A Dangerous Mourning

chapter 5
Hester did not find the infirmary any easier to bear as days went by. The outcome of the trial had given her a sense of bitter struggle and achievement. She had been brought face-to-face again with a dramatic adversarial conflict, and for all its darkness and the pain she knew accompanied it, she had been on the side which had won. She had seen Fabia Grey's terrible face as she left the courtroom, and she knew the hate that now shriveled her life. But she also had seen the new freedom in Lovel Grey, as if ghosts had faded forever, leaving a beginning of light. And she chose to believe that Menard would make a life for himself in Australia, a land about which she knew almost nothing, but insofar as it was not England, there would be hope for him; and it was the best for which they could have striven.

She was not sure whether she liked Oliver Rathbone or not, but he was unquestionably exhilarating. She had tasted battle again, and it had whetted her appetite for more. She found Pomeroy even harder to endure than previously, his insufferable complacency, the smug excuses with which he accepted losses as inevitable, when she was convinced that with greater effort and attention and more courage, better nurses, more initiative by juniors, they need not have been lost at all. But whether that was true or not-he should fight. To be beaten was one thing, to surrender was another-and intolerable.

At least John Airdrie had been operated on, and now as she stood in the ward on a dark, wet November morning she could

see him asleep in his cot at the far end, breathing fitfully. She walked down closer to him to find if he was feverish. She straightened his blankets and moved her lamp to look at his face. It was flushed and, when she touched it, it was hot. This was to be expected after an operation, and yet it was what she dreaded. It might be just the normal reaction, or it might be the first stage of infection, for which they knew no cure. They could only hope the body's own strength would outlast the disease.

Hester had met French surgeons in the Crimea and learned of treatments practiced in the Napoleonic Wars a generation earlier. In 1640 the wife of the governor of Peru had been cured of fever by the administration of a distillation from tree bark, first known as Poudre de la Comtesse, then Poudre de Jesuites. Now it was known as loxa quinine. It was possible Pomeroy might prescribe such a thing for the child, but he might not; he was extremely conservative-and he was also not due to make his rounds for another five hours.

The child stirred again. She leaned over and touched him gently, to soothe as much as anything. But he did not regain his senses, rather he seemed on the border of falling into delirium.

She made up her mind without hesitation. This was a battle she would not surrender. Since the Crimea she had carried a few basic medicines herself, things she thought she would be unable to obtain readily in England. A mixture of theriac, loxa quinine and Hoffman's liquor was among them. She kept them in a small leather case with an excellent lock which she left with her cloak and bonnet in a small outer room provided for such a purpose.

Now, the decision made, she glanced around the ward one more time to make sure no one was in distress, and when all seemed well, she hurried out and along the passage to the outer room, and pulled her case from where it was half hidden under the folds of her cloak. She fished for the key on its chain from her pocket and put it in the lock. It turned easily and she opened the lid. Under the clean apron and two freshly laundered linen caps were the medicines. The theriac and quinine mixture was easy to see. She took it out and slipped it into her pocket, then closed and locked the case again, sliding it back under her cloak.

Back in the ward she found a bottle of the ale the nurses frequently drank. The mixer was supposed to be Bordeaux wine, but since she had none, this would have to serve. She poured a little into a cup and added a very small dose of the quinine, stirring it thoroughly. She knew the taste was extremely bitter.

She went over to the bed and lifted the child gently, resting his head against her. She gave him two teaspoonfuls, putting them gently between his lips. He seemed unaware of what was happening, and swallowed only in reaction. She wiped his mouth with a napkin and laid him back again, smoothing the hair off his brow and covering him with the sheet.

Two hours later she gave him two more teaspoonfiils, and then a third time just before Pomeroy came.

"Very pleasing," he said, looking closely at the boy, his freckled face full of satisfaction. "He seems to be doing remarkably well, Miss Latterly. You see I was quite right to leave the operation till I did. There was no such urgency as you supposed." He looked at her with a tight smile. "You panic too easily." And he straightened up and went to the next bed.

Hester refrained from comment with difficulty. But if she told him of the fever the boy had been sinking into only five hours ago, she would also have to tell him of the medication she had given. His reaction to that she could only guess at, but it would not be agreeable. She would tell him, if she had to, when the child was recovered. Perhaps discretion would be best.

However circumstances did not permit her such latitude. By the middle of the week John Aiidrie was sitting up with no hectic color in his cheeks and taking with pleasure a little light food. But the woman three beds along who had had an operation on her abdomen was sinking rapidly, and Pomeroy was looking at her with grave anxiety and recommending ice and frequent cool baths. There was no hope in his voice, only resignation and pity.

