The Twisted Root

by Anne Perry

  Yours, Hester

  He had found it impossible to rest. An hour later he had made himself a hot drink and was pacing the study floor trying to formulate a strategy for the next day. Eventually, he went back to bed and sank into a deep sleep, when it seemed immediately time to get up.

  His head ached and his mouth was dry. His manservant brought him breakfast, but he ate only toast and drank a cup of tea, then left straightaway for the courtroom. He was far too early, and the time he had expected to use in preparing himself he wasted in pointless moving from one place to another, and conversation from which he learned nothing.

  Tobias was in excellent spirits. He passed Rathbone in the corridor and wished him well with a wry smile. He would have preferred a little fight of it. Such an easy victory was of little savor.

  The gallery was half empty again. The public had already made up their minds, and the few spectators present were there only to see justice done and taste a certain vengeance. The startling exceptions to this were Lucius and Harry Stourbridge, who sat towards the front, side by side, and even at a distance, very obviously supporting each other in silent companionship of anguish.

  The judge called the court to order.

  "Have you any further witnesses, Sir Oliver?" he asked.

  "Yes, my lord. I would like to call Hester Monk."

  Tobias looked across curiously.

  The judge raised his eyebrows, but with no objection.

  Rathbone smiled very slightly.

  The usher called for Hester.

  She took the stand looking tired and pale-faced, but absolutely confident, and she very deliberately turned and looked up towards the dock and nodded to both Cleo and Miriam. Then she waited for Rathbone to begin.

  Rathbone cleared his throat. "Mrs. Monk, were you in court yesterday when Mrs. Anderson testified to the extraordinary story Miriam Gardiner told when she was first found bleeding and hysterical on Hampstead Heath twenty-two years ago?"

  "Yes, I was."

  "Did you follow any course of action because of that?"

  "Yes, I went to look for the body of the woman Miriam said she saw murdered."

  Tobias made a sound of derision, halfway between a cough and a snort.

  The judge leaned forward enquiringly. "Sir Oliver, is this really relevant at this stage?"

  "Yes, my lord, most relevant," Rathbone answered with satisfaction. At last there was a warmth inside him, a sense that he could offer a battle. Assuredly, he could startle the equanimity from Tobias’s face.

  "Then please make that apparent," the judge directed.

  "Yes, my lord. Mrs. Monk, did you find a body?"

  The court was silent, but not in anticipation. He barely had the jurors’ attention.

  "Yes, Sir Oliver, I did."

  Tobias started forward, jerking upright from the seat where he had been all but sprawled.

  There was a wave of sound and movement from the gallery, a hiss of indrawn breath.

  The judge leaned across to Hester. "Do I hear you correctly, madam? You say you found a body?"

  "Yes, my lord. Of course, I was not alone. I took Sergeant Michael Robb with me from the beginning. It was actually he who found it."

  "This is very serious indeed." He frowned at her, his face pinched and earnest. "Where is the body now and what can you tell me of it?"

  "It is in the police morgue in Hampstead, my lord, and my knowledge of it is closely observed, but only as a nurse, not a doctor."

  "You are a nurse?" He was astounded.

  "Yes, my lord. I served in the Crimea."

  "Good gracious." He sat back. "Sir Oliver, you had better proceed. But before you do so, I will have order in this court. The next man or woman to make an unwarranted noise will be removed! Continue."

  "Thank you, my lord." Rathbone turned to Hester. "Where did you find the body, Mrs. Monk, precisely?"

  "In a hollow tree on Hampstead Heath," she replied. "We started walking from Mrs. Anderson’s house on Green Man Hill, looking for the sort of place where a body might be concealed, assuming that Mrs. Gardiner’s story was true."

  "What led you to look in a hollow tree?"

  There was total silence in the court. Not a soul moved.

  "A bird’s nest with a lot of human hair woven into it, caught in one of the lower branches of a tree near it," Hester answered. "We searched all around until we found the hollow one. Sergeant Robb climbed up and found the hole. Of course, the area will have grown over a great deal in twenty-two years. It could have been easier to see, to get to, then."

  "And the body?" Rathbone pursued. "What can you tell us of it?"

