William Monk 04 - A Sudden Fearful Death

her skirts.”
    “Ah.” The man’s face lightened. “I think I may know the young lady you mean. Would she by any chance have been interested in medical books and papers? A most remarkable person, most serious-minded. Always very pleasant, she was, except to those who interrupted her unnecessarily and made light of her intention.” He nodded quickly. “I do recall her being very brisk indeed with a young gentleman who was rather persistent in his attentions, shall we say?”
    “That would be she.” Monk felt a sudden elation. “She studied medical texts, you say?”
    “Oh indeed yes; most diligent, she was. A very serious person.” He looked up at Monk. “A trifle daunting, if you know what I mean, that a young lady should be so intent. I assumed, perhaps incorrectly, that someone in her family suffered a disease and she thought to learn as much of it as possible.” His face fell. “Now it seems I was wrong and it was she herself. I am most deeply sorry. For all her solemnity, I rather took to her.” He said it with a slight air of apology, as if it needed some explaining. “There was something in her that … oh well. I am very sorry to know it. How may I help you, sir? I have no recollection of what she read now, I am afraid. But perhaps I can look. It was very general …”
    “No—no, that is not necessary, thank you,” Monk declined.He had what he wished. “You have been most generous. Thank you, sir, for your time and your courtesy. Good day to you.”
    “Good day, Mr. er—good day, sir.”
    And Monk left with more knowledge than when he went in but no wiser, and with a feeling of success which had no basis at all in fact.
    Hester also observed Callandra, but with a woman’s eye and a far greater and more subtle sensitivity as to the cause of her distress. Only something deeply personal could trouble her so much. She could not be afraid for herself, surely? Jeavis would not suspect her of having murdered Prudence; she had no possible reason. And Monk had made no secret that it was Callandra who had hired him to investigate further.
    Could it be that she knew, or thought she knew, who the murderer was, and feared for her own safety? It seemed unlikely. If she knew something, surely she would have told Monk immediately and taken steps to guard herself.
    Hester was still turning over unsatisfactory possibilities in her mind when she was sent for to assist Kristian Beck. Mr. Prendergast was recovering well and no longer required her presence through the night. She was tired from too little sleep, the uncertainty of not being able to rest until she woke naturally.
    Kristian Beck said nothing, but she knew from the occasional expression in his eyes that he was aware how weary she was, and he merely smiled at her occasional hesitations. He did not even criticize her when she dropped an instrument and had to reach down and pick it up, wipe it clean and then pass it to him.
    When they were finished she was embarrassed at her ineptitude and eager to leave, but she could not forsake the opportunity to observe him further. He also was tired, and he was far too intelligent to be unaware of Jeavis’s suspicions of him. It is at such times that people betray themselves:feelings are too raw to hide and there is no strength for the extra guard upon thought.
    “I do not hold a great deal of hope for him,” Kristian said to her quietly, regarding the patient. “But we have done all we can.”
    “Do you wish me to sit up with him?” she asked out of duty. She was dreading his reply.
    But she need not have been worried. He smiled—a brief, illuminating, and gentle gesture. “No. No, Mrs. Flaherty will assign someone. You should sleep.”
    “But—”
    “You must learn to let go, Miss Latterly.” He shook his head very slightly. “If you do not, you will exhaust yourself—and then whom can you help? Surely the Crimea taught you that the first rule of caring for others is that you must maintain your own strength, and that if you come to the limit of your own resources your judgment will be affected.” His eyes did not leave her face. “And the sick deserve the best you can give. Neither skill nor compassion are enough; you must also have wisdom.”
    “Of course you are right,” she agreed. “Perhaps I was losing my sense of proportion.”
    A flash of humor crossed his face. “It is not hard to do. Come.” And he led the way out of the theater, holding the door open for her. They were in