William Monk 04 - A Sudden Fearful Death

Cuthbertson,” Lovat-Smith began as soon as the necessary formalities had been completed. He knew the anticipation and the importance of keeping the emotion high. “You knew Prudence Barrymore from your childhood days together, did you not?”
    “I did,” Nanette replied candidly, her chin lifted, her eyes downcast.
    “You knew her well?”
    “Very well.”
    No one was bothering to look at Sir Herbert. They all stared at Nanette, waiting for the evidence for which she had been called.
    Only Rathbone surreptitiously glanced sideways and up toward the dock. Sir Herbert was sitting well forward, peering at the witness stand in profound concentration. His face had a look on it almost of eagerness.
    “Was she a romantic?” Lovat-Smith asked.
    “No, not in the slightest.” Nanette smiled ruefully. “She seemed of an extremely practical turn of mind. She took no trouble to be charming or to attract gentlemen.” She covered her eyes, then looked up again. “I dislike speaking ill of one who is not here to answer for herself, but for the sake of preventing injustice, I must say what is true.”
    “Of course. I am sure we all understand,” Lovat-Smith said a trifle sententiously. “Have you any knowledge of her ideas in the matter of love, Miss Cuthbertson? Young ladies sometimes confide in each other from time to time.”
    She looked suitably modest at mention of such a subject.
    “Yes. I am afraid she would not look at anyone else butSir Herbert Stanhope. There were other, eminently suitable and quite dashing gentlemen who admired her, but she would have none of them. All the time she spoke only of Sir Herbert, his dedication, his skill, how he had helped her and shown her great care and attention.” A frown crossed her face, as if what she was about to say both surprised and angered her, but never once did she lift her eyes to look at the dock. “She said over and over that she believed he was going to make all her dreams come true. She seemed to light up with excitement and a sort of inner life when she spoke his name.”
    Lovat-Smith stood in the very center of the floor, his gown less than immaculate. He had little of the grace of Rathbone, and yet he was so vibrant with suppressed energy that he commanded everyone’s attention. Even Sir Herbert was temporarily forgotten.
    “And did you gather, Miss Cuthbertson,” he asked, “that she was in love with him and believed him to be in love with her, and that he would shortly make her his wife?”
    “Of course,” Nanette agreed, her eyes wide. “What other possible meaning could there have been?”
    “Indeed, none that I know of,” Lovat-Smith agreed. “Were you aware of the change in her beliefs, a time when she realized that Sir Herbert did not return her feelings after all?”
    “No. No I was not.”
    “I see.” Lovat-Smith walked away from the witness stand as if he were concluded. Then he turned on his heel and faced her again. “Miss Cuthbertson, was Prudence Barrymore a woman of determination and resolve? Had she great strength of will?”
    “But of course,” Nanette said vehemently. “How else would she have gone to the Crimea, of all places? I believe it was quite dreadful. Oh certainly, when she had set her heart upon something, she did not give up.”
    “Would she have given up her hope of marrying Sir Herbert without a struggle, in your estimation?”
    Nanette answered before Judge Hardie could lean forwardand intervene, or Rathbone could voice his protest. “Never!”
    “Mr. Lovat-Smith,” Hardie said gravely. “You are leading the witness, as you know full well.”
    “I apologize, my lord,” Lovat-Smith said without a trace of remorse. He shot a sideways glance at Rathbone, smiling. “Your witness, Mr. Rathbone.”
    “Thank you.” Rathbone rose to his feet, smooth and graceful. He walked over to the witness stand and looked up at Nanette. “I regret this, ma’am, but there are many questions I need to ask you.” His voice was a beautiful instrument and he knew how to use it like a master. He was at once polite, even deferential, and insidiously menacing.
    Nanette looked down at him without any awareness of what was to come, her eyes wide, her expression bland.
    “I know it is your job, sir, and I am perfectly prepared.”
    One of the jurors smiled, another nodded in approval. There was a murmur around the public benches.
    “You knew Prudence Barrymore since childhood, and knew her well,” Rathbone began. “You