William Monk 04 - A Sudden Fearful Death

it was all over. She might have scratched a hand or so, Of even once at the neck or face. But there was no blood in any of her fingernails, nor anything else, no other scratches or bruises on her. There was no fight. Whoever it was, she was not expecting it.”
    “Of course you are right, Inspector.” Hester concealed her triumph beneath humility and downcast eyes. Did Monk know there was no fight? It would be something to tell him that he might not have learned for himself. She refused to think of the human meaning of it.
    “If it was a woman,” Jeavis went on, brows drawn down. “It was a strong woman, one with powerful hands, like a good horse rider perhaps. It certainly wasn’t any fancy lady who never held anything bigger than a cake fork in her fingers. Mind, surprise counts for a lot. Brave, was she, Miss Barrymore?”
    Suddenly it was real again, Prudence’s death.
    “Yes—yes she was brave,” Hester said with a catch in her voice. She forced memories out of her mind: Prudence’s face in the lamplight, the surgeon’s saw in her hand. Prudence sitting up in bed in Scutari, studying medical papers by candlelight.
    “Hmm,” Jeavis said thoughtfully, unaware of her emotion. “Wonder why she never screamed. You’d think she would, wouldn’t you? Would you scream, Miss Latterly?”
    Hester blinked away sudden tears.
    “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I should feel so inadequate.”
    Jeavis’s eyes widened.
    “Bit foolish, that, isn’t it, miss? After all, if someone attacks you, you would be inadequate to defend yourself, wouldn’t you? Miss Barrymore was, right enough. Doesn’t seem there’s so much noise going on here that a good scream wouldn’t be heard.”
    “Then whoever attacked her was very quick,” Hester said sharply, angry with him for his words and for the dismissive tone of them. Her emotions were too raw, too close to the surface. “Which suggests someone strong,” she added unnecessarily.
    “Quite so,” he agreed. “Thank you for your cooperation, miss. She had an admirer when she was in the Crimea. That was really all I wished to know from you. You may continue in your duties.”
    “I wasn’t at my duties,” she said angrily. “I was asleep. I had been up with a patient all night.”
    “Oh, is that so.” A flicker of oblique humor lit his eyes for an instant. “I’m so glad I wasn’t taking you away from anything important.”
    Furious as she was, she liked him rather better for that than if he had become obsequious again.
    When she saw Monk the following day in Mecklenburg Square, with all its hideous memories of murder, guilt, and the unknown, there was a tense, oppressive heat, and she was glad of the shade of the trees. They were walking side by side, quite casually, he carrying a stick as if it were a stroll after luncheon, she in a plain blue muslin dress, its wide skirts trailing on the grass at the edge of the path. She had already told him of her encounter with Jeavis.
    “I knew Geoffrey Taunton was there,” he said when she had finished. “He admitted that himself. I suppose he knew he was seen—by nurses, if no one else.”
    “Oh.” She felt unreasonably crushed.
    “But it is most interesting that there were no marks on her except the bruises on her throat,” he went on. “I did not know that. Jeavis will give me nothing at all, which I suppose is natural. I wouldn’t, in his place. But apparently he didn’t tell Evan that either.” Unconsciously he quickened his pace, even though they were merely walking in circles around the edge of the square. “That means whoever did it was powerful. A weak person could not kill her without a struggle. And probably also someone she knew, and wasn’t expecting it from. Most interesting. It raises one most important question.”
    She refused to ask. Then quite suddenly she perceived it, and spoke even as the thought formed in her mind. “Was it premeditated? Did he, or she, go with the intention of killing her—or did it arise from something that Prudence said, without realizing what it meant, and thus precipitated a sudden attack with no warning?”
    He looked at her with surprise and sudden bright, grudging appreciation.
    “Precisely.” He swiped at a loose stone on the path with his stick, and missed. He swore, and caught it the second time, sending it twenty yards through the air.
    “Geoffrey Taunton?” she asked.
    “Less likely.” He caught another stone, more successfully this