"No, not the women," Rathbone said with a certainty that surprised him.
"Good," Argyll agreed dryly, the shadow of a smile curving his lips. "Because I wouldn"t have done it."
"How gallant." Rathbone was bitingly sarcastic. "And d.a.m.ned useless."
"Not gallant at all," Argyll said between his teeth. "Practical. The jury will love Eilish; she is both beautiful and good. What else can you ask? And they"ll deplore Deirdra"s deceit of her husband, but they"ll secretly like her. She"s small and pretty and full of courage. The fact that she"s as mad as a hatter won"t make any difference."
Rathbone was relieved that Argyll was not as stupid as he had feared. It mattered too much for him to be angry at his own discomfort.
"Go after Kenneth," he replied to the earlier question. "He is the weak link-and possibly the murderer. Monk has the information about his mistress. Get old Hector, if he"s sober enough, and that will be sufficient to raise the question of the books."
"Thank you, Mr. Rathbone," Argyll said tightly. "I had thought of that."
"Yes, of course," Rathbone conceded. "I apologize," he added as an afterthought.
"Accepted," Argyll murmured. "I am aware of your personal involvement with the accused, or I would not."
Rathbone felt his face burning. He had not thought of his relationship with Hester as an "involvement."
"Your witness, Mr. Argyll," the judge said sharply. "If you would be good enough to give us your attention, sir."
Argyll stood up, his temper flushing in his face. He did not reply to the judge. Perhaps he did not trust himself to.
"Lady Callandra," he said courteously. "Just to make sure we have understood you correctly, Miss Latterly brought the pin to you while you were downstairs? You did not find it in her luggage, nor did any of your servants?"
"No. She found it when she went to wash before luncheon. None of my servants would have occasion to look in her luggage, nor would she, had she not decided to stay with me during the meal."
"Quite so. And her immediate reaction was to bring it to you."
"Yes. She knew it was not hers, and feared something was seriously wrong."
"In which she was tragically correct. And your advice was to seek a solicitor"s counsel in the matter, so it might be returned to Mrs. Farraline"s estate?"
"Yes. She took it to Mr. Oliver Rathbone."
"The matter, Lady Callandra, or the pin itself?"
"The matter. She left the pin in my house. I wish now that she had thought to take it with her."
"I doubt it would have forestalled this sorry situation, madam. The plan had been very carefully laid. She did all a sensible person could, and it availed her nothing."
"Mr. Argyll," the judge snapped. "I will not warn you again."
Argyll inclined his head graciously. "Thank you, Lady Callandra. I have no more questions."
The last witness for the prosecution was Sergeant Daly, who recounted his having been called in by Dr. Ormorod, the whole of his procedure from that time until he had arrested Hester and finally charged her with murder. He spoke levelly and carefully and with great sadness, every now and again shaking his head, his mild, clear face regarding the whole courtroom with benign interest.
Gilfeather thanked him.
Argyll declined to question him. There was nothing to say, nothing to argue with.
Gilfeather smiled. The prosecution rested its case.
The jury nodded to one another silently, already certain of their verdict.
.10.
THE DEFENSE BEGAN the following morning. The crowd which filled the gallery was in an unusual mood, shifting and whispering in a strange mixture of apathy and then sudden interest, its tenor changing every few moments. Some believed it was all over, and the defense was merely a legal nicety in order that there could be no appeal against unfair process of law. Others were half expecting a battle of wits, however futile. The former were admirers of Gilfeather, the latter of James Argyll. Almost everyone was partisan; those who had no interest in either combatant were sure of the outcome and had not bothered to attend at all. the following morning. The crowd which filled the gallery was in an unusual mood, shifting and whispering in a strange mixture of apathy and then sudden interest, its tenor changing every few moments. Some believed it was all over, and the defense was merely a legal nicety in order that there could be no appeal against unfair process of law. Others were half expecting a battle of wits, however futile. The former were admirers of Gilfeather, the latter of James Argyll. Almost everyone was partisan; those who had no interest in either combatant were sure of the outcome and had not bothered to attend at all.
Rathbone was so on edge he had kept clearing his throat and it now ached. He had not slept until it was nearly time to get up, then he had been deeply in nightmare and waking had been difficult. The previous evening he had gone first to spend time with his father, then, realizing how short his temper, he had not wished to inflict it on anyone else, particularly Henry. He had spent from half past eight until nearly midnight alone, going over and over the case in his mind, rehearsing every sc.r.a.p of evidence they knew, and when that proved fruitless, repeating as well as he could remember all the testimony Gilfeather had presented. It was not conclusive, of course it was not. Hester was not guilty! But she could have killed Mary Farraline, and in the absence of anything to suggest someone else had, suggest it powerfully, believably, any jury would convict her.
Argyll might be the best lawyer in Scotland, but it would take more than skill now, and as he sat in the crowded, tingling courtroom he dared not look up at the dock at Hester. She might see the despair in his face, and he could at least spare her that.
