William Monk 04 - A Sudden Fearful Death

thoughts hurt him. “I would have thought a man of his eminence, working very often with women,” he continued, “must have faced similar situations before. I do not share your certainty of his innocence, but I am sure there is more to the story than we have discovered so far. I accept your offer. I shall be most interested to see what else I can learn.”
    “Why were you involved in it in the first place?” Rathbone asked curiously.
    “Lady Callandra wished the matter looked into. She is on the Board of Governors of the hospital and had a high regard for Prudence Barrymore.”
    “And this answer satisfies her?” Rathbone did not conceal his surprise. “I would have thought as a governor of the hospital she would have been most eager to vindicate Sir Herbert! He is unquestionably their brightest luminary; almost anyone could be better spared than he.”
    A flicker of doubt darkened Monk’s eyes.
    “Yes,” he said slowly. “She does seem to be well satisfied.She has thanked me, paid me, and released me from the case.”
    Rathbone said nothing, his mind filled with conjecture, conclusionless, one thought melting into another, but worrying.
    “Hester does not believe it is the answer,” Monk continued after a moment or two.
    Rathbone’s attention was jerked back by the sound of her name. “Hester? What has she to do with it?”
    Monk smiled with a downturn of the corners of his mouth. He regarded Rathbone with amusement, and Rathbone had the most uncomfortable sensation that his uneasy and very personal feelings for Hester were transparent in his face. Surely she would have had confided in Monk? That would be too—no, of course she would not. He dismissed the thought. It was disturbing and offensive.
    “She knew Prudence in the Crimea,” Monk replied. The easy use of Nurse Barrymore’s given name startled Rathbone. He had thought of her as the victim; his concern had been entirely with Sir Herbert. Now suddenly her reality came to him with a painful shock. Hester had known her, perhaps cared for her. With chilling clarity he saw again how like Hester she must have been. Suddenly he was cold inside.
    Monk perceived the shock in him. Surprisingly there was none of the ironic humor Rathbone expected, instead only a pain devoid of adulteration or disguise.
    “Did you know her?” he asked before his brain censored the words. Of course Monk had not known her. How could he?
    “No,” Monk replied quietly, his voice full of hurt. “But I have learned a great deal about her.” His gray eyes hardened, cold and implacable. “And I intend to see the right man with the noose around his neck for this.” Then suddenly the ruthless, bitter smile was there on his lips. “I don’t only mean in order to avoid a miscarriage of justice. Of course I don’t want that—but neither do I intend to seeStanhope acquitted and no one in his place. I won’t allow them to let this one go unresolved.”
    Rathbone looked at him closely, studying the passion so plain in his face.
    “What did you learn of her which moves you this profoundly?”
    “Courage,” Monk answered. “Intelligence, dedication to learning, a will to fight for what she believed and what she wanted. She cared about people, and there was no equivocation or hypocrisy in her.”
    Rathbone had a sudden vision of a woman not unlike Monk himself, in some ways strange and complex, in others burningly simple. He was not surprised that Monk cared so much that she was dead, even that he felt an identity with her loss.
    “She sounds like a woman who could have loved very deeply,” Rathbone said gently. “Not one who would have accepted rejection without a struggle.”
    Monk pursed his lips, doubt in his eyes, reluctant and touched with anger.
    “Nor one to resort to pleading or blackmail,” he said, but his voice held more hurt than conviction.
    Rathbone rose to his feet.
    “If there is another story we have not touched yet, find it. Do whatever you can that will expose other motives. Someone killed her.”
    Monk’s face set hard. “I will,” he promised, not to Rathbone but to himself. His smile was sour. “I assume Sir Herbert is paying for this?”
    “He is,” Rathbone replied. “If only we could unearth a strong motive in someone else! There is a reason why someone killed her, Monk.” He stopped. “Where is Hester working now?”
    Monk smiled, the amusement going all the way to his eyes. “In the Royal Free Hospital.”
    “What?”