further comment she withdrew into her compartment.

  “Can I help you, miss?”

  She spun around. It was the conductor at last, his bland face unsuspecting of the trouble she was about to impart. Perhaps he was used to hysterical female passengers. She made an effort to keep her voice calm and under some control.

  “I am afraid something very serious has happened….” Why was she shaking so much? She had seen hundreds of dead bodies before.

  “Yes, miss. What would that be?” He was still quite unmoved, merely politely interested.

  “I am afraid Mrs. Farraline, the lady with whom I was traveling, has died in the night.”

  “Probably just asleep, miss. Some folk sleep very deep—”

  “I’m a nurse!” Hester snapped at him, her voice rising sharply. “I know death when I see it!”

  This time he looked thoroughly disconcerted. “Oh dear. You quite sure? Elderly lady, is she? Heart, I suppose. Took bad, was she? Ye should’a’ called me then, you know.” He looked at her critically.

  At another time Hester might have asked him what he could have done, but she was too distressed to argue.

  “No—no, she made no sound in the night. I just found her when I went to rouse her now.” Her voice was wavering again, and her lips almost too stiff to form the words. “I don’t know—what happened. I suppose it was her heart. She was taking medicine for it.”

  “She had forgot to take it, did she?” He looked at her dubiously.

  “No of course she didn’t! I gave it to her myself. Hadn’t you better report it to the guard?”

  “All in good time, miss. Ye’d better take me to your compartment and we’ll have a look. Maybe she’s only poorly?�
� But his voice held little hope and he was only staving off the moment of acknowledgment.

  Obediently Hester turned and led the way back, stopping at the entrance and allowing him to go in. He pulled the blanket back from the face and looked at Mary for only an instant before replacing it and stepping out again hastily.

  “Yes, miss. Afraid you’re right. Poor lady’s passed over. I’ll go and tell the guard. You stay ’ere, and don’t touch anything, understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Maybe you’d better sit down. We don’t want you fainting or anything.”

  Hester was about to tell him she didn’t faint, and then changed her mind. Her knees were weak and she would be very glad to sit down again.

  The compartment was cold and, in spite of the rattle and jolt of the train, seemed oddly silent. Mary lay on the seat opposite, no longer in the comfortable position in which she had gone to sleep, but half turned over as Hester had left her, and the conductor had seen her upturned face. It was ridiculous to think of comfort, but Hester had to restrain herself from going and trying to ease her back to a more natural position. She had liked Mary, right from the moment they had met. She had a vitality and candor which were uniquely appealing, and had already awoken in Hester something close to affection.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the guard. He was a small man with a heavy mustache and lugubrious eyes. There was a smudge of snuff on the front of his uniform jacket.

  “Sad business,” he said dolefully. “Very sad. Fine lady, no doubt. Still, nothing to be done now to ’elp ’er, poor soul. Where was you takin’ ’er?”

  “To meet her daughter and son-in-law,” Hester replied. “They will be at the station….”

  “Oh dear, oh dear. Well, nothing else for it.” He shook his head. “We’ll let all the other passengers get orff, and we’ll send for the Stationmaster. No doubt ’e’ll find this daughter. What’s ’er name? D’ye know ’er name, miss?”

  “Mrs. Griselda Murdoch. Her husband is Mr. Connal Murdoch.”

  “Very good. Well, I’m afraid the train is full, so I can’t offer you another compartment to sit in, I’m sorry. But we’ll be in London in another few moments. You just try to stay calm.” He turned to the conductor. “You got something as you can give this young lady, medicinal, like?”

  The conductor’s bushy eyebrows shot up.

  “Are you asking me if I got strong drink on me person, sir?”

  “Of course I in’t,” the guard said smoothly. “That’d be agin company policy. But I just thought as yer might ’ave had summink medicinal on yer, against the cold, or shock, or summink. For passengers, and the like.”

  “Well …” The conductor looked at Hester’s wan face. “Well, I suppose I might be able to find something—like …”

  “Good. You go and look, Jake, an’ if you can, you give this poor soul a nip, right?”

  “Yes sir! Right!”

  And he was as good as his word. Having “found” the forbidden brandy, he gave Hester a brimming capful and then left her again, muttering unintelligibly about duty. It was a further quarter of an hour, during which she was shivering cold and feeling increasingly apprehensive, before the Stationmaster appeared in the compartment entranceway. He had a bland, curious face, auburn hair and, at the present moment, a severe cold in the head.

  “Now then, miss,” he said, and sneezed violently. “You’d better tell us exactly what happened to the poor lady. Who is she? And for that matter, who are you?”

  “Her name is Mrs. Mary Farraline, from Edinburgh,” Hester replied. “I am Hester Latterly, employed to accompany her from Edinburgh to London in order to give her her medicine and see that she was comfortable.” It sounded hollow now, even absurd.

  “I see. What was the medicine for, miss?”

  “A heart ailment, I believe. I was not told any details of her condition, only that the medicine must be given to her regularly, how much, and at what time.”

  “And did you give it to her, miss?” He regarded her under his eyebrows. “Ye’r sure you did?”

  “Yes, absolutely sure.” She rose to her feet and pulled down the medicine cabinet, opened it, and showed him the empty vials.

