William Monk 04 - A Sudden Fearful Death

doubtful.”
    She sighed. “I wish it were William Monk.”
    “The detective who went into private work?” There was a flash of humor across his face, so quick she barely caught it.
    “He would have had …” She stopped, unsure what she meant. No one could say that Monk was sensitive. He was as ruthless as a juggernaut.
    Kristian was waiting, trying to read her meaning.
    She smiled at him. “Imagination, intelligence,” she said, knowing that was still not quite what she meant. “The perception to see beyond the obvious,” she went on. “And no one would have fobbed him off with a suitable answer if it was not the truth.”
    “You have a high regard for him,” Kristian observed, his dry rueful smile returning. “Let us hope Mr. Jeavis is as gifted.” He looked back at the basket. There was an unwashed sheet now folded over to cover the dead face. “Poor woman,” he said very gently. “She was a good nurse, you know; in fact, I think she was the best here. What a ridiculous tragedy that she should come all through the campaigns in the Crimea, the danger and the disease, and the ocean voyages, to die at the hands of some criminal in a London hospital.” He shook his head and there was a terrible sadness in his face. “Why would anyone want to kill such a woman?”
    “Why indeed?” Jeavis had arrived without either of them being aware of him. “You knew her, Dr. Beck?”
    Kristian looked startled. “Of course.” His voice rose with irritation. “She was a nurse here. We all knew her.”
    “But you knew her personally?” Jeavis persisted, his dark eyes fixed almost accusingly on Kristian’s face.
    “If you mean did I know her outside her duties here in the hospital, no I did not,” Kristian answered, his expression narrowing.
    Jeavis grunted and moved over to the laundry basket. With delicate fingers he picked up the sheet and pulled it back. He looked at the dead woman. Callandra looked at her again carefully.
    Prudence Barrymore had been in her early thirties, a very tall woman, slender. Perhaps in life she had been elegant; now with the awkwardness of death, there was no grace in her at all. She lay with arms and legs sprawled, one foot poking up, her skirts fallen back to reveal a long shapely leg. Her face was ashen now, but even with the blood coursing she must have been pale-skinned. Her hair was medium brown, her brows level and delicately marked, her mouth wide and sensitive. It was a passionate face, individual, full of humor and strength.
    Callandra could remember her vividly, even though they had always met hastily, and about their separate duties. But Prudence Barrymore had been a reformer with a burning zeal, and few people in the hospital had been unaware of her. Not many were as interesting alive as she had been, and it seemed a vicious mockery that she should be lying here emptied of all that had made her vivid and special, nothing left but a vacated shell beyond feeling or awareness, and yet looking so terribly vulnerable.
    “Cover her up,” Callandra said instinctively.
    “In a moment, ma’am.” Jeavis held up his arm as if to prevent Callandra from doing it herself. “In a moment. Strangled, you said? Yes indeed. Looks like it. Poor creature.” He stared at the deep-colored marks on her neck. It was horribly easy to imagine them as fingerprints of someone pressing harder and harder until there was no air left, no breath, no life.
    “A nurse, was she?” Jeavis was looking at Kristian. “Work with you, did she, Doctor?”
    “Sometimes,” Kristian agreed. “She worked more often with Sir Herbert Stanhope, especially on his more difficult cases. She was an excellent nurse, and to the best of my belief, a fine woman. I never heard anyone speak ill of her.”
    Jeavis stood motionless, his dark eyes beneath their pale brows fixed on Kristian.
    “Most interesting. What made you look in the laundry chute, Doctor?”
    “It was blocked,” Kristian replied. “Two of the nurses were having trouble trying to put soiled sheets down, and unable to get them to go all the way. Lady Callandra and I went to their assistance.”
    “I see. And how did you dislodge the body?”
    “We sent one of the skivvies who works here, a child of about thirteen. She slid down the chute and her weight moved the body.”
    “Very efficient,” Jeavis said dryly. “If a little hard on the child. Still, I suppose working in a hospital she’s seen many dead bodies before.” His sharp nose