Hester could not keep silent. She looked at the woman's pain-suffused face, and spoke.

"Dr. Pomeroy, have you considered the possibility of giving her loxa quinine in a mixture of wine, theriac and Hoffman's mineral liquor? It might ease her fever."

He looked at her with incredulity turning slowly into anger

as he realized exactly what she had said, his face pink, his beard bristling.

"Miss Latterly, I have had occasion to speak to you before about your attempts to practice an art for which you have no training and no mandate. I will give Mrs. Begley what is best for her, and you will obey my instructions. Is that understood?"

Hester swallowed hard. "Is that your instruction, Dr. Pom-eroy, that I give Mrs. Begley some loxa quinine to ease her fever?"

"No it is not!" he snapped. "That is for tropical fevers, not for the normal recovery from an operation. It would do no good. We will have none of that foreign rubbish here!"

Part of Hester's mind still struggled with the decision, but her tongue was already embarked on the course her conscience would inevitably choose.

"I have seen it given with success by a French surgeon, sir, for fever following amputation, and it is recorded as far back as the Napoleonic campaigns before Waterloo."

His face darkened with angry color. "I do not take my instructions from the French, Miss Latterly! They are a dirty and ignorant race who only a short time ago were bent on conquering these islands and subjecting them, along with the rest of Europe! And I would remind you, since you seem apt to forget it, that you take your instructions from me-and from me alone!" He turned to leave the unfortunate woman, and Hester stepped almost in front of him.

"She is delirious, Doctor! We cannot leave her! Please permit me to try a little quinine; it cannot harm and it may help. I will give only a teaspoonful at a time, every two or three hours, and if it does not ease her I will desist.''

"And where do you propose I obtain such a medication, were I disposed to do as you say? "

She took a deep breath and only just avoided betraying herself.

"From the fever hospital, sir. We could send a hansom over. I will go myself, if you wish.''

His face was bright pink.

"Miss Latterly! I thought I had already made myself clear on the subject-nurses keep patients clean and cool from excessive temperature, they administer ice at the doctor's directions and drinks as have been prescribed.'' His voice was rising and getting louder, and he stood on the balls of his feet, rocking a little. "They fetch and carry and pass bandages and instruments as required. They keep the ward clean and tidy, they stoke fires and serve food. They empty and dispose of waste and attend to the bodily requirements of patients.''

He thrust his hands into his pockets and rocked on his feet a little more rapidly. "They keep order and lift the spirits. That is all! Do you understand me, Miss Latterly? They are unskilled in medicine, except of the most rudimentary sort. They do not in any circumstances whatever exercise their own judgment!"

"But if you are not present!" she protested.

"Then you wait!" His voice was getting increasingly shrill.

She could not swallow her anger. "But patients may die! Or at best become sufficiently worse that they cannot easily be saved!"

"Then you will send forme urgently! But you will do nothing beyond your remit, and when I come I will decide what is best to do. That is all."

"But if I know what to do-''

"You do not know!" His hands flew out of his pockets into the air. "For God's sake, woman, you are not medically trained! You know nothing but bits of gossip and practical experience you have picked up from foreigners in some campaign hospital in the Crimea! You are not a physician and never will be!"

"All medicine is only a matter of learning and observation!" Her voice was rising considerably now, and even the farther patients were beginning to take notice. "There are no rules except that if it works it is good, and if it does not then try something else." She was exasperated almost beyond endurance with his stubborn stupidity. "If we never experiment we will never discover anything better than we have now, and people will go on dying when perhaps we could have cured them!"

"And far more probably killed them with our ignorance!" he retaliated with finality. "You have no right to conduct experiments. You are an unskilled and willful woman, and if there is one more word of insubordination out of you, you will be dismissed. Do you understand me?"

She hesitated a moment, meeting his eyes. There was no uncertainty in them, no slightest flexibility in his determination. If she kept silent now there was just the possibility he might come back later, when she was off duty, and give Mrs. Begley the quinine.

"Yes, I understand." She forced the words out, her hands clenched in the folds of her apron and skirt at her sides.

But once again he could not leave well enough alone even after he had seemingly won.

"Quinine does not work for postoperative fever infections, Miss Latterly," he went on with mounting condescension. "It is for tropical fevers. And even then it is not always successful. You will dose the patient with ice and wash her regularly in cool water."

Hester breathed in and out very slowly. His complacency was insufferable.

"Do you hear me?" he demanded.

