Anne Perry - A Sudden, Fearful Death

Hester began immediately upon the same task of finding the link between Sir Herbert and his patients that Monk had done. For her it was far easier. She could deduce from Prudence's notes which nurses had assisted him, and even though the notes went back to shortly after Prudence's arrival at the hospital, most of the nurses were still here and not difficult to encounter.

She met one rolling bandages, a second sweeping the floor, a third preparing poultices. The fourth she found carrying two heavy pails of slops.

"Let me help you," she offered uncharacteristically.

"Why?" the woman said with suspicion. It was not a job people took up voluntarily.

"Because I'd rather carry one for you than have to mop up behind you if you spill it," Hester said with something less than the truth. The task would not have been hers.

The woman was not going to argue herself out of help with a distasteful job. She passed over the heavier of the two pails immediately.

By now Hester had worked out a plan of action. It was not likely to make her popular, and would almost certainly make working in the Royal Free Hospital impossible once the nurses spoke to each other and realized what she was doing, but she would worry about that after Sir Herbert was convicted. For now her anger overrode all such practical considerations.

"Do you think he did it?" she said casually.

"What?"

"Do you think he did it?" she repeated, walking side by side down the corridor with the pails.

" 'Oo did wot?" the woman said irritably. "Are you talking about the treasurer groping after Mary Higgins again? 'Oo knows? And 'oo cares? She asked for it anyway- stupid cow!"

"Actually I meant Sir Herbert," Hester explained. "Do you think he killed Barrymore? The papers say the trial will end soon, then I suppose he'll be back here. I wonder if he'll have changed?"

"Not 'im. Snooty sod. It'll still be 'Fetch this'-'Gimme that'-'Stand 'ere'-'Stand there'-'Empty this'-'Roll up the bandages and pass me the knife.' "

"You worked with him, didn't you?"

"Me? Gori I just empty slops and sweep floors!" she said with disgust.

"Yes, you did! You assisted him with an operation! I heard you did it very well! July last year-woman with a tumor in her stomach."

"Oh… yeah! An' in October-but never again after that. Not good enough-me!" She hawked and spat viciously.

"So who is good enough, then?" Hester said, investing her voice with a suitable contempt. "Doesn't sound like anything very special to me."

"Dora Parsons," the woman replied grudgingly. "Used 'er 'alf the time, 'e did. An' yer right-it weren't nothin' special. Just 'anding 'im knives an' towels an' such. Any fool could've done it. Dunno why 'e picked Dora special. She didn't know nothin'. No better than I am!"

"And no prettier either," Hester said with a smile.

The woman stared at her, then suddenly burst into a loud, cackling laugh.

"Yer a caution, you are! Never know what yer'll say next! Don't you never say that to ol' Cod Face, or she'll 'ave yer up before Lady Almighty for immorality. Although God knows if 'e fancied Dora Parsons 'e'd not be safe wi' the pigs." And she laughed even louder and longer, till the tears ran down her roughened cheeks. Hester emptied the pail and left her still chuckling to herself.

Dora Parsons. That was what Hester had wanted, although she wished it had been anyone else. So Sir Herbert had still lied to Rathbone-he had used one nurse more than the others. Why? And why Dora? For more complicated operations, or ones performed later in the pregnancy, when it was more likely the nurse would know what the operation was? More important patients-perhaps ladies of good family, or maybe women who were terrified for their reputations? It looked as if he trusted Dora-and that raised more questions.

The only way to answer them was to find Dora herself.

That she accomplished after dark when she was so weary all she longed for was to sit down and relieve the ache in her back and her legs. She was carrying blood-soaked bandages down to the stove to burn them (they were beyond any laundress to reclaim), and she met Dora coming up the stairs, a pile of sheets on her arms. She carried the weight of them as if they were merely handkerchiefs.

Hester could not afford to wait for a better time or to get up her courage and prepare. She stopped in the middle of the stairs, under the lamp, blocking Dora's way, trying to look as if she had done it unintentionally.

"I have a friend who is attending the trial," she said, not as casually as she had wished.

"Wot?"

"Sir Herbert," she replied. "It's nearly over. They'll probably bring in the verdict in the next day or two."

Dora's face was guarded. "Oh yeah?"

"At the moment it looks as if they'll find him not guilty." Hester watched her minutely.

She was rewarded. An expression of relief lit Dora's eyes and something inside her relaxed. "Oh yeah?" she said again.

"The trouble is," Hester went on, still blocking the way. "Nobody knows who did kill Prudence. So the case will still be open."

"So what if it is? It weren't you an' it weren't me. An' looks as if it weren't Sir 'Erbert."

"Do you think it was?"

" 'Oo-me? No, I don't reckon as't was." There was a fierceness in her voice, as if she had suddenly forgotten to be so careful.

Hester frowned. "Not even if she knew about the abortions? Which she did. She could have made things pretty hard for him if she threatened to go to the law."

Dora was tense again, her huge body balanced carefully as if to make some sudden move, if she could only decide what. She stared at Hester, hovering between confidence in her and total enmity.

A prickle of sharp physical fear tightened Hester's body, making her gulp for breath. They were alone on the steps, the only light the small oases of the gas lamps at top and bottom and the one under which they stood. The dark well of the stairs yawned below and the shadows of the landing above.

She plunged on.

"I don't know what proof she had. I don't know if she was even there-"

"She weren't." Dora cut across her with finality.

"Wasn't she?"

"No-'cos I know 'oo were. 'E wouldn't be daft enough ter have 'er in. She knew too much." Her big face puckered. "Damn near as good as a doctor 'erself, she were. Knew more than any of them student doctors. She'd never 'ave believed they was operations for tumors and the like."

"But you knew! Did the other nurses?"

"No-wouldn't know stones from a broken leg, most of 'em." There was contempt in her tone as well as a mild tolerance.

Hester forced herself to smile, although she felt it was a sickly gesture, more a baring of the teeth. She tried to invest her voice with respect.

"Sir Herbert must have trusted you very deeply."

Pride lit Dora's eyes. "Yeah-'e does. An'e's right. I'd never betray 'im."

Hester stared at her. It was not only pride in her eyes, it was a burning idealism, a devotion and a passionate respect. It transformed her features from their habitual ugliness into something that had its own kind of beauty.

"He must know how much you respect him for it," Hester said chokingly. A flood of emotion shook her. She had wept more tears than she could remember over dead women who had not the strength left to fight disease and loss of blood because their bodies were exhausted with bearing child after child. She had seen the hopelessness in their eyes, the weariness, the fear for babies they knew they could not cherish. And she had seen the tiny, starving creatures come into the world ill before they started, sprung from an exhausted womb.

In the pool of light on the stairs Dora Parsons was waiting, watching her.

And neither could Hester forget Prudence Barrymore, her eagerness and her passion to heal, her burning vitality.