William Monk 04 - A Sudden Fearful Death

stammered.
    “For God’s sake!” She leaned over the witness stand railing, her face twisted with fury. “You know he killed her!You just have to go through this charade because you are supposed to defend him. Get on with it! Get it done!”
    Rathbone turned to her very slightly, then away again to look up at Sir Herbert in the dock.
    His face was gray, his mouth slack with disbelief, his eyes bright with sick panic.
    There was only the faintest, thinnest flicker of hope. Very slowly he turned from Rathbone to the jury. He looked at one, then another, then another, right to the last. Then he knew it was defeat … final and absolute.
    There was silence in the room. Not even a pencil moved.
    Philomena Stanhope looked up at the dock steadily, and there was something in her face very close to pity.
    Lovat-Smith held out his hand to Rathbone, his face burning with admiration.
    In the public benches Hester turned to Monk, afraid of the triumph she would see in his eyes. But it was not there. It was not a victory they had achieved, only the conclusion of a tragedy, and some measure of justice, at least for Prudence Barrymore and those who had loved her.

Available in bookstores everywhere!
    THE SINS
OF THE WOL An Inspector William Monk Novel
    by Anne Perry
    Please read on for a
compelling excerpt from
THE SINS OF THE WOLF
by Anne Perry….
    Published by Ivy Books.
Available at your local bookstore.

H
ESTER’S FIRST FEELING
was one of profound loss. Long ago she might have had an initial moment of rejecting the fact altogether, refusing to believe Mary was dead, but she had seen too much death not to recognize it, even when it was completely without warning. Last night Mary had seemed in excellent health and buoyant spirits, and yet she must have died quite early in the night. Her body was cold to the touch, and such stiffness took from four to six hours to achieve.
    Hester pulled the blanket up over her, gently covering her face, and then stood back. The train was moving more slowly now, and there were houses in the gray, early morning beyond the rain-streaked windows.
    Then the next emotion came: guilt. Mary had been her patient, entrusted to her care, and after only a few hours she was dead. Why? What had she done so badly? What had she bungled, or forgotten, that Mary had died without even a sound, no cry, no gasp, no struggle for breath? Or perhaps there had been, only Hester had been too soundly asleep to hear, and the clatter of the train had masked it.
    She could not just continue to stand there, staring at the motionless form under the rug. She must tell the authorities, beginning with the conductor and the guard. Then of coursewhen they reached the station there would be the station-master, and possibly the police. After that, infinitely worse, she would have to tell Griselda Murdoch. The thought of that made her feel a little sick.
    Better begin. Standing there would not help anything, and the contemplation of it was only adding to the hurt. Feeling numb she went to the compartment entranceway, in her awkwardness banging her elbow on the wooden partition. She was cold and stiff with tension. It hurt more than it would have normally, but she had no time for pain. Which way to go? Either. It made no difference. Just do something, don’t stand undecided. She went left, towards the front of the train.
    “Conductor! Conductor! Where are you?”
    A military man with a mustache peered around a corner and stared at her. He drew breath to speak, but she had rushed on.
    “Conductor!”
    A very thin woman with gray hair looked at her sharply.
    “Goodness, girl, whatever is the matter? Must you make so much noise?”
    “Have you seen the conductor?” Hester demanded breathlessly.
    “No I haven’t. But for heaven’s sake lower your voice.” And without further comment she withdrew into her compartment.
    “Can I help you, miss?”
    She spun around. It was the conductor at last, his bland face unsuspecting of the trouble she was about to impart. Perhaps he was used to hysterical female passengers. She made an effort to keep her voice calm and under some control.
    “I am afraid something very serious has happened….” Why was she shaking so much? She had seen hundreds of dead bodies before.
    “Yes, miss. What would that be?” He was still quite unmoved, merely politely interested.
    “I am afraid Mrs. Farraline, the lady with whom I was traveling, has died in the night.”
    “Probably just asleep, miss.