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“I know that. But there is no proof he left the hospital. He did not catch the next train. In fact, he did not return home until midday and cannot prove where he was. Do you think I would bother to mention it if he could?”
She shrugged. “Go on.”
“And Miss Cuthbertson was also up in town that morning. She had been here since the previous night, when she attended a ball at Mrs. Waldemar’s house, which is in Regent Square, only two streets away from the hospital.” He was looking at her as he spoke. “And curiously, after having danced all night, she rose very early and was absent for breakfast. According to her, she went for a walk in the fresh air. She says it was not to the hospital, but there is no proof of where it was. No one saw her.”
“And she had an excellent motive in jealousy,” Hester agreed. “But would she be strong enough?”
“Oh yes,” he said without hesitation. “She is a fine horsewoman. I watched her the other day reining in an animal any man would have trouble mastering. She has the strength, especially if she took someone by surprise.”
“And I suppose she could have passed herself off as a nurse if she had a plain enough dress,” she said thoughtfully. “But there is nothing to prove that she did.”
“I know that.” His voice rose sharply. “If there were I would have taken it to Jeavis.”
“Anything else?”
“Nothing indicative.”
“Then I suppose we had better return to work and try harder.” She rose to her feet. “I think I shall see if I can learn more about some of the governors—and Sir Herbert and Dr. Beck.”
He moved to stand between her and the door, his face suddenly completely serious, his eyes intent on hers.
“Be careful, Hester! Someone murdered Prudence Barrymore—not in a fight and not by accident. He will just as easily kill you if you let him think he has cause.”
“Of course I will be careful,” she said with a quick rush of warmth. “I am not asking qu
estions, I am simply observing.”
“Possibly,” he conceded doubtfully.
“What are you going to do?”
“Investigate the student doctors.”
“Tell me if there is anything I can do to be of help. I may learn something of them.” He was standing close to her, listening, watching her face. “They seem very ordinary to me so far, overworked, eager to learn, arrogant toward the female staff, full of stupid jokes to offset the distress they feel when people die and their own inadequacy, always poor and often hungry and tired. They make bad jokes about Sir Herbert, but they admire him immensely.”
“Do you?” Suddenly he seemed more interested.
“Yes,” she answered with surprise. “Yes. I think I do, now.”
“Be careful, Hester!” he said again, urgency mounting in his voice.
“You already said that, and I promised I would. Good night.”
“Good night …”
The following day she had several hours off duty, and used them to visit two people for whom she had formed a considerable friendship. One was Major Hercules Tiplady, although the “Hercules” was a secret between them which she had promised not to reveal. She had been nursing him privately during his recovery from a badly broken leg while she was involved in the Carlyon case, and she had grown unusually fond of him. She did not often feel more than a regard and a responsibility toward her patients, but for the major she had developed a genuine friendship.
She had known Edith Sobell before the case. It was their friendship which had drawn her into it, and through that hectic time they had become very close. When Edith had left home it had been Hester who had made it possible by introducing her to the major, and from that had sprung his offer to employ her, a widow with no professional skills, as his secretary and assistant to help him write his memoirs of his experiences in India.
Hester arrived in the early afternoon, without having given notice of her intention because there had been no time. However, she was welcomed in with delight and an immediate abandonment of all work.
“Hester! How wonderful to see you. How are you? You look so tired, my dear. Do come in and tell us how you are, and let us fetch tea for you. You are stopping, aren’t you?” Edith’s curious face, at once plain and beautiful, was shining with enthusiasm.
“Of course she is staying,” the major said quickly. He was fully restored to health now and walked with only the barest limp. Hester had never seen him active before, and it was quite startling to have him upright and attending to her, rather than her assisting him. All the marks of pain and frustration were gone from his face and he still looked as scrubbed pink and clean and his hair stood up like a white crest.
She acquiesced with pleasure. It was a warm, very sweet feeling to be among friends again, and with no duties to perform and nothing expected of her beyond tea and conversation.
“Who are you with now? Where are you nursing?” Edith asked eagerly, folding herself into a large armchair in a characteristic gawky mixture of grace and inelegance. It delighted Hester to see it: it meant she was utterly at home here. There was no perching on the edge of the chair, back straight, skirts arranged, hands folded as a lady should. Hester found herself relaxing also, and smiling for no particular reason.
