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Sir Herbert was still smiling in the dock. Only the faintest shadow crossed his eyes.
“Lady Berenice Ross Gilbert!” the clerk called out, and the cry was taken up and echoed into the hallway.
She came in white-faced, her head held high, and she looked neither to right nor left as she crossed the floor to the witness stand, climbed the steps, and turned to face Rathbone. Just once she glanced across at the dock, but her expression was unreadable. If she had noticed Philomena Stanhope on the gallery public benches, she gave no indication.
She was reminded that she was still under oath.
“I am aware of that,” she said. “I have no intention to tell other than the truth!”
“You are the last witness I am calling to testify to the character and qualities of the man the prosecution has accused.” Rathbone walked into the center of the floor gracefully, elegantly, and stood for an instant smiling up at the dock. He met Sir Herbert’s eyes, and Sir Herbert saw for an instant that there was triumph in him, that the anger was gone, and his own composure flickered for a second. Then the certainty returned, and he smiled back.
“Lady Ross Gilbert”—Rathbone looked back at her—“you have served excellently on the Board of Governors of the hospital for some time. Have you been acquainted with Sir Herbert during all these years?”
“Naturally.”
“Only professionally, or do you know him personally as well?”
“Slightly. He does not mix in society very much. I imagine he is too fully occupied with the practice of his art.”
“So we have heard,” Rathbone agreed. “I believe one of your duties as a governor is to make sure that the morals of the nurses employed there are above reproach.”
Hardie sighed impatiently. One of the jurors had his eyes closed.
“That would be impossible,” Berenice said with a curl of contempt. “All I can do is see that their behavior is acceptable while actually in the hospital premises.”
There was a titter of amusement around the room. The juror opened his eyes again.
Judge Hardie leaned forward.
“Mr. Rathbone, you are covering ground which is already exceedingly well trodden. If you have a point, come to it!”
“Yes, my lord. I apologize. Lady Ross Gilbert, have you at any time in your dealings with the nurses had one of them make a complaint of any sort against Sir Herbert?”
“No. I think I said that before.” She was frowning, beginning to look anxious.
“To your knowledge his relationships with women have always been strictly professional?”
“Yes.”
“Morally without blemish?” he insisted.
“Well …” A flicker of surprise crossed her face, and then sudden perception.
Hardie frowned, looking at her.
In the dock Sir Herbert’s certainly wavered.
“Have they, or have they not, Lady Ross Gilbert?” Rathbone demanded, an edge of keenness to his voice.
“That depends upon your interpretation of morality,” she replied. Neve
r once did she glance toward Monk on the public benches, or Hester beside him.
Everyone was listening now, straining not to miss a word or an inflection.
“In what category of morality do you find the question difficult to answer?” Hardie asked her, twisting sideways to face her. “Remember you are on oath, madam.”
Rathbone made a last attempt to save his own reputation.
