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“That would be she.” Monk felt a sudden elation. “She studied medical texts, you say?”
“Oh indeed yes; most diligent, she was. A very serious person.” He looked up at Monk. “A trifle daunting, if you know what I mean, that a young lady should be so intent. I assumed, perhaps incorrectly, that someone in her family suffered a disease and she thought to learn as much of it as possible.” His face fell. “Now it seems I was wrong and it was she herself. I am most deeply sorry. For all her solemnity, I rather took to her.” He said it with a slight air of apology, as if it needed some explaining. “There was something in her that … oh well. I am very sorry to know it. How may I help you, sir? I have no recollection of what she read now, I am afraid. But perhaps I can look. It was very general …”
“No—no, that is not necessary, thank you,” Monk declined. He had what he wished. “You have been most generous. Thank you, sir, for your time and your courtesy. Good day to you.”
“Good day, Mr. er—good day, sir.”
And Monk left with more knowledge than when he went in but no wiser, and with a feeling of success which had no basis at all in fact.
Hester also observed Callandra, but with a woman’s eye and a far greater and more subtle sensitivity as to the cause of her distress. Only something deeply personal could trouble her so much. She could not be afraid for herself, surely? Jeavis would not suspect her of having murdered Prudence; she had no possible reason. And Monk had made no secret that it was Callandra who had hired him to investigate further.
Could it be that she knew, or thought she knew, who the murderer was, and feared for her own safety? It seemed unlikely. If she knew something, surely she would have told Monk immediately and taken steps to guard herself.
Hester was still turning over unsatisfactory possibilities in her mind when she was sent for to assist Kristian Beck. Mr. Prendergast was recovering well and no longer required her presence through the night. She was tired from too little sleep, the uncertainty of not being able to rest until she woke naturally.
Kristian Beck said nothing, but she knew from the occasional expression in his eyes that he was aware how weary she was, and he merely smiled at her occasional hesitations. He did not even criticize her when she dropped an instrument and had to reach down and pick it up, wipe it clean and then pass it to him.
When they were finished she was embarrassed at her ineptitude and eager to leave, but she could not forsake the opportunity to observe him further. He also was tired, and he was far too intelligent to be unaware of Jeavis’s suspicions of him. It is at such times that people betray themselves: feelings are too raw to hide and there is no strength for the extra guard upon thought.
“I do not hold a great deal of hope for him,” Kristian said to her quietly, regarding the patient. “But we have done all we can.”
“Do you wish me to sit up with him?” she asked out of duty. She was dreading his reply.
But she need not have been worried. He smiled—a brief, illuminating, and gentle gesture. “No. No, Mrs. Flaherty will assign someone. You should sleep.”
“But—”
“You must learn to let go, Miss Latterly.” He shook his head very slightly. “If you do not, you will exhaust yourself—and then whom can you help? Surely the Crimea taught you that the first rule of caring for others is that you must maintain your own strength, and that if you come to the limit of your own resources your judgment will be affected.” His eyes did not leave her face. “And the sick deserve the best you can give. Neither skill nor compassion are enough; you must also have wisdom.”
“Of course you are right,” she agreed. “Perhaps I was losing my sense of proportion.”
A flash of humor crossed his face. “It is not hard to do. Come.” And he led the way out of the theater, holding the door open for her. They were in the corridor, walking side by side in silence, when they almost bumped into Callandra as she came out of one of the wards.
She stopped abruptly, the color rushing up her cheeks. There was no apparent reason she should have been flustered, and yet it seemed she was. Hester drew breath to say something, then realized that Callandra was looking only at Kristian; she was scarcely aware of Hester to his left and half a step behind.
“Oh—good morning—Doctor,” Callandra said hastily, trying to regain her composure.
He looked a little puzzled. “Good morning, Lady Callandra.” His voice was soft and he spoke the words very distinctly, as if he liked her name on his tongue. He frowned. “Is all well?”
“Oh yes,” she replied. Then she realized how ridiculous that was, in the circumstances. She smiled, but the effort it cost her was plain to Hester. “As good as we may hope, with police all over the place, I suppose. They do not seem to have achieved anything.”
“I doubt they would tell us if they had,” Kristian said ruefully. Then he gave a thin answering smile, full of doubt and self-mockery. “I’m sure they suspect me! Inspector Jeavis keeps on asking me about having quarreled with poor Nurse Barrymore. I’ve finally remembered it was over a mistake she felt one of the student doctors had made, which I overruled. It makes one wonder just what was overheard, and by whom.” He shook his head a little. “I never before worried greatly what people thought of me, but now I confess it is in my mind more and more of the time.”
Callandra did not look directly at him, and the color was high in her cheeks. “You cannot govern your life by what you fear others may think of you. If—if what you are doing is what you believe to be right—they will have to think as they please.” She took a deep breath and then said nothing.
Both Hester and Kristian waited for her to continue, but she did not. Left as it was it sounded bare, and a little trite, not like Callandra at all.
“Does …” She looked at Kristian directly. “Does Jeavis disturb you?” This time her eyes searched his face.
“I dislike being suspected,” he answered frankly. “But I know the man is only doing his duty. I wish I had some idea what actually happened to poor Nurse Barrymore, but hard as I think, nothing comes to me.”
“There are innumerable reasons why someone might have killed her,” Callandra said with sudden ferocity. “A rejected lover, a jealous woman, an envious nurse, a mad or disaffected patient, all sorts of people.” She finished a little breathlessly, and without looking at Hester.
“I expect Jeavis will have thought of those things too.” Kristian pulled a slight face. His eyes never left Callandra’s. “I hope he is pursuing them with equal diligence. Do you wish to speak to me about something? Or did we merely bump into you?”
“Just … chance,” Callandra replied. “I am—on my way to see the chaplain.”
Kristian bowed very slightly and excused himself, leaving Hester and Callandra alone in the corridor. Apparently without realizing it, Callandra watched him until he turned the corner into a ward and disappeared, then she looked back at Hester.
