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Monk was furious, but forced a smile as natural and diplomatic as he could. He had hoped that he might be present when they decided to discuss the matter and had invented a pretext of being an objective and fresh mind to aid them in covering all eventualities. However, it seemed natural that they regarded Monk as an interesting guest but an outsider, and Monk didn’t dare press the point. He was thankful that Stephan would be there and could convey back to him anything of use, but he would have welcomed the opportunity to question them himself.
The next day, Monk did, however, find an opportunity to visit Gallagher, the doctor who had attended Friedrich after his fall and until his death. Everyone else went shooting for the day, but Stephan affected a slight indisposition and requested that Monk accompany him to the doctor. It was an injury to his hand, and he asked Monk to drive him in the gig.
“What was said last night?” Monk asked as soon as they were out of the drive and into the lane which led to the doctor’s house. Despite his walks with Stephan in the gardens of the Hall, he had felt oppressed and was glad to be out in the clear autumn air.
“I’m going to disappoint you,” Stephan said regretfully. “It turned out that I’d observed or remembered more than any of the others, and a few of them know more this morning than they did yesterday, thanks to me.”
Monk frowned. “Well, you could hardly not have pooled your knowledge with them, and at least we know what they’re likely to say, should it come to trial.”
“But you feel you have wasted an opportunity.”
Monk nodded, too angry to speak. He would not be reporting this to Rathbone.
Dr. Gallagher turned out to be a mild-mannered man of about fifty or so who was not perturbed about being summoned away from his books to attend two gentlemen from the Hall who had called for his help.
“Indeed,” he said courteously. “What a shame, Baron von Emden. Let me have a look at it. Right wrist, is it?”
“Sorry for our deception, Doctor.” Stephan smiled and rested his hands on his hips, demonstrating two perfectly supple wrists. “Rather a delicate matter. Didn’t want to advertise it. Hope you understand. Mr. Monk”—he gestured towards Monk, beside him—“is trying to help us deal with this abysmal business of the Countess Rostova’s accusations.”
Gallagher looked blank.
“Oh, you haven’t heard?” Stephan pulled a face expressing chagrin. “I am afraid she has behaved quite … quite extraordinarily. The whole affair will have to come to trial.”
“What affair?”
“Prince Friedrich’s death,” Monk said, stepping in. “I regret to say she has started spreading the charge around society that it was not an accident but deliberate poison.”
“What?” Gallagher was aghast. He seemed almost unable to believe he had heard correctly. “What do you mean? Not … not that … that I …”
“No, of course not!” Monk said immediately. “No one even thought of such a thing. It is the widow, Princess Gisela, whom she is accusing.”
“Oh, my God! How perfectly fearful.” Gallagher stepped back and all but collapsed into the chair behind him. “How can I help?”
Stephan was about to speak, but Monk cut across him.
“You will no doubt be called to give evidence, unless we can gather sufficient proof to force her to withdraw the charge and offer the fullest apology. The greatest assistance you could give would be to answer all our questions with the utmost candor, so we know precisely where we stand, and if she has clever counsel, what is the worst we must fear.”
“Of course. Of course. Anything I can do.” Gallagher pressed his hand to his brow. “Poor woman! To lose the husband she loved so profoundly and then to face such a diabolical slander, and from one she must have supposed her friend. Ask me anything you wish.”
Monk sat down opposite the doctor in a well-worn brown chair. “You understand I am speaking as a sort of devil’s advocate? I shall probe for weaknesses, so if I find them, I shall know how to defend.”
“Of course. Proceed!” Gallagher said almost eagerly.
Monk felt a tinge of conscience, but only a slight one. The truth was what mattered.
“You were the only physician to treat Prince Friedrich?”
“Yes, from the accident until he died.” His face was pale at the memory. “I … I honestly thought the poor man was recovering. He seemed to be considerably better. Of course, he had a great deal of pain, but one does from broken bones. But he was far less feverish, and he had begun to take a little nourishment.”
“The last time you saw him alive?” Monk asked. “Before the relapse?”
“He was sitting up in bed.” Gallagher looked very strained. “He seemed pleased to see me. I can picture it exactly. It was spring, as you know, late spring. It was a beautiful day, sunlight streaming in through the windows, a vase of lily of the valley on the bureau in the sitting room. The perfume of them filled the room. They were a particular favorite of the Princess’s. I hear she cannot abide them since that day. Poor creature. She idolized him. She never left his side from the moment he was carried in from his accident. Distraught, she was, absolutely distraught. Beside herself with distress for him.”
He took a deep breath and let it out silently. “Quite different from when he died. Then it was as if the world had ended for her. She simply sat there, white-faced, neither moving nor speaking. She did not even seem to see us.”
“What did he die of?” Monk asked a little more gently. He was aware of conflicting emotions tearing inside him. “Medically speaking.”
Gallagher’s eyes widened. “I did not do a postmortem examination, sir. He was a royal prince! He died as the result of his injuries in the fall. He had broken several bones. They had seemed to be healing, but one cannot see inside the living body to know what other damage there may be, what organs may have been crushed or pierced. He bled to death internally. That is what every symptom led me to believe. I had not expected it, because he seemed to be recovering, but that may have been the courage of his spirit, when in truth he was injured so seriously that the slightest movement may have ruptured some vessel and caused a fatal hemorrhage.”
