A Funeral In Blue

“Good,” she responded. “I am sure your judgment is excellent. It always has been. You have never allowed an incompetent man to practice here.”

“Ah . . . well . . .” He was not sure whether to mention Kristian or not, to argue with her and let himself down, or agree with her and box himself into a corner of approving Kristian, even implicitly. “Yes,” he finished. “My task . . . my . . .”

“Responsibility,” she finished for him. “The reputation of the Hampstead Hospital rests largely upon the excellence of our doctors.”

“Of course,” he agreed, moving around behind his desk and waiting until she had taken the seat opposite, then he sat down also. “And, of course, discipline and organization, and the highest moral standards.” He emphasized the word moral with a very slight smile.

She inclined her head, too angry for a moment to control her voice. She breathed in and out, telling herself that Kristian’s life might depend upon this. What was her pride worth? Nothing! Nothing at all. “Yes,” she agreed. “That is one of our highest assets. We must do everything we can to see that it is not taken from us. The damage that could do would be tragic, and perhaps irretrievable.” She saw the shadow in his eyes and felt a tiny lift of confidence. “It is our duty . . . well, yours. I do not wish to presume, but I would offer all the assistance I can.”

Now he was confused, uncertain what she meant. “Thank you, but I am not at all sure what you could do. We are about to suffer a very serious blow, if Dr. Beck is found guilty, and it looks as if that is now inevitable.” He ironed out the satisfaction from his face and composed it into lines of suitable gravity. “Of course, we must hope it is not so. But if it is, Lady Callandra, for the sake of the hospital, which is our principal responsibility, regardless of our personal distress or the loyalties we would wish to honor, we must act wisely.”

The words nearly choked her, but she said them steadily, as if she meant it. “That is exactly my point, Mr. Thorpe. We must do all we can to preserve the reputation of the hospital, which, as you say, is more important than any of our individual likes or affections.” She did not say “dislikes,” still less “jealousies.” “We must be aware hour by hour of exactly what the evidence is, and do all we can to make sure we respond the best way possible—for our reputation’s sake.”

It was clear in his face that he did not know what she meant, and the possibility that he might make a wrong judgment made him distinctly uneasy. “Yes . . . yes, of course we must be . . . right,” he said awkwardly. “We would not wish to be misunderstood.”

She smiled at his puzzled expression as if he had been totally lucid. “I know how extremely busy you must be in these appalling circumstances, with decisions to make, more doctors to interview. Would you like me to attend the court on behalf of the Hospital Governors, and keep you informed?” She could feel her heart beating as the seconds passed while he weighed the repercussions of his answer. What did he want? What was safe? Could he trust her? The hospital’s reputation was inextricably bound with his own.

She dared not prompt him.

“Well . . .” He breathed out slowly, staring at her, trying to gauge what she wanted and why.

“I would not speak on the hospital’s behalf, of course,” she said, hoping it was not too subservient. Would he suspect her meekness? “Except as you directed me. I think extreme discretion is the best role at the moment.” It was a promise she had no intention of keeping if Kristian’s freedom or his life hung in the balance. She gave the lie no thought now.

“Yes, I . . . I think it would be wise for me to be as fully informed as possible,” he agreed cautiously. “If you would report to me, that would save me a great deal of time. Forewarned is forearmed. Thank you, Lady Callandra. Most dutiful of you.” He made as if to rise, in order to signify to her that the interview was over.

She stood up, taking the cue so that he did not appear to have hurried her, and she saw the flash of satisfaction in his face. In every other circumstance she would have sat down again simply to annoy him. Now she was eager to escape while she still had what she wanted. “Then I shall not take up more of your time, Mr. Thorpe,” she said. “Good day.” She went out without looking back. If she were too civil it would cause him to think the matter over, and perhaps change his mind.

She was not certain whether she wished to go to the trial with Hester or alone. She did not consider her emotions to be transparent generally, but she did not delude herself that Hester would be unaware of the turmoil inside her. Still, it might be too hard to find an excuse not to go together. And whether she wished it or not, they might need each other deeply before it was over.

She and Hester were in court side by side when the trial opened and the two protagonists faced each other. Pendreigh was magnificent merely in his presence, even before he needed to speak. He was a most striking figure with his height and his elegance of movement. His mane of shining hair was largely concealed by his wig, but the light still caught the golden edges of it. To those who knew he was the victim’s father, and thus the father-in-law of the accused, his presence was like the charge of electricity in the air before a storm.

Up in the dock, which was set at a height and quite separate from the body of the court, Kristian was white- faced, his eyes hollow, looking dark and very un-English. Would that tell against him? She looked again at the jury. To a man they were concentrating on the counsel for the prosecution, a diminutive man with a quite ordinary face of intense sincerity. When he spoke briefly his voice was gentle, well-modulated, the kind that almost immediately sounds familiar, as if you must know him but simply have forgotten where and how.

The indictment was read. Callandra had been to trials before, but there was a reality about this one that was almost physical in its impact. When she heard the word murder, not once but twice, she could feel the sweat break out on her body, and the packed room seemed to swim in her vision as if she were going to faint. Dimly, she felt Hester’s fingers grasp her arm and the strength of it steadied her.

The witnesses were brought on one by one, starting with the police constable who had first found the bodies. The shock and sense of tragedy were still clear in him, and Callandra could feel the response to it in the room.

There was nothing Pendreigh or anyone else could have done to alter either the facts or the compassion. At least he was wise enough not to try.

The constable was followed by Runcorn, looking unhappy but perfectly certain of himself, and suitably respectful both of the court and of the subjects of passion and death. Callandra was startled at the anger in him when he spoke of Sarah Mackeson, as if in some way he did not understand himself and it outraged him. There was a gulf of every kind of difference between her and this relatively uneducated, certainly unpolished, policeman with his prejudices and ambitions. He had been an enemy to Monk all the time she had known him, and long before that, and she thought him pompous, self-absorbed and thoroughly tiresome.

And yet looking at him now, she could see that his anger was honest, and cleaner than any of the ritual words