William Monk 04 - A Sudden Fearful Death

misunderstood.” His eyes were still on Rathbone’s face. “I fear thatis what happened with Nurse Barrymore. I swear I had no idea whatsoever. She was not the type of woman with whom one associates such emotions.” He sighed. “God only knows what I may have said or done that she has taken to mean something quite different. Women seem to be able to interpret words—and silence—to mean all sorts of things that never crossed one’s mind.”
    “If you can think of anything specific, it would help.”
    Sir Herbert’s face wrinkled up in an effort to oblige.
    “Really it is very difficult,” he said reluctantly. “One does not weigh what one says in the course of duty. Naturally I spoke to her countless times. She was an excellent nurse. I told her a great deal more than I would a lesser woman.” He shook his head sharply. “Ours was a busy professional relationship, Mr. Rathbone. I did not speak to her as one would a social acquaintance. It never occurred to me to watch her face to assure myself she had perceived my remarks in a correct light. I may often have had my back to her, or even spoken to her as I was walking away or doing something else. My regard for her was in no way personal.”
    Rathbone did not interrupt him, but sat waiting, watching his face.
    Sir Herbert shrugged. “Young women are prone to fancies, especially when they reach a certain age and are not married.” A fleeting smile of regret and sympathy touched his mouth and vanished. “It is not natural for a woman to devote herself to a career in such a way, and no doubt it places a strain upon the natural emotions, most particularly when that career is an unusual and demanding one like nursing.” His gaze was earnest on Rathbone’s face. “Her experiences in the war must have left her particularly vulnerable to emotional injury, and daydreaming is not an abnormal way of coping with circumstances that might otherwise be unendurable.”
    Rathbone knew that what he said was perfectly true, and yet he found himself feeling that it was vaguely patronizing, and without knowing why, he resented it. He could not imagine anyone less likely to indulge in unreality orromanctic daydreams than Hester Latterly, who in many of the ways Sir Herbert referred to, was in exactly the same circumstances as Prudence. Perhaps he would have found her easier if she had. And yet he would have admired her less, and perhaps liked her less too. With an effort he refrained from saying what sprang to his mind. He returned to his original request.
    “But you can think of no particular occasion on which she may have misinterpreted a specific remark? It would be most helpful if we could rebut it in more than general terms.”
    “I realize that, but I am afraid I can think of nothing I have ever said or done to make any woman think my interest was more than professional.” Sir Herbert looked at him with anxiety and, Rathbone judged, a totally innocent confusion.
    Rathbone rose to his feet.
    “That is sufficient for this visit, Sir Herbert. Keep your spirits up. We have some time yet in which to learn more of Miss Barrymore and her other possible enemies and rivals. But please continue to cast your mind back over all the times you worked together recently and see if anything comes to you which may be of use. When we get to court, we must have more than a general denial.” He smiled. “But try not to worry overmuch. I have excellent people who can assist me, and we will no doubt discover a great deal more before then.”
    Sir Herbert rose also. He was pale and the marks of anxiety were plain in his face now that he had stopped concentrating on specific questions. The gravity of his situation overwhelmed him, and for all the force of logic and Rathbone’s assurances, if the verdict was against him, he faced the rope, and the reality of that crowded out everything else.
    He made as if to speak, and then found no words.
    Rathbone had stood in cells like this more times than he could count, with all manner of both men and women, each facing the fear in their own way. Some were openly terrified,others masked their feelings with pride or anger. Sir Herbert was outwardly calm, but Rathbone knew the sick anxiety he must feel inside, and was helpless to do anything to help. Whatever he said, as soon as he was gone and the great door closed behind him, Sir Herbert would be alone for the long dragging hours, to swing from hope to despair, courage to terror. He must