  “There’s two gone,” the Stationmaster observed.

  “That’s right. I gave her one last night, at about a quarter to eleven, the other they must have used in the morning.”

  “But you only joined the train yesterday evenin’,” the conductor pointed out, peering over the stationmaster’s shoulder. “ ’Ad to ’ave. It don’t start till evenin’.”

  “I know that,” Hester said patiently. “Perhaps they were short of medicine, or the maid was lazy, and this was already made up, ready to use. I don’t know. But I gave her the second one, out of this vial.” She pointed to the second one in its bed. “Last night.”

  “And how was she then, miss? Poorly?”

  “No—no she seemed very well,” Hester said honestly.

  “I see. Well, we’d best put a guard on duty ’ere to see she in’t”—he hesitated—“in’t disturbed, and you’d better come and find the poor lady’s daughter who’s come to meet her, poor soul.” The stationmaster frowned, still staring at Hester. “You sure she didn’t call out in the night? You were here, I take it—all night?”

  “Yes I was,” Hester said stiffly.

  He hesitated again, then sneezed fiercely and was obliged to blow his nose. He looked at her carefully for several minutes, regarding her straight-backed very slender figure, and making some estimate of her age, and decided she was probably telling the truth. It was not a flattering conclusion.

  “I don’t know Mr. and Mrs. Murdoch,” Hester said quietly. “You will have to make some sort of announcement in order to find them.”

  “We’ll take care of all that sort of thing. Now you just compose yourself, miss, and come and tell these poor souls that their mother has passed over.” He looked at her narrowly. “Are you going to be able to do that, miss?”

  “Yes—yes certainly I am. Thank you for your concern.”

  She followed after the stationmaster as he backed out of the entrance and led the way to the carriage door. He turned and assisted her to alight onto the platform. The outside air was sharp and cold on her face, smelling of steam and soot and the grime of thousands of dirty feet. A chill wind whistled along the platform, in spite of the roof overhead, and the noise of trollies, boot heels, banging doors and voices echoed up into the vast overhead span. She followed the stationmaster jostling through the thinning crowd as they reached the steps to his office.

  “Are they … here?” she asked, suddenly finding her throat tight.

  “Yes, miss. Weren’t ’ard to find. Young lady and gentleman looking to that train. Only ’ad to ask.”

  “Has anyone told them yet?”

  “No, miss. Thought it better to learn that from you, seein’ as you know the family, and o’ course knew the lady herself.”

  “Oh.”

  The stationmaster opened the door and stood back. Hester went straight in.

  The first person she saw was a young woman with fair auburn hair, waved like Eilish’s, but much duller in color, sandy rather than burning autumnal. Her face was oval, her features good, but lacking both the passion and the beauty of her sister. Compared with anyone else, she would have been handsome enough, in a quiet, very seemly sort of way, but having met Eilish, Hester could only see her as a shadow, a pale reflection. Perhaps in time, when her present condition had run its term and she was no longer plagued by anxieties, she could be more like Oonagh, have more vivacity and confidence in her.

  But it was the man beside her who spoke. He was three or four inches taller than she, his face bony, with hooded eyes and a habit of pursing his lips, which drew attention to his well-shaped mouth.

  “You are the nurse employed to accompany Mrs. Farraline on the train?” he demanded. “Good. Perhaps you can tell us what this is all about? Where is Mrs. Farraline? Why
have we been kept waiting here?”

  Hester met his eyes for a moment in acknowledgment that she had heard him, then turned to Griselda.

  “I am Hester Latterly. I was employed to accompany Mrs. Farraline. I am deeply sorry to have to bring you very bad news. She was in excellent spirits last evening, and seemed to be quite well, but she passed away in her sleep, during the night. I think she could not have suffered, because she did not cry out….”

  Griselda stared at her as if she had not comprehended a word she had heard.

  “Mother?” She shook her head. “I don’t know what you are saying. She was coming down to London to tell me—I don’t know what. But she said it would all be all right! She said so! She promised me.” She turned helplessly to her husband.

  He ignored her and stared at Hester.

  “What are you saying? That is not an explanation of anything. If Mrs. Farraline was in perfect health yesterday evening, she wouldn’t simply have”—he looked for the right euphemism—“have passed over—without … For heaven’s sake, I thought you were a nurse. What is the point of having a nurse to come with her if this is what happens? You are worse than useless!”

  “Come now, sir,” the stationmaster said reasonably. “If the good lady was getting on in years, and had a bad heart, she could have gone any time. It’s something to be grateful for, she didn’t suffer.”

  “Didn’t suffer, man? She’s dead!” Murdoch exploded.

  Griselda covered her face and collapsed backwards onto the wooden chair behind her.

  “She can’t be gone,” she wailed. “She was going to tell me … I can’t bear this! She promised!”

  Murdoch looked at her, his face filled with confusion, anger and helplessness. He seized on the refuge offered him.

  “Come now, my dear. There is some truth in what the stationmaster says. It was extraordinarily sudden, but we must be grateful that she did not suffer. At least it appears so.”

  Griselda looked at him with horror in her wide eyes. “But she didn’t—I mean, there wasn’t even a letter. It is vitally important. She would never have … Oh this is terrible.” She covered her face again and began to weep.