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“Observation of what?” Mrs. Flaherty’s white eyebrows rose very high. “As I have just pointed out, young man, she was not here. What could she have seen?”
Evan affected extreme patience. “Mrs. Flaherty, seven days ago someone strangled one of your nurses and stuffed the body down the laundry chute. Such an act is not an isolated piece of lunacy. Whoever did it had a powerful motive, something which springs from the past. Similarly, the memory of that crime, and the fear of being caught, will carry forward into the future. There is much to observe now for those with the ability to see it.”
Mrs. Flaherty grunted, looked at Hester: her strong face, her slender almost lean figure, very square-shouldered, very upright; then at Evan standing beside the table piled with bandages, his soft wing of brown hair waving off the brow, his long nosed, sensitive, humorous face; and snorted her disbelief. Then she swung on her heel and marched off.
Evan did not know whether to be angry or to laugh; the mixed emotions were plain in his expression.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I did not mean to compromise your reputation. It never occurred to me.”
“Nor to me,” Hester admitted with a faint heat in her cheeks. It was all so ridiculous. “Perhaps if we meet again, it had better be outside the hospital?”
“And outside Jeavis’s knowledge too,” he said quickly. “He would not appreciate me giving aid and comfort to the enemy.”
“The enemy. Am I the enemy?”
“By extension, yes.” He put his hands in his pockets. “Runcorn still hates Monk and never ceases to tell Jeavis how much more satisfactory he is, but the men still speak of Monk, and Jeavis is no fool. He knows why Runcorn prefers him, and he’s determined to prove himself and lay Monk’s ghost
.” He smiled. “Not that he ever will. Runcorn can’t forget all the years Monk trod on his heels, the times he was right when Runcorn was wrong, the little things, the unspoken contempt, the better-cut suits, the voice a little rounder.” He was watching Hester’s eyes. “Just the fact that he tried so often to humiliate Monk, and could never quite succeed. He won in the end, but it didn’t taste like victory. He keeps wanting to bring him back so he can win again, and this time savor it properly.”
“Oh dear.” Hester rolled the last of the bandages and tied the end. She was sorry for Jeavis, and in a faint equivocal way for Runcorn, but mostly she had a sharp prickle of satisfaction on Monk’s account. She was not quite smiling, but very nearly. “Poor Inspector Jeavis.”
Evan looked startled for a moment, then comprehension lit his face, and an inner gentleness. “I had better go and see the chaplain.” He inclined his head. “Thank you!”
That afternoon Hester was sent for to assist Sir Herbert in an operation. She was told by a large nurse with powerful shoulders, a coarse-featured face, and remarkable eyes. Hester had seen her several times, always with a feeling of unease, and it was only this time that she realized why her eyes were so arresting. One was blue and the other quite clear cold green. How could she have failed to notice it before? Perhaps the sheer physical strength of the woman had so filled her mind as to leave no room for other impressions.
“Sir ’Erbert wants yer,” the woman said grimly. Her name was Dora Parsons; that much Hester remembered.
Hester put down the pail she was carrying. “Where?”
“In ’is office, o’ course. I s’pose your goin’ to take her place then? Or yer think y’are!”
“Whose place?”
The woman’s huge, ugly face was sharp with contempt. “Don’t act gormless wi’ me, miss ’igh ’n’ mighty. Jus’ ’cos yer’ve bin ter the Crimea an’ everybody’s fallen over theirselves about yer, don’t think yer can get away wi’ anything at all, ’cos yer can’t! Givin’ yerself airs like yer too good fer the rest of us.” She spat viciously to demonstrate her scorn.
“I assume you mean Nurse Barrymore?” Hester said icily, although the woman’s physical power was intimidating. She would guard very carefully against finding herself alone with her in the laundry room, out of earshot. But bullies chase those in whom they sense fear.
“O’ course I mean Nurse Barrymore.” Dora mimicked Hester’s voice. “Are there any other fancy Crimean nurses around ’ere?”
“Well, you are in a better position than I to know that,” Hester retorted. “I assume from your words that you disliked her?”
“Me and ’alf a score others,” Dora agreed. “So don’t you go tryin’ ter say I was the one what done ’er in, or I’ll ’ave yer.” She leered. “I could break your skinny little neck in two shakes, I could.”
“It would seem unnecessary to tell the police.” Hester controlled her voice with an effort. Deliberately she thought of Prudence in the surgeon’s tent on the battlefield, and then lying dead in the laundry room, to make herself angry. It was better than being afraid of this wretched woman. “Your behavior makes it so obvious that the stupidest constable could see it for himself. Do you often break people’s necks if they annoy you?”
Dora opened her mouth to reply, then realized that what she had been going to say led her straight into a trap.
“Well are you goin’ ter Sir ’Erbert, or shall I tell him as yer declines to, seein’ as yer too busy?”
“I’m going.” Hester moved away, around the huge figure of Dora Parsons and swiftly out of the room and along the corridor, boot heels clattering on the floor. She reached Sir Herbert’s door and knocked sharply, as if Dora were still behind her.
“Come!” Sir Herbert’s voice was peremptory.
She turned the handle and went in.
He was sitting behind his desk, papers spread in front of him. He looked up.
“Oh—Miss—er … Latterly. You’re the Crimean nurse, aren’t you?”