Nor did he look for Monk"s smooth, dark head in the gallery. He half hoped he would not be there. Possibly he had thought of something to pursue, some further idea. Had he asked the apothecaries if anyone else had purchased digitalis? Yes, he must have. It was elementary. Monk was not a man to rest on pure defense. He would attack; it was his nature. Dear heaven, it was the essence of the man.
Neither did Rathbone look for his father; he avoided the gallery altogether. It was not only emotional cowardice-or, to give it a kinder name, self-preservation-it was tactical sense. At this point feelings were redundant, a clear mind was needed, a sharp brain and logical thought.
The judge looked cold and complacent. It was not a difficult case from his view. He had no doubt of conviction. Sentencing a woman to hang would be unpleasant, but he had done it before, and would no doubt do it again. Then he would go home to his family and a good dinner. Tomorrow there would be a new case.
And the public would applaud him. Emotion was running high. There were people whom Society had set high in its estimation, had given a certain honor, attributed to them emotions n.o.bler than the ordinary man. They included the religious and medical worlds. They had been set above others in esteem, and more was required of them in return. When they fell, they fell farther. Condemnation was accompanied by disillusion and all its discomfort to the beliefs. It was bitter, born of pain, anger and self-pity, because something precious had been attacked. The offense was not only against Mary Farraline. If one could not trust a nurse, the whole world was not what one had taken for granted. All safety was threatened. For that, the punishment was terrible.
He saw it in the faces of the jurors also. Judgment was touched with fear. And few men forgave one who frightened them.
The court came to order. James Argyll rose to his feet. There was total silence. Not a soul whispered or moved.
"May it please my lord, gentlemen of the jury," he began. "So far you have heard much factual evidence as to how Mary Farraline met her death, and much indication as to how it may well have happened. You have heard a little of what manner of woman she was. The defense would be the last to wish to quibble with what has been said of her. Indeed, we would have added more. She was charming, intelligent, courteous, honorable; possessed of those rare qualities, both generosity and humor. While we do not contend that she was perfect-which of us mortals is-we know of no ill in her and have nothing to say of her but praise. Her family is not alone in mourning her."
The judge sighed audibly, but no one in the gallery moved their eyes from Argyll. One or two of the jury frowned, uncertain what he was leading to.
Argyll regarded them seriously.
"However, we have heard very little of the character of the accused, Miss Hester Latterly. We have heard from the Farraline family that she met all the requirements for the brief task she was to undertake for them, but that is all. They saw her as an employee, for less than a day. Hardly time to get to know a person."
The judge leaned forward as if to speak, then changed his mind. He looked to Gilfeather, but Gilfeather was quite serene, his flyaway hair on end, his smile amiable and totally unconcerned.
"I propose to call two witnesses to that end," Argyll continued. "Just in case you feel one to be inadequate, possibly biased. To begin with I shall call Dr. Alan Moncrieff."
There was a stirring of interest as the usher repeated the name, then a distinct rustle as heads craned to look when the door opened and a tall, lean man with an unusually handsome aquiline face walked across the open s.p.a.ce between the gallery and the witness-box and climbed up the steps. He was sworn in and faced Argyll expectantly.
"Dr. Moncrieff, is the prisoner, Miss Hester Latterly, known to you?"
"Yes sir, I know her quite well." In spite of his Scottish name, his voice was beautifully modulated, and very English.
Rathbone swore under his breath. Could Argyll not have found a man who sounded more like a native, less alien? Moncrieff might have been born and bred in Edinburgh, but he did not sound like it. He should have checked it himself. He should have said something. Now it was too late.
"Would you tell the court in what circ.u.mstances you knew her, sir?" Argyll requested.
"I served in the Army Medical Corps during the late war in the Crimea," Moncrieff replied.
"With what regiment, sir?" Argyll asked innocently, his eyes wide.
"The Scots Greys, sir," Moncrieff said with an almost imperceptible lift of his chin and straightening of his shoulders.
There was a second"s silence, and then an indrawing of breath by the half dozen or so who knew their military history. The Scots Greys, the Inniskilling Dragoons and the Dragoon Guards, a mere eight hundred men in all, had marshaled on the field of disaster at Balaclava and held a Russian charge of three thousand cavalry, and in eight blood-soaked minutes the Russians had broken and fled back the way they had come.
One man in the jury blew his nose fiercely and another was not ashamed to wipe his eyes.
Someone in the gallery called out "G.o.d save the Queen!" and then fell silent.
Argyll kept a perfect gravity, as if he had heard nothing.
"An odd choice for an Englishman?" he observed.
Gilfeather sat like stone.
"I am sure you have no intention of being offensive, sir," Moncrieff said quietly. "But I was born in Stirling and studied medicine in Aberdeen and Edinburgh. I have spent some time in England, as well as abroad. You may blame my accent upon my mother."
"I beg your pardon, sir," Argyll said grimly. "It was a hasty conclusion, upon appearances-or rather, upon sound." He did not add anything about the foolishness of such prejudgments. It would have been clumsy. The jury had taken the point as it was.
There was a murmur of approval around the gallery.
