there is such an easy way, without any risk to yourself, to get rid of her and at the same time make her suffer!'
He grunted. 'You have a concise and logical mind. Which is useful-but unattractive. I wonder if she was the same? What about the nurses? Would they have disliked her equally?'
She felt hurt, which was ridiculous. She already knew he liked women to be feminine, vulnerable, and mysterious. She remembered how he had been charmed by Imogen, her sister-in-law. Although as she knew very well, under Imogen's gentle manner mere was no foolish or yielding woman, just one who knew how to comport herself with grace and allure. That was an art she was devoid of, and at this moment its absence was stupidly painful.
'Well?' he demanded. 'You've seen them at work, you must have an idea.'
'Some of them worshiped her,' she said swiftly, her chin held high, her step more determined. 'Others, fairly naturally, were jealous. You cannot succeed without running into risk of jealousy. You should know that!'
'Jealous enough to call it hatred?' He was being logical, unaware of any feelings.
'Possibly,' she said, equally reasonably. 'There is a very strong large woman called Dora Parsons who certainly loathed her. Whether it was enough to have killed her, I have no idea. Seems extreme-unless there was some specific issue.'
'Had Prudence the power to have this woman dismissed if she were incompetent, or drunk-or if she stole?' He looked at her hopefully.
'I imagine so.' She picked up her skirts delicately as they passed a patch of long grass by the path. 'Prudence worked closely with Sir Herbert. He spoke very highly of her to me. I imagine he would take her word for such a thing.' She let her skirts fall again. 'Certainly Dora Parsons is the sort of woman who could be very easily replaced. There are thousands like her in London.'
'And very few indeed like Prudence Barrymore,' he finished the thought. 'And presumably several more like Dora Parsons even within the Royal Free Hospital. So that thought is hardly conclusive.'
They walked in silence for a while, absorbed in then-own thoughts. They passed a man with a dog, and two small boys, one with a hoop, the other with a spinning top on a string, looking for a level place in the path to pull it. A young woman looked Monk up and down admiringly; her escort sulked. At length it was Hester who spoke.
'Have you learned anything?'
'What?'
'Have you learned anything?' she repeated. 'You must have been doing something over the last week. What is the result?'
Suddenly he grinned broadly, as if the interrogation amused him.
'I suppose you have as much right to know as I,' he conceded. 'I have been looking into Mr. Geoffrey Taunton and Miss Nanette Cuthbertson. She is a more determined young woman than I first supposed. And she seems to have had the most powerful motive of all for wishing to be rid of Prudence. Prudence stood between her and love, respectability, and the family status she wishes for more than anything else. Time is growing short for her-very short.' They had momentarily stopped under the trees and he put his hands in his pockets. 'She is twenty-eight, even though she is still remarkably pretty. I imagine panic may be rising inside her-enough to do violence. If only I could work out how she achieved it,' he said thoughtfully. 'She is not as tall as Prudence by some two inches, and of slight build. And even with her head in the academic clouds, Prudence cannot surely have been so insensitive as to have been unaware of Nanette's emotions.'
Hester wanted to snap back that twenty-eight was hardly ancient-and of course she was still pretty. And might well remain so for another twenty years-or more. But she felt a ridiculous tightening in her throat, and found the words remained unspoken. It hardly mattered if twenty-eight were old or not-if it seemed old to him. You cannot argue someone out of such a view.
'Hester?' He frowned at her.
Hester stared straight ahead and began walking again.
'She might have been,' she replied briskly. 'Perhaps she valued people for their worth-their humor, or courage, integrity, their intelligence, compassion, good companionship, imagination, honor, any of a dozen things that don't suddenly cease the day you turn thirty.'
'For Heaven's sake, don't be so idiotic,' he said in amazement, striding along beside her. 'We're not talking about worth. We're talking about Nanette Cuthbertson being in love and wanting to marry Geoffrey Taunton and have a family. That's got nothing to do with intelligence or courage or humor. What's the matter with you? Stop walking so fast or you'll fall over something! She wants children-not a halo. She's a perfectly ordinary woman. I would have thought Prudence would have had sufficient wit to see that. But talking to you-perhaps she wouldn't. You don't seem to have.'
Hester opened her mouth to argue, but there was no logical answer, and she found herself at a loss for words.
He strode on in silence, still swiping occasionally at the odd stone on the path.
'Is that all you've done?' she said finally.
'What?'
'Discover that Nanette had a good motive, but no means, so far as you can find out.'
'No of course it isn't.' He hit another stone. 'I've looked into Prudence's past, her nursing skills, her war record, anything I can think of. It's all very interesting, very admirable, but none of it suggests a specific motive for murdering her-or anyone who might have wished to. I am somewhat hampered by not having any authority.'
'Well whose fault is that?' she said sharply, then immediately wished she had not, but was damned if she was going to apologize.
They walked for a further hundred yards in silence until they were back at Doughty Street, where she excused herself, pointing out that she'd had very little sleep and would be required to sit up all night with Mr. Prendergast again. They parted coolly, she back to the hospital, he she knew not where.
Chapter 7
Everything that Monk had learned about Prudence Barrymore showed a passionate, intelligent, single-minded woman bent on caring for the sick to the exclusion of all else. While exciting his admiration, she had almost certainly not been an easy woman to know, either as a friend or as a member of one's family. No one had mentioned whether or not she had the least sense of humor. Humor was at times Hester's saving grace. No, that was not entirely true: he would never forget her courage, her will to fight for him, even when it seemed the battle was pointless and he not worth anyone's effort. But she could still be insufferable to spend time with.
He was walking along the street under a leaden, gray sky. Any moment there would be a summer downpour. It would drench the pedestrians, bounce off the busy thoroughfare, washing horse droppings into the gutter and sending the water swirling in huge puddles across the street. Even the wind smelled heavy and wet.
He was in the Gray's Inn Road going toward the hospital with the intention of seeing Evan again to ask him more about Prudence Barrymore's character, if he were willing to share any information. And in conscience, he might not be. Monk disliked having to ask him. In Jeavis's place he would not have told anyone else, and would verbally have flayed a junior who did.
And yet he did not think Jeavis's ability equal to this case, which was an opinion for which he had no grounds. He knew his own successes since the accident, and some of them were precarious enough and owed much to the help of others, especially Hester. As to cases before the accident, he had only written records on which to rely. They all pointed to his brilliance, anger at injustice, impatience with hesitation or timidity, and gave little credit to anyone else. But since they were largely in his own handwriting, how accurate were they?
What was the memory that had teased at the edge of his mind during the train journey back from Little Ealing? He and Runcorn had been on a case together a long time ago, when Monk was new to the force. He had struggled to recapture something more, any clue as to what the case had been, but nothing came, only a sense of anger, a deep, white-hot rage that was like a shield against-against what?
It was beginning to rain, huge warm drops falling faster and faster. Somewhere far away, audible even above the clatter of wheels, came the rumble of thunder. A man hurried past him, fumbling to open up his black umbrella.
