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"It’s monstrous!" Callandra agreed without looking at him. "But we must help. There has to be a way. What does William say?"
Hester had no intention of repeating the conversation, merely the conclusion, and that slightly altered. "That we should be extremely careful in making any enquiries," she replied.
"More than careful," Kristian agreed. "Thorpe would be delighted to brand all nurses as thieves—"
"He will do!" Callandra cut across him, her face pinched with unhappiness. "He’ll know soon enough. No doubt the police will be here to ask questions."
"Is there anything we can conceal?" Hester looked from one to the other of them. She had no idea what good it would do, it was instinctive rather than rational. If they convicted Cleo Anderson of murdering Treadwell, a bottle or two of morphine one way or another was hardly going to make a difference. She knew the moment the words were out that it was foolish.
"What proof do they have that it was she?" Kristian asked more levelly. The first shock was wearing off. "Possibly he was blackmailing her, but then he may have blackmailed others as well. She was hardly on an income to provide him with much."
"Unless she gave him morphine," Callandra said with quiet sadness. "And he sold it. That would be worth a great deal more:’
Hester had not even thought of that. She did not believe Cleo would sell morphine herself, but she could understand the necessity if Treadwell had been pressing her for money. But what had made the difference that suddenly, on that particular night, that she had resorted to murder? Desperation ... or simply opportunity?
Why was she accepting Cleo’s guilt, even in her own mind?
"But what evidence?" Kristian repeated. "Did anyone see her? Did she leave anything behind at the scene? Is there anything which excludes another person?"
"No ... simply that his body was found on the path near her house, and he had crawled there from wherever he was attacked." Hester could see the reasoning all too clearly. "It was assumed at first that he had been trying to get help. Now they will be thinking it was no coincidence, but he was deliberately pointing towards her."
Kristian frowned. "You mean they met somewhere close by, she attacked him, left believing him dead, but, still conscious, he crawled after her?"
Callandra’s face pulled tight with distress.
"Why not?" Hester loathed saying it, but it was there in the air between them. "He came to blackmail her, and she had reached the point of desperation—perhaps she had nothing more to pay him—and either she intended it before she went to kill him, or it happened on the spur of the moment."
"And where was Miriam?" Callandra asked. Then her expression quickened. "Or did he drop Miriam wherever she wished to be and go back to Cleo Anderson? That would explain why Miriam did not know he was dead."
Hester shook her head. "Whatever the answer is, it does not help Cleo now."
They looked at each other grimly, and none could think of anything hopeful to say.
Matters only seemed worse when, an hour or so later, Hester and Callandra were summoned to the office of an extremely angry Fermin Thorpe and were ordered by him to assist Sergeant Robb in his enquiries.
Robb stood uncomfortably to the side of Thorpe’s desk, looking first at Thorpe himself, then at Callandra, lastly and unhappily at Hester.
"I’m sorry, ma’am." He seemed to be addressing both of them. "I’d rather not have had to place you in this position, but I need to know more about the medicines Mr. Thorpe here says are missing from your apothecary’s room."
"I didn’t know about it until this morning," Thorpe said furiously, his face pink. "It should have been reported to me at the very first instance. Somebody will answer for this!"
"I think first we had better see precisely what is provable, Mr. Thorpe," Callandra said coldly. "It does not do to cast accusations around freely before one is certain of the facts. It is too easy to ruin a reputation, and too difficult to mend it again when one discovers mistakes have been made." She stared at him defiantly, daring him to contradict her.
Thorpe was very conscious of his position as a governor of the hospital and of his innate general superiority. However, he also had an acute social awareness, and Callandra had a title, albeit a courtesy one because of her late father’s position. He decided upon caution, at least for the meantime.
"Of course, Lady Callandra. We do not yet know the entire situation." He looked sideways at Robb. "I assure you, Sergeant, I shall do all within my power to be of assistance. We must get the facts of the matter and put an end to all dishonesty. I shall assist you myself."
It was what Hester had feared. It would be so much easier to make light of the losses, even to mislead Robb a little, if Thorpe were not there. She had no idea what the apothecary would do, where his loyalties lay, or how frightened he would be for his own position.
Thorpe hesitated, and Hester realized with a lurch of hope that he did not know enough about the medicines to conduct the search and inventory without assistance.
"Perhaps one of us might fetch Mr. Phillips?" she offered. "And perhaps come with you to make notes ... for our own needs. After all, we shall have to attend to the matter and see that it does not happen again. We need to know the truth of it even more than Sergeant Robb does."
Thorpe grasped the rescue. "Indeed, Mrs. Monk." Suddenly he found he could remember her name without the usual difficulty.
She smiled at it, but did not remark. Before he could change his mind, she glanced at Callandra, then led the way out of the office and along the wide corridor towards the apothecary’s room. She knew Callandra would fetch Mr. Phillips, and possibly even have a discreet word with him as to the effects upon all of them of whatever he might say. Presumably, he would not yet know of the charge against Cleo Anderson, far less the motive attributed to her.
She did not dare look at Sergeant Robb. He might too easily guess Callandra’s intention. It was not a great leap of foresight.
