William Monk 05 - The Sins of the Wolf

flying with the latestword, jostling each other, even knocking people over in their excitement. The judge had retired in considerable ill humor.
    A hundred things were on the edge of Rathbone’s tongue to say to Argyll. In the end he said none of them; each seemed too obvious when it came to the point, unnecessary, merely betraying his own fears.
    He had not thought himself hungry, and yet in the dining room of the inn he ate luncheon without even being aware of it. He looked down and found his plate empty.
    At last he could contain himself no longer.
    “Miss Nightingale this afternoon,” he said aloud.
    Argyll looked up, his fork still in his hand.
    “Aye,” he agreed. “A formidable woman from what I have seen of her—which is little enough, just a few brief words this morning. I confess, I am not sure how much to lead her and how much I should simply point her in the right direction and let her destroy Gilfeather, if he is rash enough to attack her.”
    “You must have her say something he will have to attack,” Rathbone said urgently, laying down his knife and fork. “He is too experienced to say anything to her unless you force him to. He will not leave her on the stand a moment longer than she has to be, unless you have her say something he cannot leave uncontested.”
    “Yes …” Argyll said thoughtfully, abandoning what little was left of his meal. “I think you are right. But what? She is not a material witness to anything here in Edinburgh. She has presumably never heard of the Farralines. She knows nothing of what happened. All she can testify is that Hester Latterly was a skilled and diligent nurse. Her sole value to us is her own reputation—the esteem in which she is held. Gilfeather will certainly not challenge that.”
    Rathbone thought wildly, his brain in a whirl. Florence Nightingale was not a woman to be manipulated into anything, not by Argyll, and not by Gilfeather. What possible thing was there she could say that was pertinent to the caseand which Gilfeather would have to challenge? Hester’s courage was not in doubt, nor her capability as a nurse.
    Then the beginning of an idea formed in his mind, just a shadow. Slowly, feeling for its shape, he explained it to Argyll, fumbling for words, then, as he saw Argyll’s eyes brighten, gathering confidence.
    By the time the court commenced its afternoon session, he was sitting behind Argyll, in precisely the same position as before, but feeling a spark of excitement, something which might even be mistaken for hope. But still he did not look at the gallery, and only once, for a moment, at Hester.
    “Call Florence Nightingale,” the usher’s voice boomed out, and there were gasps of indrawn breath around the room. A woman in the gallery screamed and stifled the sound with her hand clasped over her face.
    The judge banged his gavel. “I will have order in the court! Another outburst like that and I shall have the place cleared. Is that understood? This is a court of law, not a place of entertainment. Mr. Argyll, I hope this witness is relevant to the case, and not merely a piece of exhibitionism and an attempt to win some kind of public sympathy. If it is, I assure you it will fail. Miss Latterly is on trial here, and Miss Nightingale’s reputation is irrelevant!”
    Argyll bowed gravely and said nothing.
    Every eye was turned towards the doorway, necks were craned and bodies twisted to see as a slender, upright figure came in, crossed the floor without looking to right or left, and climbed the steps to the witness-box. She was not imposing. She was really quite ordinary looking, with brownish hair, straight and severely swept from her face, very level brows and regular features. The whole cast of her countenance was too determined to be pretty, and without the inner light and serenity which fires beauty. It was not an easy face; it was even a little frightening.
    She swore as to her name and place of residence in a firm and clear voice, and stood waiting for Argyll to begin.
    “Thank you for traveling this considerable distance andleaving your own most important work to testify in this case, Miss Nightingale,” he said gravely.
    “Justice is also important, sir,” she replied, staring very directly at him. “And in this instance, also a matter of life”—she hesitated—“and death.”
    “Quite so.”
    Rathbone had warned him passionately about the danger of patronizing her, or seeming in the slightest way to condescend