The judge scowled.
Rathbone smiled, in spite of himself.
"Please proceed, Mr. Argyll," the judge said with exaggerated weariness. "Wherever the good doctor was born, or studied, is neither here nor there. I a.s.sume you are not going to say that he knew Miss Latterly in either place? No, I thought not. Do get on with it!"
Argyll was not in the slightest disturbed. He smiled at the judge and turned back to Moncrieff.
"And you encountered Miss Latterly while you were in the Crimea, Doctor?"
"Yes sir, on many occasions."
"In the pursuit of your mutual profession?"
The judge leaned forward, a sharp frown between his brows making his face look even longer and narrower.
"Sir, this court requires that you be precise. You are misleading the jury. Dr. Moncrieff and Miss Latterly do not have a mutual profession, as you well know; and if you do not, then let me inform you. Dr. Moncrieff is a physician, a pract.i.tioner of the art of medicine. Miss Latterly is a nurse, a servant to such doctors in their care of the sick, to roll bandages, make beds, fetch and carry. She does not diagnose disease, she does not prescribe medicines, she does not perform operations of even the slightest nature. She does as she is told, no more. Do I make myself clear?" He turned to the jury. "Gentlemen?"
At least half the jurors nodded sagely.
"Doctor," Argyll said smoothly, addressing Moncrieff. "I do not wish you to presume upon jurisprudence. Please confine yourself to medicine as your skill, and Miss Latterly as your observation."
There was a t.i.tter around the room, hastily suppressed. One man in the gallery guffawed, and someone squeaked with alarm.
The judge was scarlet-faced, but events had overtaken him. He searched for words, and found none.
"Of course not, sir," Moncrieff said quickly. "I know nothing about it, beyond what is open to every layman."
"Did you work with Miss Latterly, sir?"
"Frequently."
"What was your opinion of her professional ability?"
Gilfeather rose to his feet. "We are not doubting her professional ability, my lord. The prosecution is not charging she made any error in judgment as to procedure. We are quite sure all her acts were precisely what she intended them to be, and with full understanding of the consequences...at least medically speaking."
There was another nervous giggle somewhere, instantly stifled.
"Proceed to what is relevant, Mr. Argyll," the judge directed. "The court is waiting to hear Dr. Moncrieff"s testimony as to the character of the prisoner. Relevant or not, it is her right to have it heard."
"My lord, I believe that competence to perform one"s duties, and to place the care of others before one"s own safety, while in great personal anger, is a profound part of a person"s character," Argyll said with a smile.
There was a long, tense silence. No one in the gallery moved.
In spite of himself Rathbone"s eyes flickered up to Hester. She was staring at Argyll, her face white, the shadow of hope struggling in her eyes.
He felt an overwhelming sense of despair, so total for a moment he could hardly catch his breath. It was as if someone had knocked the air out of his lungs.
Perhaps it was as well Argyll was conducting the case. He cared too much to be in command of himself.
The jury was waiting, all fifteen faces turned towards the judge. This time their emotion was with Argyll, and it was plain to see.
The judge was tight-lipped with anger, but he knew the law.
"Proceed," he said curtly.
"Thank you, my lord." Argyll inclined his head and turned back to Moncrieff. "Dr. Moncrieff, I ask you again, what is your opinion of Miss Latterly"s professional ability, in all circ.u.mstances with which you are acquainted and competent to form a judgment?"
"Excellent, sir," Moncrieff answered without hesitation. "She showed remarkable courage on the battlefield when there were enemy skirmishers about, working with the wounded when her own life was in danger. She worked very long hours indeed, often all day and half the night, ignoring her own exhaustion or hunger and cold." A shadow of amus.e.m.e.nt crossed Moncrieff"s handsome face. "And she had exceptional initiative. I have on occasions thought it is unfortunate it is impossible to train women to practice medicine. More than one nurse, in cases when there was no surgeon, has performed successful operations to remove musket b.a.l.l.s or pieces of sh.e.l.l, and even amputated limbs badly shattered on the field. Miss Latterly was one such."
Argyll"s face registered the appropriate surprise.
"Are you saying, sir, that she was a surgeon...in the Crimea?"
"In extremis, yes sir. Surgery requires a steady hand, a good eye, a knowledge of anatomy, and a cool nerve. All of these qualities may be possessed by a woman as much as by a man."
"Stuff and nonsense!" someone shouted from the gallery.
"Good G.o.d, sir!" one of the jurors exploded, then blushed scarlet.
"That is an extraordinary opinion, sir," Argyll said very distinctly.
"War is an extraordinary occupation, thank G.o.d," Moncrieff replied. "Were it commonplace, I fear the human race would very soon wipe itself out. But appalling as it is, it does on occasion show us qualities we would not otherwise know we possessed. Both men and women rise to heights of gallantry, and of skill, that the calm, more ordered days of peace would never inspire.
"You called me to testify as to what I know of Miss Latterly"s character, sir. I can in honesty say no other than I found her brave, honest, dedicated to her calling, and compa.s.sionate without sentimentality.