safe in our own houses at home. And if you are suggesting that Miss Nightingale, or any of her nurses, were army whores, then-”
There was a roar of anger from the gallery. One man rose to his feet and shook his fist at Gilfeather.
The judge banged his gavel furiously and was totally ignored.
Rathbone sank his head in his hands and slid farther down in his chair.
Argyll swiveled around and said something to him, his expression incredulous and accusing.
Henry Rathbone closed his eyes and offered up a silent prayer.
Gilfeather abandoned that line of attack altogether and tried another.
“How many men have you seen die, Miss Latterly?” he shouted above the general clamor.
“Silence!” the judge said furiously. “I will have order in court! Silence! Or I shall have the gallery cleared!”
The noise subsided almost immediately. No one wished to be removed.
“How many men, Miss Latterly?” Gilfeather repeated when the uproar had finally abated.
“You must answer,” the judge warned even before she had had time to speak.
“I don’t know. I never thought to count. Each one was a person, not a number.”
“But a great many?” Gilfeather persisted.
“Yes, I am afraid so.”
“So you are accustomed to death; it does not frighten you, or appall you, as it might most people?”
“All people who care for the sick become accustomed to death, sir. But one never ceases to grieve.”
“You are argumentative, madam! You lack the gentleness of manner and the delicacy, the humility, which is the chief ornament of your sex.”
“Perhaps,” she responded. “But you are trying to make people believe that I hold life cheaply, that I have somehow become inured to the death of others, and it is not true. I did not kill Mrs. Farraline, or anybody else. I am far more grieved by her loss than you are.”
“I do not believe you, madam. You have shown the court your mettle. You have no fear, no sense of decorum, no humility whatsoever. They are well able to judge you for a woman who will take from life what she wishes and defy anyone to prevent her. Poor Mary Farraline never had a chance once you had determined upon your course.”
Hester stared at him.
“That is all!” Gilfeather said impatiently, flicking his hand to dismiss her. “There is little edifying to the jury in listening to me ask question after question, and you standing there denying it. We may assume it as read. Do you wish to reexamine your witness, Mr Argyll?”
Argyll thanked him with more than a touch of sarcasm, and turned to Hester.
“Was Mrs. Farraline a pathetic little old lady, easily browbeaten, timid?”
“Not in the least,” Hester said with some relief. “She was quite the opposite: intelligent, articulate and very much in command. She had had a most interesting life, traveled a great deal and known some quite remarkable people and events.” She summoned the ghost of a smile. “She told me about dancing the night away at the great ball the night before the Battle of Waterloo. I found her brave, and wise, and funny… and… and I admired her.”
“Thank you, Miss Latterly. Yes, that is the opinion of her which I had formed myself. I imagine she also found you to be most worthy of her admiration. That is all I have to ask you. You may return to the dock for the time being.”
The judge adjourned the court. Newspaper reporters knocked each other over in their efforts to be first out of the door. The gallery erupted in noise, and the wardresses on both sides of Hester closed in on her and demanded that the cage be let down into the bowels of the building so that she might safely be locked up again before riot broke loose.
Monk walked the streets. Rathbone and Argyll sat up till long after midnight. Callandra sat with Henry Rathbone, and they talked of everything else they could imagine. And all of their thoughts were of nothing but Hester and what the morrow would bring.
Argyll rose to his feet.
“I call Hector Farraline to the stand.”
There was amazement in the gallery. Alastair rose to protest and was pulled back into his seat. It was useless, and Oonagh at least understood that. Alastair looked on in an agony of embarrassment.
Hector appeared and walked very slowly, his feet uncertain, his eyes wandering. He crossed the floor to the foot of the stairs up to the box.
“Do you need assistance, Mr. Farraline?” the judge inquired.
“Assistance?” Hector said with a frown. “What for?”
“To mount the steps, sir. Are you well?”
“Quite well, sir. And you?”
“Then take your place, sir, to be sworn in.” The judge looked at Argyll with acute disfavor. “I presume this is necessary, sir?”
“It is,” Argyll assured him.
“Very well, get on with it!”
Hector climbed the steps, was sworn in, and waited for Argyll to begin.
Gilfeather was watching intently.
“Major Farraline,” Argyll said courteously. “Were you in the house when Miss Latterly first arrived?”
“What? Oh… yes. Of course I was. I live there.”
“Did you see her arrive?”
Gilfeather rose. “My lord, Miss Latterly’s arrival is not in dispute. Surely this is irrelevant, and wasting the court’s time.”
The judge looked at Argyll, his eyebrows raised.
“I am coming to the point, my lord, if my learned friend will permit me,” Argyll replied.
“Then be a little more rapid, if you please,” the judge ordered.
“My lord. Major Farraline, did you see Miss Latterly moving about the house on that day?”
Hector looked confused. “Moving about? What do you mean… going up and down stairs, that sort of thing?”
Gilfeather rose again. “My lord, this witness is obviously not… not well! He is not competent to tell us anything of value. Of course Miss Latterly moved about the house. She could hardly have remained and not been seen the entire day. My learned friend is wasting time.”
“It is you who are wasting time,” Argyll countered. “I could get to my point a great deal faster if I were not constantly interrupted.”
“Get to it now, sir,” the judge commanded. “Before I also lose my patience. I am inclined to agree that Major Farraline is not in sufficient command of himself to offer anything of use.”
Argyll gritted his teeth.
Rathbone was leaning forward again, his hands clenched.
“Major Farraline,” Argyll resumed. “Did you meet with Miss Latterly alone, in the hallway, on that day, and have some conversation with her about the Farraline family business and its wealth?”
“What?”
“Oh really!” Gilfeather exploded.
“Yes,” Hector said with a moment of clarity. “Yes. On the stairs, as I recall. Spoke to her for several moments. Nice girl. Liked her. Pity.”
“Did you tell her that there had been money embezzled from the company books?”
Hector stared at him as if he had been bitten.
“No-no, of course not.” Then his eyes wandered away from Argyll and across to the gallery. He found Oonagh, and looked at her imploringly. She was pale-faced, her eyes wide.
“Major Farraline,” Argyll said firmly.
“My lord, this is inexcusable,” Gilfeather protested.
Argyll ignored him.
“Major Farraline, you are an officer of one of Her Majesty’s most renowned and battle-honored regiments.
