A Sudden, Fearful Death

There was a knock on the door and it opened a crack. The maid put her head around, eyes wide and filled with alarm.

"Bring in the tisane," Callandra ordered. "Put it down mere and then leave Lady Stanhope for a while. There are to be no callers admitted."

"Yes ma'am. No ma'am." She obeyed and withdrew.

Callandra remained with Philomena Stanhope for a further half hour, until she was sure she was capable of retaining her composure and beginning to face the dreadful task ahead of her, then she excused herself and left, going outside into the warm dusk to where her carriage still awaited her. She gave me coachman instructions to take her to Fitzroy Street, and Monk's lodgings.

* * * * *

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.