Anne Perry - A Sudden, Fearful Death

Lovat-Smith's answering smile was bright, showing all his teeth, and probably only Rathbone knew it was empty of feeling.

"Oh certainly I have." He rose to his feet and advanced toward the stand. "Mrs. Barker, did your sister write home to you of her adventures and experiences while she was in the Crimea?"

"Yes, of course she did, although I did not receive all her letters. I know that because she would occasionally make reference to things she had said on certain occasions, and I knew nothing of them." She looked puzzled, as if she did not comprehend the reason for his inquiry. Even Hardie seemed dubious.

"But you did receive a considerable number of her letters?" Lovat-Smith pressed.

"Yes."

"Sufficient to have formed a picture of her experiences, her part in the nursing, and how it affected her?"

"I believe so." Still Faith Barker did not grasp his purpose.

"Then you will have a fairly vivid understanding of her character?"

"I think I have already said so, to Mr. Rathbone," she replied, her brow puckered.

"Indeed-so you have." Lovat-Smith took a pace or two and stopped again, facing her. "She must have been a very remarkable woman; it cannot have been easy even to reach the Crimea in time of war, let alone to master such a calling. Were there not difficulties in her path?"

"Of course," she agreed with something close to a laugh.

"You are amused, Mrs. Barker," he observed. "Is my question absurd?"

"Frankly, sir, yes it is. I do not mean to be offensive, but even to ask it, you cannot have the least idea of what obstacles there are to a young single woman of good family traveling alone to the Crimea on a troopship to begin nursing soldiers. Everyone was against it, except Papa, and even he was dubious. Had it been anyone other than Prudence, I think he would have forbidden it outright."

Rathbone stiffened. Somewhere in the back of his head there was an urgent warning, like a needle pricking him. He rose to his feet.

"My lord, we have already established that Prudence Barrymore was a remarkable woman. This seems to be irrelevant and wasting the court's time. If my learned friend had wished to have Mrs. Barker testify on the subject, he had ample opportunity when she was his witness."

Hardie turned to Lovat-Smith.

"I have to agree, Mr. Lovat-Smith. This is wasting time and serves no purpose. If you have questions to ask this witness in cross-examination, then please do so. Otherwise allow the defense to proceed."

Lovat-Smith smiled. This time it was with genuine pleasure.

"Oh it is relevant, my lord. It has immediate relevance to my learned friend's last questions to Mrs. Barker, regarding her sister's character and the extreme unlikelihood of her resorting to coercion"-his smile widened-"or riot!"

"Then get to your point, Mr. Lovat-Smith," Hardie directed.

"Yes, my lord."

Rathbone's heart sank. He knew now what Lovat-Smith was going to do.

And he was not mistaken. Lovat-Smith looked up at Faith Barker again.

"Mrs. Barker, your sister must have been a woman who was capable of overcoming great obstacles, of disregarding other peoples' objections when she felt passionately about a subject; when it was something she wished intensely, it seems nothing stood in her way."

There was a sighing of breath around the room. Someone broke a pencil.

Faith Barker was pale. Now she also understood his purpose.

"Yes-but-"

"Yes will do," Lovat-Smith interrupted. "And your mother: did she approve of this adventure of hers? Was she not worried for her safety? There must have been remarkable physical danger: wreck at sea, injury from cargo, horses, not to mentioned frightened and possibly rough soldiers separated from meir own women, going to a battle from which they might not return? And that even before she reached the Crimea!"

"It is not necessarily-"

"I am not speaking of the reality, Mrs. Barker!" Lovat-Smith interrupted. "I am speaking of your mother's perceptions of it. Was she not concerned for Prudence? Even terrified for her?"

"She was afraid-yes."

"And was she also afraid of what she might experience when close to the battlefield-or in the hospital itself? What if the Russians had prevailed? What would have happened to Prudence then?"

A ghost of a smile crossed Faith Barker's face.

"I don't think Mama ever considered the possibility of the Russians prevailing," she said quietly. "Mama believes we are invincible."

There was a murmur of amusement around the room, even an answering smile on Hardie's face, but it died away instantly.

Lovat-Smith bit his lip. "Possibly," he said with a little shake of his head. "Possibly. A nice thought, but perhaps not very realistic."

"You asked for her feelings, sir, not the reality of it."

There was another titter of laughter, vanishing into silence like a stone dropped into still water.

"Nevertheless," Lovat-Smith took up the thread again, "was your mother not gravely worried for her, even frightened?"

"Yes."

"And you yourself? Were you not frightened for her? Did you not lie awake visualizing what might happen to her, dreading the unknown?"

"Yes."

"Your distress did not deter her?"

"No," she said, for the first time a marked reluctance in her voice.

Lovat-Smith's eyes widened. "So physical obstacles, personal danger, even extreme danger, official objections and difficulties, her family's fear and anxiety and emotional pain, none of these deterred her? She would seem to have a ruthless streak in her, would she not?"

Faith Barker hesitated.

There was a fidgeting in the crowd, an unhappy restlessness.

"Mrs. Barker?" Lovat-Smith prompted.

"I don't care for the word ruthless."

"It is not always an attractive quality, Mrs. Barker," he agreed. "And that same strength and drive which took her to the Crimea, against all odds, and preserved her there amidst fearful carnage, daily seeing the death of fine brave men, may in peacetime have become something less easy to understand or admire."

"But I-"

"Of course." Again he interrupted her before she could speak. "She was your sister. You do not wish to think such things of her. But I find it unanswerable nevertheless. Thank you. I have no further questions."

Rathbone rose again. There was total silence in the court. Even on the public benches no one moved. There was no rustle of fabric, no squeak of boots, no scratching of pencils.

"Mrs. Barker, Prudence went to the Crimea regardless of your mother's anxieties, or yours. You have not made it plain whether she forced or coerced you in any way, or simply told you, quite pleasantly, that she wished to do this and would not be dissuaded."

"Oh the latter, sir, quite definitely," Faith said quickly. "We had no power to prevent her anyway."

"Did she try to persuade you of her reasons?"

"Yes, of course she did-she believed it was the right thing to do. She wished to give her life in service to the sick and injured. The cost to herself was of no account." Suddenly grief filled her face again. "She frequently said that she would rather die in the course of doing something fine than live to be eighty doing nothing but being comfortable-and dying of uselessness inside."

"That does not sound particularly ruthless to me," Rathbone said very gently. 'Tell me, Mrs. Barker, do you believe it is within the nature of the woman, and even my learned friend agrees you knew her well, to have attempted to blackmail a man into marrying her?"

"It is quite impossible," she said vehemently. "It is not only of a meanness and small-mindedness totally at odds with all her character-it is also quite stupid. And whatever you believe of her, no one has suggested she was that."

"No one indeed," Rathbone agreed. "Thank you, Mrs. Barker. That is all."