William Monk 04 - A Sudden Fearful Death

of your mother’s perceptions of it. Was she not concerned for Prudence? Even terrified for her?”
    “She was afraid—yes.”
    “And was she also afraid of what she might experience when close to the battlefield—or in the hospital itself? What if the Russians had prevailed? What would have happened to Prudence then?”
    A ghost of a smile crossed Faith Barker’s face.
    “I don’t think Mama ever considered the possibility of the Russians prevailing,” she said quietly. “Mama believes we are invincible.”
    There was a murmur of amusement around the room, even an answering smile on Hardie’s face, but it died away instantly.
    Lovat-Smith bit his lip. “Possibly,” he said with a little shake of his head. “Possibly. A nice thought, but perhaps not very realistic.”
    “You asked for her feelings, sir, not the reality of it.”
    There was another titter of laughter, vanishing into silence like a stone dropped into still water.
    “Nevertheless,” Lovat-Smith took up the thread again, “was your mother not gravely worried for her, even frightened?”
    “Yes.”
    “And you yourself? Were you not frightened for her? Did you not lie awake visualizing what might happen to her, dreading the unknown?”
    “Yes.”
    “Your distress did not deter her?”
    “No,” she said, for the first time a marked reluctance in her voice.
    Lovat-Smith’s eyes widened. “So physical obstacles, personal danger, even extreme danger, official objections and difficulties, her family’s fear and anxiety and emotional pain, none of these deterred her? She would seem to have a ruthless streak in her, would she not?”
    Faith Barker hesitated.
    There was a fidgeting in the crowd, an unhappy restlessness.
    “Mrs. Barker?” Lovat-Smith prompted.
    “I don’t care for the word
ruthless.”
    “It is not always an attractive quality, Mrs. Barker,” he agreed. “And that same strength and drive which took her to the Crimea, against all odds, and preserved her there amidst fearful carnage, daily seeing the death of fine bravemen, may in peacetime have become something less easy to understand or admire.”
    “But I—”
    “Of course.” Again he interrupted her before she could speak. “She was your sister. You do not wish to think such things of her. But I find it unanswerable nevertheless. Thank you. I have no further questions.”
    Rathbone rose again. There was total silence in the court. Even on the public benches no one moved. There was no rustle of fabric, no squeak of boots, no scratching of pencils.
    “Mrs. Barker, Prudence went to the Crimea regardless of your mother’s anxieties, or yours. You have not made it plain whether she forced or coerced you in any way, or simply told you, quite pleasantly, that she wished to do this and would not be dissuaded.”
    “Oh the latter, sir, quite definitely,” Faith said quickly. “We had no power to prevent her anyway.”
    “Did she try to persuade you of her reasons?”
    “Yes, of course she did—she believed it was the right thing to do. She wished to give her life in service to the sick and injured. The cost to herself was of no account.” Suddenly grief filled her face again. “She frequently said that she would rather die in the course of doing something fine than live to be eighty doing nothing but being comfortable—and dying of uselessness inside.”
    “That does not sound particularly ruthless to me,” Rathbone said very gently. “Tell me, Mrs. Barker, do you believe it is within the nature of the woman, and even my learned friend agrees you knew her well, to have attempted to blackmail a man into marrying her?”
    “It is quite impossible,” she said vehemently. “It is not only of a meanness and small-mindedness totally at odds with all her character—it is also quite stupid. And whatever you believe of her, no one has suggested she was that.”
    “No one indeed,” Rathbone agreed. “Thank you, Mrs. Barker. That is all.”
    Judge Hardie leaned forward.
    “It is growing late, Mr. Rathbone. We will hear your final arguments on Monday. Court is adjourned.”
    All around the room there was a sigh of tension released, the sound of fabric whispering as people relaxed, and then immediately after a scramble as journalists struggled to be the first out, free to head for the street and the hasty ride to their newspapers.
    Oliver Rathbone was unaware of it, but Hester had been in the court for the last three hours of the afternoon, and had heard