Before she could reply this time, one of the patients on the far side of the ward sat up, his face twisted in concentration.

"She gave something to that child at the end when he had a fever after his operation," he said clearly. "He was in a bad way, like to go into delirium. And after she did it four or five times he recovered. He's cool as you like now. She knows what she's doing-she's right."

There was a moment's awful silence. He had no idea what he had done.

Pomeroy was stunned.

"You gave loxa quinine to John Airdrie!" he accused, realization flooding into him."You did it behind my back!'' His voice rose, shrill with outrage and betrayal, not only by her but, even worse, by the patient.

Then a new thought struck him.

"Where did you get it from? Answer me, Miss Latterly! I demand you tell me where you obtained it! Did you have the audacity to send to the fever hospital in my name?"

"No, Dr. Pomeroy. I have some quinine of my own-a very small amount," she added hastily, "against fever. I gave him some of that."

He was trembling with rage. "You are dismissed, Miss Latterly. You have been a troublemaker since you arrived. You were employed on the recommendation of a lady who no doubt owed some favor to your family and had little knowledge of your irresponsible and willful nature. You will leave this establishment today! Whatever possessions you have here, take them with you. And there is no purpose in your asking for a recommendation. I can give you none!"

There was silence in the ward. Someone rustled bedclothes.

"But she cured the boy!" the patient protested. "She was right! 'E's alive because of 'er!'' The man's voice was thick with distress, at last understanding what he had done. He looked at Pomeroy, then at Hester. "She was right!" he said again.

Hester could at last afford the luxury of ceasing to care in the slightest what Pomeroy thought of her. She had nothing to lose now.

"Of course I shall go," she acknowledged. "But don't let your pride prevent you from helping Mrs. Begley. She doesn't deserve to die to save your face because a nurse told you what to do." She took a deep breath. "And since everyone in this room is aware of it, you will find it difficult to excuse."

"Why you-you-!" Pomeroy spluttered, scarlet in the fece but lost for words violent enough to satisfy his outrage and at the same time not expose his weakness. "You-"

Hester gave him one withering look, then turned away and went over to the patient who had defended her, now sitting with the bedclothes in a heap around him and a pale face full of shame.

"There is no need to blame yourself,'' she said to him very gently, but clearly enough for everyone else in the ward to hear her. He needed his excusing to be known. "It was bound to happen that one day I should fall out with Dr. Pomeroy sufficiently for this to happen. At least you have spoken up for what you know, and perhaps you will have saved Mrs. Begley a great deal of pain, maybe even her life. Please do not criticize yourself for it or feel you have done me a disfavor. You have done no more than choose the time for what was inevitable."

"Are you sure, miss? I feel that badly!" He looked at her anxiously, searching her face for belief.

"Of course I'm sure." She forced herself to smile at him. "Have you not watched me long enough to judge that for yourself? Dr. Pomeroy and I have been on a course that was destined for collision from the beginning. And it was never possible that I should have the better of it." She began to

straighten the sheet around him. "Now take care of yourself- and may God heal you!'' She took his hand briefly, then moved away again. "In spite of Pomeroy," she added under her breath.

***

When she had reached her rooms, and the heat of temper had worn off a little, she began to realize what she had done. She was not only without an occupation to fill her time, and financial means with which to support herself, she had also betrayed Callandra Daviot's confidence in her and the recommendation to which she had given her name.

She had a late-afternoon meal alone, eating only because she did not want to offend her landlady. It tasted of nothing. By five o'clock it was growing dark, and after the gas lamps were lit and the curtains were drawn the room seemed to narrow and close her in in enforced idleness and complete isolation. What should she do tomorrow? There was no infirmary, no patients to care for. She was completely unnecessary and without purpose to anyone. It was a wretched thought, and if pursued for long would undermine her to the point where she would wish to crawl into bed and remain there.

There was also the extremely sobering thought that after a week or two she would have no money and be obliged to leave here and return to beg her brother, Charles, to provide a roof over her head until she could-what? It would be extremely difficult, probably impossible to gain another position in nursing. Pomeroy would see to that.

She felt herself on the edge of tears, which she despised. She must do something. Anything was better than sitting here in this shabby room listening to the gas hissing in the silence and feeling sorry for herself. One unpleasant task to be done was explaining herself to Callandra. She owed her that, and it would be a great deal better done face-to-face than in a letter. Why not get that over with? It could hardly be worse than sitting here alone thinking about it and waiting for time to pass until she could find it reasonable to go to bed, and sleep would not be merely a running away.

