William Monk 05 - The Sins of the Wolf

Her senses were filled with an incomprehensible roaring sound, without form or meaning. Was it people in the gallery talking to each other, or only the blood thundering through her veins, cutting her off from the sights and sounds plain to everyone else?
    In spite of all the promises to herself, her eyes searched the gallery for Monk’s hard, smooth face, and she found instead Henry Rathbone. He was looking at her, and although from that distance she could not see him clearly, in her mind’s eye his clear blue eyes had never been plainer, and the gentleness and the hurt for her brought a rush of emotion beyond her control. She knew him ridiculously little. She had had just a few moments with Oliver in his house on Primrose Hill, a quiet evening supper (overcooked because they were late), the summer evening in the garden, the starlit sky above the apple trees, the scent of honeysuckle on the lawn. It was all so familiar, so sweet, the pain of it almost intolerable. She wished she had not seen him, and yet she could not tear her eyes away.
    “Miss Latterly!”
    Argyll’s voice jerked her back to the present and to the proceedings that had at last begun.
    “Yes … sir?” This was her chance to speak for herself, the only chance she would be given between now and theverdict. She must be right. She could not afford a mistake of any sort, not a word, a look, a gesture that could be interpreted wrongly. She might live, or die, upon such tiny things.
    “Miss Latterly, why did you respond to Mr. Farraline’s advertisement for someone to accompany his mother from Edinburgh to London? It was a post of short duration, and far beneath your skill. Did it pay extraordinarily well? Or were you so greatly in need of funds that anything at all was welcome?”
    “No sir, I accepted it because I thought it would be interesting, and agreeable. I had never been to Scotland before, and all I had heard of it was in its praise.” She forced a wan smile at memory. “I had nursed many men from Scottish regiments, and formed a unique respect for them.”
    She felt the ripple of emotion through the room, but she was not sure if she understood it or not. There was no time to think about it now. She must concentrate on Argyll.
    “I see,” he said smoothly. “And the remuneration, was it good?”
    “It was generous, considering the lightness of the task,” she said honestly. “But it was perhaps balanced by the fact that in order to accept it, one would have to forgo other, possibly longer, engagements. It was not undue.”
    “Indeed. But you were not in grave need, were you?”
    “No. I had just completed a very satisfactory case with a patient who was well enough no longer to require nursing, and I had another post to go to a short time afterwards. It was ideal to take up the time between.”
    “We have only your word for that, Miss Latterly.”
    “It would be simple enough to check on it, sir. My patient—”
    He held up his hands and she stopped.
    “Yes, I have done so.” He turned to the judge. “There is a disposition for Miss Latterly’s past patient, my lord, and another from the lady who was expecting her, and who ofcourse has now had to employ someone else. I suggest that they be read into the evidence.”
    “Yes, yes, of course,” the judge conceded. “Proceed, if you please.”
    “Had you ever heard of the Farraline family, before the post?”
    “No sir.”
    “Did they receive you courteously?”
    “Yes sir.”
    Gradually, in precise detail, he led her through her day at the Farraline house, not mentioning any other members of the family except as they affected her movements. He asked about the dressing room when the lady’s maid was packing, had her describe everything she could recall, including the medicine chest, the vials she had been shown, and the exact instructions. The effort to remember kept her mind too occupied for fear to creep into her voice. It stayed submerged like a great wave, forever rolling, its great power never breaking and overwhelming her.
    Then he moved on to the journey on the train. Stumblingly, filled with sadness, her eyes focused on him, ignoring the rest of the room, she told him how she and Mary had talked, how she had recalled some of the journeys of her youth, the people, the laughter, the scenes, the things she had loved. She told him how she had been reluctant to end the evening, how only Oonagh’s warning about Mary’s lateness had made her at last insist. In a