“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 out of 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. 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 the verdict. 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 of course 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. Stum-blingly, 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
