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“Yes!”
“But doctors are healers, essentially peaceful,” Pendreigh persisted. “We have heard much evidence of his caring for the injured and the sick, tirelessly, to the exclusion of his own profit or wellbeing, never of him as a man of action, or any kind of warfare.”
Mills stirred in his seat.
“If we are to believe you, Mr. Niemann,” Pendreigh went on more urgently, “then we have to understand. Describe Kristian Beck for us, as he was then.”
Niemann drew in a deep breath. Hester saw his shoulders square. “He was brave, decisive, unsentimental,” Niemann answered. “He had an extraordinarily clear vision of what was necessary, and he had the intelligence and the will, and the moral and physical courage, to carry it out. He had no personal vanity.”
“You make him sound very fair,” Pendreigh observed.
Hester thought Niemann made Kristian sound cold, even if it was not what he intended. Or perhaps it was? If he wished to exact a revenge on Kristian for his winning of Elissa, this was his perfect opportunity. Had Monk brought him here for that, unintentionally sealing Kristian’s fate?
Or was it possible, even probable, that Niemann believed Kristian guilty?
“He was fair,” Niemann said. He hesitated, as if to add something more, then changed his mind and remained silent.
“Did he fall in love with Elissa von Leibnitz?” Pendreigh asked. His voice was thick with his own emotion.
“Yes,” Niemann replied. “Very much.”
“And she with him?”
“Yes.” This time the word was simple, painful.
“And they married?”
“After the uprising, yes.”
“Did you ever doubt his love for her?”
“No. No, I didn’t.”
“And you all three remained friends?” Pendreigh asked.
Neimann’s hesit
ation was palpable.
“You didn’t?” Pendreigh asked.
“We lost touch for some time,” Niemann answered. “One of our number was killed, very violently. It distressed us all profoundly. Kristian seemed to feel it most.”
“Was he at fault?”
“No. It was just the fortune of war.”
“I see. But he was the leader. Did he feel perhaps he should somehow have prevented it?”
Mills half rose to his feet, then changed his mind. Niemann was painting a darker picture of Kristian than the dedicated doctor that had been shown so far. It was hardly in his interest to stop Niemann, or to question his veracity.
“I don’t know,” Niemann answered. It was probably the truth, but it sounded evasive.
Pendreigh retracted. “Thank you. Now may we come to the present, and your recent visit to London? Did you see Mrs. Beck?”
“Yes.”
“Several times?”