  She looked distressed; the memory was obviously painful. Her hands tightened on the railing, and she took a deep breath before she began.

  "There was only skeleton. Her clothes had largely rotted away, only buttons were left of her dress, and the bones of her... undergarments. Her boots were badly damaged, but there was still more than enough to be recognizable. All the buttons to them were whole and attached to what was left of the leather. They were unusual, and rather good."

  She stood motionless, steadying herself before she continued. "To judge by what hair we found, she would have been a woman in her forties or fifties. She had a terrible hole in her skull, as if she had been beaten with some heavy object so hard it killed her."

  "Thank you," Rathbone said quietly. "You must be tired and extremely harrowed by the experience."

  She nodded.

  Rathbone turned to Tobias.

  Tobias strode forward, shaking his head a little. When he spoke his voice was soft. He was far too wily to be less than courteous to her. She had the court’s sympathy and he knew it.

  "Mrs. Monk, may I commend your courage and your single-minded dedication to seeking the truth. It is a very noble cause, and you appear to be tireless in it." There was not a shred of sarcasm in him.

  "Thank you," she said guardedly.

  "Tell me, Mrs. Monk, was there anything on the body of this unfortunate woman to indicate who she was?"

  "Not so far as I know. Sergeant Robb is trying to learn that now."

  "Using what? The remnants of cloth and leather that were still upon the bone?"

  "You will have to ask him," she replied.

  "If he feels that this tragedy has any relevance to this present case, and therefore gives us that opportunity, then I shall," Tobias agreed. "But you seem to feel it has, or you would not now be telling me of it. Why is that, Mrs. Monk, other than that you desire to protect one of your colleagues?"

  Spots of color warmed Hester’s cheeks. If she had ever imagined he would be gentle with her, she now knew better.

  "Because we found her where Miriam Gardiner said she was murdered," she replied a trifle tartly.

  "Indeed?" Tobias raised his eyebrows. "I gathered from Mrs. Anderson that Mrs. Gardiner—Miss Speake, as she was then—was completely hysterical and incoherent. Indeed, Mrs. Anderson herself ceased to believe there was any woman, any murder, or any body to find."

  "Is that a question?" Hester asked him.

  "No—no, it is an observation," he said sharply. "You found this gruesome relic somewhere on Hampstead Heath in an unspecified tree. All we know is that it is within walking distance of Green Man Hill. Is there anything to indicate how long it had been there—except that it is obviously more than ten or eleven years? Could it have been twenty-five? Or, say, thirty? Or even fifty years, Mrs. Monk?"

  She stared back at him without flinching. "I am not qualified to say, Mr. Tobias. You will have to ask Sergeant Robb, or even the police surgeon. However, my husband is examining the boots and has an idea that they may be able to prove something. Buttons have a design, you know."

  "Your husband is an expert in buttons for ladies’ boots?" he asked.

  "He is an expert in detection of facts from the evidence," she answered coolly. "He will know whom to ask."

  "No doubt. And he may be willing to pursue ladies’ boot buttons with tirel
ess endeavor," Tobias said sarcastically. "But we have to deal with the evidence we have, and deduce from it reasonable conclusions. Is there anything in your knowledge, Mrs. Monk, to prove that this unfortunate woman whose body you found has anything to do with the murders of James Treadwell and of Mrs. Verona Stourbridge?"

  "Yes! You said Miriam Gardiner was talking nonsense because no body of a woman was ever found on Hampstead Heath such as she described. Well, now it has. She was not lying, nor was she out of her wits. There was a murder. Since she described it, it is the most reasonable thing to suppose that she witnessed it, exactly as she said."

  "There is the body of a woman," Tobias corrected her. "We do not know if it was murder, although I accept that it may very well have been. But we do not know who she was, what happened to her, and still less do we know when it happened. Much as you would like to believe it is some support to the past virtue of Miriam Gardiner, Mrs. Monk—and your charity does you credit, and indeed your loyalty—it does not clear her of this charge." He spread his hands in a gesture of finality, smiled at the jury, and returned to his seat.

  Rathbone stood up and looked at Hester.

