Anne Perry - The Twisted Root

"I’m so sorry," Miriam whispered. "I’m so, so sorry…"

Rathbone turned to the judge.

"My lord, is it necessary to protract this any longer? May we adjourn for an hour or so before we conclude? I have nothing further to ask, and I cannot believe Mr. Tobias will pursue this anymore."

Tobias rose to his feet. "I am quite willing, my lord. What little remains can be dealt with after an adjournment. Major Stourbridge and his family have my deepest sympathy."

"Very good." The judge banged his gavel, and after a moment’s heavy stillness, people began to move.

Rathbone felt bruised, exhausted, as if he had made some great physical journey. He turned to Hester and Monk, who were coming towards him from the body of the court. Just behind them was a man with scruffy black hair and a beard that went in every direction. He was beaming with satisfaction, his eyes shining.

Hester smiled.

"You have achieved the impossible," Monk said, holding out his hand to Rathbone.

Rathbone took it and held it hard for a few moments.

"We still have the matter of the medicines," he warned.

"No, we don’t!" Hester assured him. "Mr. Phillips here is the apothecary at the hospital. He has persuaded Fermin Thorpe that nothing is missing. It was all a matter of natural wastage and a few rather careless entries in the books. No actual thefts at all. It was a mistake to have mentioned it."

Rathbone was incredulous. "How in heaven’s name did you do that?" He regarded Phillips with interest and a growing respect.

"Never enjoyed anything more," Phillips said, grinning broadly. "A little issue of one favor for another-resurrection, you might say!"

Monk looked at Hester narrowly.

She beamed back at him with complete innocence.

"Well done, Mr. Phillips," Rathbone said gratefully. "I am much obliged."