Anne Perry - A Sudden, Fearful Death

"A man with a calm mind and a steady hand," he remarked. Again he was aware of the jury looking toward the dock.

Lovat-Smith rose to his feet.

"Yes, yes," Judge Hardie said, waving his hand. "Mr. Rathbone, please keep your observations till your summation. Lady Callandra was not present at the rest of me operation to pass judgment upon it. You have already elicited that the patient survived, which I imagine you knew? Yes- quite so. Please proceed."

"Thank you, my lord." Rathbone bowed almost imperceptibly. "Lady Callandra, we may assume that you did in fact inform the police. One Inspector Jeavis, I believe. Was that the end of your concern in the case?"

"I beg your pardon?" She blinked and her face became even paler, something like fear in her eyes and the quick tightening of her mouth.

"Was that the end of your concern in the case?" he repeated. "Did you take any further actions?"

"Yes-yes I did…" She stopped.

"Indeed? And what were they?"

Again there was the rustle of movement in the court as silks and taffetas brushed against each other and were crushed as people leaned forward. On the jury benches all faces turned toward Callandra. Judge Hardie looked at her inquiringly.

"I-I employed a private agent with whom I am acquainted," she replied very quietly.

"Will you speak so the jury may hear you, if you please," Judge Hardie directed her.

She repeated it more distinctly, staring at Rathbone.

"Why did you do that, Lady Callandra? Did you not believe the police competent enough to handle the matter?" Out of the corner of his vision he saw Lovat-Smith stiffen and knew he had surprised him.

– Callandra bit her lip. "I was not sure they would find the right solution. They do not always."

"Indeed they do not," Rathbone agreed. "Thank you, Lady Callandra. I have no further questions for you."

Before the judge could instruct her, Lovat-Smith rose to his feet again.

"Lady Callandra, do you believe they have found the correct answer in this instance?"

"Objection!" Rathbone said instantly. "Lady Callandra's opinion, for all her excellence, is neither professional nor relevant to these proceedings."

"Mr. Lovat-Smith," Judge Hardie said with a little shake of his head, "if that is all you have to say, Lady Callandra is excused, with the court's thanks."

Lovat-Smith sat down again, his mouth tight, avoiding Rathbone's glance.

Rathbone smiled, but with no satisfaction.

Lovat-Smith called Jeavis to the stand. He must have testified in court many times before, far more frequently than anyone else present, and yet he looked oddly out of place. His high, white collar seemed too tight for him, his sleeves an inch too short.

He gave evidence of the bare facts as he knew them, adding no emotion or opinion whatever. Even so, the jury drank in every word and only once or twice did any one of them look away from him and up at Sir Herbert in the dock.

Rathbone had debated with himself whether to cross-examine or not. He must not permit Lovat-Smith to goad him into making a mistake. There was nothing in Jeavis's evidence to challenge, nothing further to draw out.

"No questions, my lord," he said. He saw the flicker of amusement cross Lovat-Smith's face.

The next prosecution witness was the police surgeon, who testified as to the time and cause of death. It was a very formal affair and Rathbone had nothing to ask of him either. His attention wandered. First he studied the jurors one by one. They were still fresh-faced, concentration sharp, catching every word. After two or three days they would look quite different; their eyes would be tired, muscles cramped. They would begin to fidget and grow impatient. They would no longer watch whoever was speaking but would stare around, as he was doing now. And quite possibly they would already have made up their minds whether Sir Herbert was guilty or not.

Lastly before luncheon adjournment Lovat-Smith called Mrs. Flaherty. She mounted the witness box steps very carefully, face white with concentration, black skirts brushing against the railings on either side. She looked exactly like an elderly housekeeper in dusty bombazine. Rathbone almost expected to see a chain of keys hanging from her waist and an expense ledger in her hand.

She faced the court with offense and disapproval in every pinched line of her features. She was affronted at the necessity of attending such a place. All criminal proceedings were beneath the dignity of respectable people, and she had never expected in all her days to find herself in such a position.

Lovat-Smith was obviously amused by it. There was nothing but respect in his face, and his manners were flawless, but Rathbone knew him well enough to detect it in the angle of his shoulders, the gestures of his hands, even the way he walked across the polished boards of the floor toward the stand and looked up at her.

"Mrs. Flaherty," he began quietly. "You are a matron of the Royal Free Hospital, are you not?"

"I am," she said grimly. She seemed about to add something more, then closed her lips in a thin line.

"Just so," Lovat-Smith agreed. He had not been raised by a governess nor had he been in hospital. Efficient middle-aged ladies did not inspire in him the awe they did in many of his colleagues.

He had told Rathbone, in one of their rare moments of relaxation together, late at night over a bottle of wine, that he had gone to a charity school on the outskirts of the city before a patron, observing his intelligence, had paid for him to have extra tutelage.

Now Lovat-Smith looked up at Mrs. Flaherty blandly. "Would you be good enough, ma'am, to tell the court where you were from approximately six in the morning of the day Prudence Banymore met her death until you heard that her body had been discovered? Thank you so much."

Grudgingly and in precise detail she told him what he wished. As a result of his frequently interposed questions, she also told the court the whereabouts of almost all the other nurses on duty that morning, and largely those of the chaplain and the dressers also.

Rathbone did not interrupt. There was no point of procedure he quarreled with, nor any matter of fact. It would have been foolish to draw attention to the weakness of his position by fighting when he could not win. Let the jury think he was holding his fire in the certainty that he had a fatal blow to deliver at some future time. He sat back in his chair a little, composing his face into an expression of calm interest, a very slight smile on his lips.

He noticed several jurors glancing at him and then at Lovat-Smith, and knew they were wondering when the real battle would begin. They also took furtive looks at Sir Herbert, high up in the dock. He was very pale, but if there was terror inside him, or the sick darkness of guilt, not a breath of it showed in his face.

Rathbone studied him discreetly as Lovat-Smith drew more fine details from Mrs. Flaherty. Sir Herbert was listening with careful attention, but there was no real interest in his face. He seemed quite relaxed, his back straight, his hands clasped in front of him on the railing. It was all familiar territory and he knew it did not matter to the core of the case. He had never contested his own presence in the hospital at the time, and Mrs. Flaherty excluded only the peripheral players who were never true suspects.

Judge Hardie adjourned the court, and as they were leaving Lovat-Smith fell in step beside Rathbone, his curiously light eyes glittering with amusement.

"Whatever made you take it up?" he said quietly, but the disbelief was rich in his voice.

'Take what up?" Rathbone looked straight ahead of him as if he had not heard.

"The case, man! You can't win!" Lovat-Smith watched his step. "Those letters are damning."

Rathbone turned and smiled at him, a sweet dazzling smile showing excellent teeth. He said nothing.