William Monk 04 - A Sudden Fearful Death

somewhere behind him.
    Nanette looked as if she too might faint.
    Hardie banged sharply with his gavel, his face hard.
    Lovat-Smith rose to his feet, and then subsided again.
    Rathbone smiled. “Thank you, Miss Cuthbertson. I have nothing further to ask you.”
    Geoffrey Taunton was a different matter. Rathbone knew from Lovat-Smith’s stance as he took the floor that he was in two minds as to whether he should have called Taunton at all. Should he leave bad alone rather than risk making it worse, or should he try to retrieve it with a bold attack? He was a brave man. He chose the latter, as Rathbone had been sure he would. Of course Geoffrey Taunton had been outside, as prospective witnesses always were, in case a previous testimony should color theirs, so he had no idea what had been said of him. Nor had he noticed Nanette Cuthbertson, now seated in the public gallery, her face tense, her body rigid as she strained to catch every word, at once dreading it, and yet unable to warn him in any way.
    “Mr. Taunton,” Lovat-Smith began, a note of confidence ringing in his voice to belie what Rathbone knew he felt. “You were well acquainted with Miss Barrymore and had been for many years,” he went on. “Had you any reason to know her feelings for Sir Herbert Stanhope? I would ask you not to speculate, but to tell us only what you observed for yourself, or what she told you.”
    “Of course,” Geoffrey agreed, smiling very slightly and perfectly confident. He was serenely unaware of the reason people were staring at him with such intensity, or why all the jurors looked but avoided his eyes. “Yes, I was aware for some years of her interest in medicine, and I was notsurprised when she chose to go to the Crimea to help our wounded men in the hospital at Scutari.” He rested his hands on the railing in front of him. He looked quite casual and fresh.
    “However, I admit it took me aback when she insisted in pursuing the course of working in the Royal Free Hospital in London. She was no longer needed in the same way. There are hundreds of other women perfectly able and willing to do the sort of work in which she was involved, and it was totally unsuited to a woman of her birth and background.”
    “Did you point that out to her and try to dissuade her?” Lovat-Smith asked.
    “I did more than that, I offered her marriage.” There was only the faintest touch of pink in his cheeks. “However, she was set upon her course.” His mouth tightened. “She had very unrealistic ideas about the practice of medicine, and I regret to say it of her, but she valued her own abilities quite out of proportion to any service she might have been able to perform. I think her experiences during the war gave her ideas that were impractical at home in peacetime. I believe she would have come to realize that, with good guidance.”
    “Your own guidance, Mr. Taunton?” Lovat-Smith said courteously, his blue eyes wide.
    “And that of her mother, yes,” Geoffrey agreed.
    “But you had not yet succeeded?”
    “No, I regret we had not.”
    “Do you have any knowledge as to why?”
    “Yes I do. Sir Herbert Stanhope encouraged her.” He shot a look of contempt at the dock.
    Sir Herbert stared at him quite calmly, not a shadow of guilt or evasion in his face.
    A juror smiled to himself. Rathbone saw it, and knew the elation of a small victory.
    “Are you quite sure?” Lovat-Smith asked. “That seems an extraordinary thing to do. He, of all people, must surely have known that she had no abilities and no chance whatever of acquiring any beyond those of an ordinary nurse: tofetch and carry, to empty slops, prepare poultices, to change linen and bandages.” He enumerated the points on his short strong hands, waving them with natural energy and expression. “To watch patients and call a doctor in case of distress, and to administer medicines as directed. What else could she conceivably do here in England? We have no field surgeries, no wagon loads of wounded.”
    “I have no idea,” Geoffrey said with acute distaste twisting his features. “But she told me quite unequivocally that he had said there was a future for her, with advancement.” Again the anger and disgust filled him as he glanced across at Sir Herbert.
    This time Sir Herbert winced and shook his head a little, as if, even bound to silence, he could not bear to let it pass undenied.
    “Did she speak of her personal feelings for Sir Herbert?” Lovat-Smith