William Monk 05 - The Sins of the Wolf

Gilfeather protested, but she barely heard him.
    “You have your sight, sir, and your limbs. Have you seen a man with his legs shot away? Do you know how quickly one must act to stop him hemorrhaging to death? Could you find the arteries in all that blood and save him? Would your nerve hold you, and your stomach?”
    “Madam—” Gilfeather tried again.
    “I am sure you are master of your profession,” she swept on, not leaning forward over the railing as another might have, but standing stiff and straight, head high. “But how often do you work all day and all night for days on end? Or do you return home to a nice soft bed—one that is warm enough, and in which you may lie safely until the morning? Have you lain on a canvas sheet on the earth, too cold to sleep, listening to the groans of those in agony, and hearing in your memory the rattle of the dying, and knowing tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow there will always be more, and all you can do will only ease it a little, a very little!”
    There was utter silence in the court.
    The judge waved his hands at Gilfeather.
    Gilfeather shrugged.
    “And when you are ill, sir, vomiting and with a flux you cannot control, is there someone to hold a bowl for you, wash you clean, bring you a little fresh water, change your sheets? I hope you are suitably grateful, sir—because, dear God, there are so many for whom there is not, because there are too few of us willing to do it, or with the heart and the stomach for it! Yes, Hester Latterly is an extraordinary woman, molded by circumstances beyond most people to imagine. Yes, she is headstrong, at times arrogant, capable of making decisions that would quail many a heart less brave, less passionate, less moved by intolerable pity.” She barely took a breath. “And before you ask me, I can believe she would kill to save her own life, or that of a patient in her charge. I would prefer not to think she would kill outof revenge, no matter how gross or intolerable the wrong, but I would not swear to it on oath.” Now at last she did lean forward, facing Gilfeather with a burning eye. “But I would take my oath before God, she would not poison a patient for gain of a paltry piece of jewelry and then give it back unasked. If you believe that, sir, you are a lesser judge of mankind than you have a right to be and hold the calling you do.”
    Gilfeather opened his mouth, then closed it again. He was well beaten and he knew it. He had provoked a force of nature, and the storm had broken over him.
    “I have no more questions,” he said grimly. “Thank you, Miss Nightingale.”
    Rathbone had been staring at her.
    “Go and help her,” he hissed at Argyll.
    “What?”
    “Assist her!” Rathbone said fiercely. “Look at her, man!”
    “But, she’s …” Argyll began.
    “Strong! No she’s not! Get on with it!”
    The sheer fury of Rathbone’s voice impelled him to his feet. He plunged forward just as Florence reached the bottom of the steps and all but collapsed.
    In the gallery people craned forward anxiously. One man rose as if to leave his place.
    “Allow me, madam,” Argyll said, grasping Florence’s arm and holding her up. “I feel you have exhausted yourself on our behalf.”
    “It is nothing,” she said, but she clung to him all the same, allowing him to take a remarkable amount of her weight. “Merely a little breathlessness. Perhaps I am not as well as I had imagined.”
    Quite slowly he escorted her, without asking the court’s permission, as far as the doors out, every man and woman in the room watching him with bated breath, and then amid a sigh of approval and respect, he returned to his place.
    “Thank you, my lord,” he said solemnly to the judge. “The defense next calls the prisoner, Miss Hester Latterly.”
    “It is growing late,” the judge said sharply, his face creased with ill-suppressed rage. “The court will adjourn for today. You may call your witness tomorrow, Mr. Argyll.” And he slammed down the gavel as if he would break the shaft of it in his hand.
    Hester climbed the steps of the witness-box and turned to face the court. She had slept little, and the few moments she had had were fraught with nightmares, and now that the moment had come, it seemed unreal. She could feel the railing beneath her hands, the wood of it smoothed by a thousand other clenched fingers and white knuckles; the judge with his narrow face and deep-set eyes seemed the figment of yet another nightmare.