A Sudden, Fearful Death

"Oh-I think…" Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He let it out slowly. His face was very pink. "I was going to say there is much work to be done, but that is not true. Edith has been so efficient there is really very little. But I am not sure if I can find a publisher willing to take it, or if I may have to pay to have it done." He stopped abruptly.

He took another deep breath, his face even pinker, and turned to Edith with fierce concentration. "Edith, I find the thought of concluding the work, and your leaving, quite intolerable. I thought it was writing about India and Africa which was giving me such pleasure and such inner peace, but it is not. It is sharing it with you, and having you here every day. I never imagined I should find a woman's company so extremely… comfortable. I always considered them alien creatures, either formidable, like governesses and nurses, or totally trivial and far more frightening, like ladies who flirt. But you are the most… agreeable person I have ever known." His face was now quite scarlet, his blue eyes very bright. "I should be desperately lonely if you were to leave, and the happiest man alive if you were to remain-as my wife. If I presume, I apologize-but I have to ask. I love you so very dearly." He stopped, overcome by his own audacity, but his eyes never left her face.

Edith looked down at the floor, blushing deeply; she was smiling, not with embarrassment but with happiness.

"My dear Hercules," she said very gently. "I cannot think of anything in the world I should like so much."

Hester rose to her feet, kissed Edith gently on the cheek, then kissed the major in exactly the same way, and tiptoed outside into the sun to walk back toward more suitable transport to the Old Bailey and Oliver Rathbone.

Chapter 11

Before he could begin the case for the defense, Rathbone went to see Sir Herbert again to brief him now that he would be called to the witness stand.

It was not a meeting he looked forward to. Sir Herbert was far too intelligent a man not to realize how slender his chances were, how much depended on emotion, prejudices, sympathies; certainly intangibles that Rathbone was well skilled in handling, but frail threads from which to dangle a man's life. Evidence was unarguable. Even the most perverse jury seldom went against it.

However, he found Sir Herbert in a far more optimistic mood than he had feared. He was freshly washed and shaved and dressed in clean clothes. Except for the shadows around his eyes and a certain knack of twisting his fingers, he might have been about to set off for the hospital and his own professional rounds.

"Good morning, Rathbone," he said as soon as the cell door was closed. 'This morning is our turn. How do you propose to begin? It seems to me that Lovat-Smith has far from a perfect case. He has not proved it was me. Nor can he ever; and he has certainly not proved it was not Taunton or Beck, or even Miss Cuthbertson, let alone anyone else. What is your plan of action?" He might have been discussing an interesting medical operation in which he had no personal stake, except for a certain tightness in the muscles of his neck and an awkwardness in his shoulders.

Rathbone did not argue with anything he had said, even though he doubted it had the importance Sir Herbert attached to it. Quite apart from any motives of compassion, for all practical reasons it was most important that Sir Herbert should maintain his appearance of calm and assurance. Fear would convey itself to the jury, and they might very easily equate fear with guilt. Why should an innocent man be afraid of their judgment?

"I shall call you to the stand first," he said aloud, forcing himself to smile as if he had every confidence. "I shall give you the opportunity to deny having had any personal relationship with Prudence at all, and of course to deny having killed her. I would also like to be able to mention one or two specific incidents which she may have misunderstood." He watched Sir Herbert closely. "Simply to say in a general way that she daydreamed or twisted reality will not do."

"I have been trying to remember," Sir Herbert protested earnestly, his narrow eyes on Rathbone's. "But for Heaven's sake I can't remember trivial comments passed in the course of business! I can't remember being more than civil to her. Of course I passed the odd word of praise-she more than warranted it. She was a damned good nurse."

Rathbone remained silent, pulling a very slight face.