William Monk 04 - A Sudden Fearful Death

colleagues, even when your mind is upon your profession.”
    This was so patently true that Lovat-Smith could not deny it. He hesitated a moment as if some argument were on the tip of his tongue, then abandoned it.
    “None of them is accused of murder, Dr. Beck,” he said with a gesture of resignation and vague half-rueful amusement. “That is all I have to ask you, thank you.”
    Hardie glanced at Rathbone.
    Rathbone shook his head.
    Kristian Beck left the witness stand and disappeared into the body of the court, leaving Rathbone uncertain whether he had just had a fortunate escape from making a fool of himself, or if he had just missed a profound opportunity he would not get again.
    Lovat-Smith looked across at him, the light catching in his brilliant eyes, making his expression unreadable.
    The following day Rathbone called Lady Stanhope, not that he expected her evidence to add anything of substance. Certainly she knew no facts germane to the case, but her presence would counter the emotional impact made by Mrs. Barrymore. Lady Stanhope also stood to lose not only her husband to a ghastly death, but her family to scandal and shame—and in all probability her home to a sudden and almost certainly permanent poverty and isolation.
    She mounted the stand with a little assistance from the clerk and faced Rathbone nervously. She was very pale and seemed to keep her posture only with difficulty. But she did stop and quite deliberately look up and across at her husband in the dock, meet his eyes, and smile.
    Sir Herbert blinked, gave an answering smile, and then looked away. One could only guess his emotions.
    Rathbone waited, giving the jury time to observe and remember, then he stepped forward and spoke to her courteously, very gently.
    “Lady Stanhope, I apologize for having to call you to testify at what must be a most distressing time for you, but I am sure you would wish to do everything possible to assist your husband to prove his innocence.”
    She swallowed, staring at him.
    “Of course. Anything …” She stopped, obviously also remembering his instruction not to say more than she was asked for.
    He smiled at her. “Thank you. I don’t have a great deal to ask you, simply a little about Sir Herbert and your knowledge of his life and his character.”
    She looked at him blankly, not knowing what to say.
    This was going to be extremely difficult. He must steer a course between catering to her so much he learned nothing and being so forceful he frightened her into incoherence. He had thought when he had originally spoken to her that she would be an excellent witness, now he was wondering if he had made an error in calling her. But if he had not, her absence would have been noticed and wondered upon.
    “Lady Stanhope, how long have you been married to Sir Herbert?”
    “Twenty-three years,” she replied.
    “And you have children?”
    “Yes, we have seven children, three daughters and four sons.” She was beginning to gain a little more confidence. She was on familiar ground.
    “Remember you are on oath, Lady Stanhope,” he warnedgently, not for her but to draw the jury’s attention, “and must answer honestly, even if it is painful to you. Have you ever had cause to doubt Sir Herbert’s complete loyalty to you during that time?”
    She looked a little taken aback, even though he had previously ascertained that her answer would be in the negative or he would not have asked.
    “No, most certainly not!” She flushed faintly and looked down at her hands. “I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me. I am quite aware that many women are not so fortunate. But no, he has never given me cause for distress or anxiety in that way.” She took a breath and smiled very slightly, looking at Rathbone. “You must understand, he is devoted to his profession. He is not a great deal interested in personal affection of that sort. He loves his family, he likes to be comfortable with people, to be able, if you understand what I mean, to take them for granted.” She smiled apologetically, looking steadily at Rathbone and keeping her eyes from everyone else. “I suppose you might say that is lazy, in a sort of way, but he puts all his energy into his work. He has saved the lives of so many people—and surely that is more important than making polite conversation, flattering people and playing little games of etiquette and manners? Isn’t it?” She was asking him for reassurance, and already he was conscious of