A Sudden, Fearful Death

It brought an extraordinary kind of loneliness that Prudence was gone, and a driving anger that it should be in this way.

On night duty-which Mrs. Flaherty gave her whenever she could; she disliked Crimean nurses and all the arrogance and the change they represented-Hester would walk around the wards by lamplight, and past memories crowded in on her. More than once she heard a dull thud and turned around with a shudder, expecting to see a rat stunned as it dropped off the wall, but there was nothing except a bundle of sheets and bandages and a slop pail.

Gradually she distinguished the other nurses and spoke to them when she had a natural opportunity. Very often she simply listened. They were frightened. Prudence's name was mentioned often, to begin with, with fear. Why had she been murdered? Was there a madman loose in the hospital, and might any one of them be next? Inevitably there were stories of sinister shadows in empty corridors, sounds of muffled screams and then silence, and almost every male member of staff was the subject of speculation.

They were in the laundry room. The huge coppers were silent, no clanking of steam in the pipes, no hissing and bubbling. It was the end of the day. There was little left to do but fold and collect sheets.

"What was she like?" Hester asked with casual innocence.

"Bossy," an elderly nurse replied, pulling a face. She was fat and tired, and her red-veined nose bore mute witness to her solace in the gin bottle. "Always telling other people what to do. Thought having been in the Crimea meant she knew everything. Even told the doctors sometimes." She grinned toothlessly. "Made 'em mad, it did."

There was laughter all around. Apparently, however unpopular Prudence might have been at times, the doctors were more so, and when she clashed with them, the women were amused and were on her side.

"Really?" Hester made her interest obvious. "Didn't she get told off for it? She was lucky not to be dismissed."

"Not her!" Another nurse laughed abruptly, pushing her hands into her pockets. "She was a bossy piece, all right, but she knew how to run a ward and care for the sick. Knew it better than Mrs. Flaherty, although if you say I said that, I'll push your eyes out." She put down the last sheet with a thump.

"Who is going to tell that vinegar bitch, you stupid cow?" the first woman said acidly. "But I don't think she was that good. Thought she was, mind."

"Yes she was!" Now the second woman was getting angry. Her face was flushed. "She saved a lot of lives in this God-awful place. Even made it smell better."

"Smell better!" There was a guffaw of laughter from a big red-haired woman. "Where d'ya think yer are, some gennelman's 'ouse? Gam, ya fool! She thought she were a lady, not one o' the likes of us. A sight too good to work with scrubwomen and domestics. Got ideas about being a doctor, she 'ad. Right fool, she was, poor cow. Should have heard what his lordship had to say about that."

" 'Oo? Sir 'Erbert?'

" 'Course Sir 'Erbert. 'Oo else? Not old German George. 'E's a foreigner and full o' funny ideas anyway. Wouldn't be surprised if it were 'im wot killed 'er. That's what them rozzers are sayin' anyway."

"Are they?" Hester looked interested. "Why? I mean, couldn't it just as easily have been anyone else?"

They all looked at her.

"Wot yer mean?" the red-haired one said with a frown.

Hester hitched herself onto the edge of the laundry basket This was the sort of opportunity she had been angling for. "Well, who was here when she was killed?"

They looked at her, then at each other.

"Wot yer mean? Doctors, and the like?"

" 'Course she means doctors and the like," the fat woman said derisively. "She don't think one of us did her in. If I were going to kill anyone, it'd be me oP man, not some jumped-up nurse wi' ideas above 'erself. Wot do I care about 'er? I wouldn't 'av seen 'er dead, poor cow, but I wouldn't shed no tears either."

"What about the treasurer and the chaplain?" Hester tried to sound casual. "Did they like her?"

The fat woman shrugged. "Who knows? Why should they care one way or the other?"

"Well she weren't bad-looking," the old one replied with an air of generosity. "And if they can chase Mary 'Iggins, they could certainly chase 'er."

"Who chases Mary Higgins?" Hester inquired, not sure who Mary Higgins was, but assuming she was a nurse.

"The treasurer," the young one said with a shrug. "Fancies 'er, 'e does."

"So does the chaplain," the fat woman said with a snort.

"Dirty old sod. Keeps putting 'is arm 'round 'er an' calling 'er 'dear.' Mind, I wouldn't say as 'e didn't fancy Pru' Barrymore neither, come ter think on it. Maybe 'e went too far, and she threatened to report 'im? 'E could 'a done it."

"Would he have been here at that time in the morning?" Hester asked dubiously.. They looked at each other.