William Monk 04 - A Sudden Fearful Death

colleague with a skill far above that of her peers?”
    “Yes,” she said very quietly, blinking hard. “You have put it precisely. Foolish girl. If only she would have taken what was offered her and settled down like anyone else, she could have been so happy! I always said so—but she wouldn’t listen. My husband”—she gulped—“encouragedher. I’m sure he meant no harm, but he didn’t understand!” This time she did not look at the gallery.
    “Thank you, Mrs. Barrymore,” Rathbone said quickly, wishing to leave the matter before she spoiled the effect. “I have nothing further to ask you.”
    Lovat-Smith half rose to his feet, then changed his mind and sat down again. She was confused and grief-stricken, but she was also rooted in her convictions. He would not compound his error.
    After his quarrel with Rathbone on the steps of the courthouse two days previous, Monk had gone home in a furious temper. It was not in the least alleviated by the fact that he knew perfectly well that Rathbone was bound by his trust to Sir Herbert, regardless of his opinion of Prudence Barrymore. He was not free to divide his loyalties, and neither evidence nor emotion permitted him to swerve.
    Still he hated him for what he had suggested of Prudence, generally because he had seen the faces of the jury nodding, frowning, beginning to see her differently: less of a disciple of the lady with the lamp, tending the sick and desperate in dangerous foreign lands, and more as a fallible young woman whose dreams overcame her good sense.
    But more particularly, and at the root of his anger, was the fact that it had woken the first stirrings of doubt in himself. The picture of her he had painted in his mind was now already just so very slightly tarnished, and try as he might, he could not clear it to the power and simplicity it had had before. It did not matter whether she had loved Sir Herbert Stanhope or not, was she deluded enough to have misread him so entirely? And worse than that, had she really performed the medical feats she had claimed? Was she really one of those sad but so understandable creatures who paint on the gray world the colors of their dreams and then escape into parallel worlds of their own making, warping everything to fit?
    He could understand that with a sudden sickening clarity. How much of himself did he see only through the twistedview of his own lack of memory? Was his ignorance of his past his own way of escaping what he could not bear? How much did he really want to remember?
    To begin with he had searched with a passion. Then as he had learned more, and found so much that was harsh, ungenerous, and self-seeking, he had pursued it less and less. The whole incident of Hermione had been painful and humiliating. And he suspected also that much of Runcorn’s bitterness lay at his door. The man was weak, that was his one flaw, but Monk had traded on it over the years. A better man might not have used it in that way. No wonder Runcorn savored his final triumph.
    And even as he thought it, Monk understood enough of himself to know he would not let it rest. Half of him hoped Sir Herbert was not guilty and he could undercut Runcorn yet again.
    In the morning he went back to the hospital and questioned the nurses and dressers once more about seeing a strange young man in the corridors the morning of Prudence’s death. There was no doubt it had been Geoffrey Taunton. He had admitted as much himself. But perhaps someone had seen him later than he had said. Maybe someone had overheard an angry exchange, angry enough to end in violence. Perhaps someone had even seen Nanette Cuthbertson, or a woman they had not recognized who could have been her. She certainly had motive enough.
    It took him the best part of the day. His temper was short and he could hear the rough edges to his voice, the menace and the sarcasm in his questions, even as he disliked them. But his rage against Rathbone, his impatience to find a thread, something to pursue, overrode his judgment and his better intentions.
    By four o’clock all he had learned was that Geoffrey Taunton had been there, precisely as he already knew, and that he had been seen leaving in a red-faced and somewhat flustered state while Prudence was still very much alive. Whether he had then doubled back and found her again, to resume the quarrel, was unresolved. Certainly it was possible,but nothing suggested that it was so. In fact, nothing suggested he was of a nature or