  "Mrs. Monk, you were at this tree on the Heath and made this gruesome discovery; therefore you know the place, whereas we can only imagine. Tell us, is there any way whatever that this unfortunate woman could have sustained this appalling blow to her head and then placed herself inside the tree?"

  "No, of course not." Her voice derided the idea.

  "She was murdered and her body was afterwards hidden, and it happened long enough ago that the flesh has decomposed and most of the fabric of her clothes has rotted?" Rathbone made absolutely certain.

  "Yes."

  "And she was killed by a violent blow to the head, in apparently exactly the same manner as James Treadwell and poor Mrs. Stourbridge?"

  "Yes."

  "Thank you, Mrs. Monk." He turned to the judge. "I believe, my lord, that this evidence lends a great deal more credibility to Mrs. Gardiner’s original account, and that in the interest of justice we need to know who that woman was and if her death is connected with those murders of which Mrs. Gardiner and Mrs. Anderson presently stand charged."

  The judge looked across at Tobias.

  Tobias was already on his feet. "Yes, my lord, of course. Mr. Campbell has informed me that he is willing to testify again and explain all that he can, if it will assist the court. Indeed, since what has been said may leave in certain people’s minds suspicion as to his own role, he wishes to have the opportunity to speak."

  "That would be most desirable," the judge agreed. "Please have Mr. Campbell return to the stand."

  Aiden Campbell looked tired and strained as he climbed the steps again, but Rathbone, watching, could see no fear in him. He faced the court with sadness but confidence, and his voice was quite steady when he answered Tobias’s questions.

  "No, I have no idea who the woman is, poor creature, nor how long she has been there. It would seem from the state of the body, and the clothes, that it was at least ten years."

  "Have you any idea how she came by her death, Mr. Campbell?" Tobias pressed.

  "None at all, except that from Mrs. Monk’s description of the wound, it sounds distressingly like those inflicted on Treadwell, and"—he hesitated, and this time his composure nearly cracked—"upon my sister..."

  "Please," Tobias said gently. "Allow yourself a few moments, Mr. Campbell. Would you like a glass of water?"

  "No—no thank you." Campbell straightened up. "I beg your pardon. I was going to say that this woman’s death may be connected. Possibly she also was a nurse, and may have become aware of the thefts of medicine from the hospital. Perhaps she either threatened to tell the authorities or maybe she tried her hand at blackmail..." He did not need to finish the sentence, his meaning was only too apparent.

  "Just so." Tobias inclined his head in thanks, turned to the jury with a little smile, then went back to his table.

  There was silence in the gallery. Everyone was looking towards Rathbone, waiting to see what he would do.

  He glanced around, playing for time, hoping some shred of an idea would come to him and not look too transparently desperate. He saw Harry Stourbridge’s face, colorless and earnest, watching him with hope in his eyes. Beside him, Lucius looked like a ghost.

  There was a stir as the outside doors opened, and everyone craned to see who it was.

  Monk came in. He nodded very slightly.

  Rathbone turned to the front again. "If there is time before the luncheon adjournment, my lord, I would like to call Mr. William Monk. I believe he may have evidence as to the identity of the woman whose body was found last night."

  "Then indeed call him," the judge said keenly. "We should all like very much to hear what he has to say. You may step down, Mr. Campbell."

  Amid a buzz of excitement, Monk climbed the steps to the stand and was sworn in. Every eye in the room was on him. Even Tobias sat forward in his seat, his face puckered with concern, his hands spread out on the table in front of him, broad and strong, fingers drumming silently.

  Rathbone found his voice shaking a little. He was obliged to clear his throat before he began.

  "Mr. Monk, have you been engaged in trying to discover whatever information it is possible to find regarding the body of the woman found on Hampstead Heath last night?"

  "Since I was informed of it, at about one o’clock this morning," Monk replied. And, in fact, he looked as if he had been up all night. His clothes were immaculate as always, but there was a dark shadow of beard on his cheeks and he was unquestionably tired.

  "Have you learned anything?" Rathbone asked. Hearing his own heart beating so violently, he feared he must be shaking visibly.

