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“Come on,” she said again, this time more briskly.
Obediently the child detached herself and followed a step behind as she was accustomed.
It did not take long to find Mrs. Flaherty. All the hospital knew where she was. Word ran like a warning whenever she passed. Bottles were put away, mops were pushed harder, heads bent in attention to labor.
“Yes, your ladyship, what is it now?” she said grimly, her eyes going to the skivvy with displeasure. “Not sick, is she?”
“No, Matron, only badly frightened,” Callandra answered. “I’m afraid we have discovered a corpse in the laundry chute, and this poor child was the one who found her. I’m about to go to Sir Herbert and have him fetch the police.”
“Whatever for?” Mrs. Flaherty snapped. “For goodness sake, there’s nothing odd about a corpse in a hospital, although for the life of me, I can’t think how it got to be in the laundry chute.” Her face darkened with disapproval. “I hope it is not one of the young doctors with a puerile sense of what is amusing.”
“No one could find this amusing, Mrs. Flaherty.” Callandra was surprised to find her voice so calm. “It was Nurse Barrymore, and she has not died naturally. I am going to report the matter to Sir Herbert and I should be obliged if you would see to this child and make sure she does not unintentionally cause hysteria by speaking of it to others. It will be known soon enough, but for the meantime it would be better if we were prepared for it.”
Mrs. Flaherty looked startled. “Not naturally? What do you mean?”
But Callandra was not going to discuss it further. She smiled bleakly and left without answering, Mrs. Flaherty staring after in confusion and anger.
Sir Herbert Stanhope was in the operating theater and apparently due to remain there for some considerable time. The matter would not wait, so she simply opened the door and went in. It was not a large room; a side table with instruments laid out took much of the space and there were already several people inside. Two student doctors assisted and learned, a third more senior watched the bottles of nitrous oxide and monitored the patient’s breathing. A nurse stood by to pass instruments as required. The patient lay insensible upon the table, white-faced, her upper body naked and a bloody wound in the chest half closed. Sir Herbert S
tanhope stood at her side, needle in his hand, blood staining his shirtsleeves and forearms.
Everyone stared at Callandra.
“What are you doing here, madam?” Sir Herbert demanded. “You have no business to interrupt an operation! Will you please leave immediately!”
She had expected a reception of this nature and she was not perturbed.
“There is a matter which cannot wait until you are concluded, Sir Herbert,” she replied.
“Get some other doctor!” he snapped, turning away from her and resuming his stitching.
“Please keep your attention upon what I am doing, gentlemen,” he went on, addressing the student doctors. He obviously assumed that Callandra would accept his dismissal and leave without further ado.
“There has been a murder in the hospital, Sir Herbert,” Callandra said loudly and distinctly. “Do you wish me to inform the police, or would you prefer to do that yourself?”
He froze, his hands in the air with needle poised. Still he did not look at her. The nurse sucked in her breath sharply. One of the student doctors made a choking sound and grasped the edge of the table.
“Don’t be absurd!” Sir Herbert snapped. “If a patient has died unexpectedly I will attend to it when I’m finished here.” He turned slowly to look at Callandra. His face was pale and there were sharp lines of anger between his brows.
“One of the nurses has been strangled and stuffed down the laundry chute,” Callandra said slowly and very clearly. “That can hardly be called a misjudgment. It is beyond question a crime, and if you cannot leave here to summon the police, I will do so on your behalf. The body will remain where it is. Dr. Beck is seeing that it is not disturbed.”
There was a sharp hiss of breath between teeth. One of the student doctors let slip a blasphemy.
Sir Herbert lowered his hands, still holding the bloody needle and its long thread. He faced Callandra, his eyes bright, his face tight.
“One of the nurses?” he repeated very slowly. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure,” Callandra answered. “It is Barrymore.”
“Oh.” He hesitated. “That is appalling. Yes, by all means, you’d better call the police. I shall finish here and be available to meet them by the time they arrive. You had better take a hansom yourself rather than send a messenger, and for goodness sake be as discreet as you can. We don’t want a panic in the place. The sick will suffer.” His expression darkened. “Who else knows of it already, apart from Dr. Beck?”
“Mrs. Flaherty, the laundrywomen, and one skivvy whom I asked Mrs. Flaherty to watch over, for that reason.”
“Good.” His expression relaxed a little. “Then you had better leave immediately. I should be ready when you return.” He did not apologize for not having listened to her immediately, or for his rudeness, not that she had expected him to.
She took a hansom cab, as he had suggested, and ordered the driver to take her to Monk’s old police station. It was probably the closest, and it was certainly the one of which she knew the address and where she was confident of finding a senior officer with a proper sense of discretion. She used her title to obtain immediate attention.
“Lady Callandra.” Runcorn rose from his seat as soon as she was shown in. He came over to greet her, extending his hand, then changing his mind and bowing very slightly instead. He was a tall man with a narrow face bordering on handsome in a certain manner, but it was belied by lines of temper around his mouth and a lack of assurance which one would not have expected in an officer of his seniority. One had only to look at him to know that he and Monk could never be at ease with each other. Monk was assured, even arrogant, his convictions deeply seated and dominated by intellect, his ambition boundless. Runcorn held his convictions equally deeply, but lacked the personal confidence. His emotions were uncertain, his humor simple. His ambition was also keen but his vulnerability was plain in his face. He could be swayed and cut by what other people thought of him.