  "Yes. I took the buttons from the boots she was wearing and a little of the leather of the soles, which were scarcely worn. Those particular buttons were individual, manufactured for only a short space of time. It is not absolute proof, but it seems extremely likely she was killed twenty-two years ago. Certainly, it was not longer, and since the boots were almost new, it is unlikely to be less than that. If you call the police surgeon, he will tell you she was a woman of middle age, forty-five or fifty, of medium height and build, with long gray hair. She had at some time in the past had a broken bone in one foot which had healed completely. She was killed by a single, very powerful blow to her head, by someone facing her at the time, and right-handed. Oh... and she had perfect teeth—which is unusual in one of her age."

  There was tension in the court so palpable that when a man in the gallery sneezed the woman behind him let out a scream, then stifled it immediately.

  Every juror in both rows stared at Monk as if unaware of anyone else in the room.

  "Was that the same police surgeon who examined the bodies of Tread well and Mrs. Stourbridge?" Rathbone asked.

  "Yes," Monk answered.

  "And was he of the opinion that the blows were inflicted by the same person."

  Tobias rose to his feet. "My lord, Mr. Monk has no medical expertise..."

  "Indeed," the judge agreed. "We will not indulge in hearsay, Sir Oliver. If you wish to call this evidence, no doubt the police surgeon will make himself available. Nevertheless, I should very much like to know the answer to that myself."

  "I shall most certainly do so," Rathbone agreed. Then, as the usher stood at his elbow, he said, "Excuse me, my lord." He took the note handed to him and read it to himself.

  It could not have been a blackmailer of Cleo—she was not stealing medicines then. The apothecary can prove that. Call me to testify. Hester.

  The court was waiting.

  "My lord, may I recall Mrs. Monk to the stand, in the question as to whether Mrs. Anderson could have been blackmailed over the theft of medicines twenty-two years ago?"

  "Can she give evidence on the subject?" the judge asked with surprise. "Surely she was a child at the time?"

  "She has access to the records of the hospital, my lord."
>
  "Then call her, but I may require to have the records themselves brought and put into evidence."

  "With respect, my lord, the court has accepted that medicines were stolen within the last few months without Mr. Tobias having brought the records for the jury to read. Testimony has been sufficient for him in that."

  Tobias rose to his feet. "My lord, Mrs. Monk has shown herself an interested party. Her evidence is hardly unbiased."

  "I am sure the records can be obtained," Rathbone said reluctantly. He would far rather Cleo’s present thefts were left to testimony only, but there was little point in saving her from charges of stealing if she was convicted of murder.

  "Thank you, my lord," Tobias said with a smile.

  "Nevertheless," the judge added, "we shall see what Mrs. Monk has to say, Sir Oliver. Please call her."

  Hester took the stand and was reminded of her earlier oath to tell the truth and only the truth. She had examined the apothecary’s records as far back as thirty years, since before Cleo Anderson’s time, and there was no discrepancy in medicines purchased and those accounted for as given to patients.

  "So at the time of this unfortunate woman’s death, there were no grounds for blackmailing Mrs. Anderson, or anyone else, with regard to medicines at the hospital?" Rathbone confirmed.

  "That is so," she agreed.

  Tobias stood up and walked towards her.

  "Mrs. Monk, you seem to be disposed to go to extraordinary lengths to prove Mrs. Anderson not guilty, lengths quite above and beyond the call of any duty you are either invested with or have taken upon yourself. I cannot but suspect you of embarking upon a crusade, either because you have a zeal to reform nursing and the view in which nurses are regarded— and I will call Mr. Fermin Thorpe of the hospital in question to testify to your dedication to this—or less flatteringly, a certain desire to draw attention to yourself, and fulfill your emotions, and perhaps occupy your time and your life in the absence of children to care for."

  It was a tactical error. As soon as he said it he was aware of his mistake, but he did not know immediately how to retract it.

  "On the contrary, Mr. Tobias," Hester said with a cold smile. "I have merely testified as to facts. It is you who are searching to invest them with some emotional value because it appears you do not like to be proved mistaken, which I cannot understand, since we are all aware you prosecute or defend as you are engaged to, not as a personal vendetta against anyone. At least I believe that to be the case?" She allowed it to be a question.