She put on her best coat-she had only two, but one was definitely more flattering and less serviceable than the other- and a good hat, and went out into the street to find a hansom and give the driver Callandra Daviot's address.

She arrived a few minutes before seven, and was relieved to find that Callandra was at home and not entertaining company, a contingency which she had not even thought of when she set out. She asked if she might see Lady Callandra and was admitted without comment by the maid.

Callandra came down the stairs within a few minutes, dressed in what she no doubt considered fashionable, but which was actually two years out of date and not the most flattering of colors. Her hair was already beginning to come out of its pins, although she must have left her dressing room no more than a moment ago, but the whole effect was redeemed by the intelligence and vitality in her face-and her evident pleasure in seeing Hester, even at this hour, and unannounced. It did not take her more than one glance to realize that something was wrong.

"What is it, my dear?" she said on reaching the bottom stair. "What has happened?"

There was no purpose in being evasive, least of all with Callandra.

"I treated a child without the doctor's permission-he was not there. The child seems to be recovering nicely-but I have been dismissed." It was out. She searched Callandra's face.

"Indeed." Callandra's eyebrows rose only slightly. "And the child was ill, I presume?"

"Feverish and becoming delirious."

"With what did you treat it?"

"Loxa quinine, theriac, Hoffman's mineral liquor-and a little ale to make it palatable."

"Seems very reasonable." Callandra led the way to the withdrawing room. "But outside your authority, of course."

"Yes," Hester agreed quietly.

Callandra closed the door behind them. "And you are not sorry,'' she added. "I assume you would do the same again?''

"Do not lie to me, my dear. I am quite sure you would. It is a great pity they do not permit women to study medicine. You would make a fine doctor. You have intelligence, judgment and courage without bravado. But you are a woman, and that is an end of it." She sat down on a large and extremely comfortable sofa and signaled Hester to do the same. "And what do you intend to do now?"

"I have no idea."

"I thought not. Well perhaps you should begin by coming with me to the theater. You have had an extremely trying day and something in the realm of fantasy will be a satisfactory contrast. Then we will discuss what you are to do next. Forgive me for such an indelicate question, but have you sufficient funds to settle your accommodation for another week or two?''

Hester found herself smiling at such mundane practicality, so far from the moral outrage and portent of social disaster she might have expected from anyone else.

"Yes-yes I have."

"I hope that is the truth." Callandra's wild eyebrows rose inquiringly. "Good. Then that gives us a little time. If not, you would be welcome to stay with me until you obtain something more suitable."

It was better to tell it all now.

"I exceeded my authority," Hester confessed. "Pomeroy was extremely angry and will not give me any kind of reference. In fact I would be surprised if he did not inform all his colleagues of my behavior."

"I imagine he will," Callandra agreed. "If he is asked. But so long as the child recovers and survives he will be unlikely to raise the subject if he does not have to." She regarded Hester critically. "Oh dear, you are not exactly dressed for an evening out, are you? Still, it is too late to do a great deal now; you must come as you are. Perhaps my maid could dress your hair? That at least would help. Go upstairs and tell her I request it."

Hester hesitated; it had all been so rapid.

"Well don't stand there!" Callandra encouraged. "Have you eaten? We can have some refreshment there, but it will not be a proper meal.''

"Yes-yes I have. Thank you-"

"Then go and have your hair dressed-be quick!''

Hester obeyed because she had no better idea.

***

The theater was crowded with people bent on enjoying themselves, women fashionably dressed in crinoline skirts full of flounces and flowers, lace, velvet, fringes and ribbons and all manner of femininity. Hester felt outstandingly plain and not in the least like laughing, and the thought of flirting with some trivial and idiotic young man was enough to make her lose what little of her temper was left. It was only her debt, and her fondness for Callandra, that kept any curb on her tongue at all.

Since Callandra had a box there was no difficulty about seats, and they were not placed close to anyone else. The play was one of the dozens popular at the moment, concerning the fall from virtue of a young woman, tempted by the weakness of the flesh, seduced by a worthless man, and only in the end, when it was too late, desiring to return to her upright husband.

"Pompous, opinionated fool!" Hester said under her breath, her tolerance at last stretched beyond bearing. "I wonder if the police ever charged a man with boring a woman to death?''

"It is not a sin, my dear," Callandra whispered back. "Women are not supposed to be interested."

Hester used a word she had heard in the Crimea among the soldiers, and Callandra pretended not to have heard it, although she had in fact heard it many times, and even knew what it meant.

When the play was finished the curtain came down to enthusiastic applause. Callandra rose, and Hester, after a brief glance down at the audience, rose also and followed her out into the wide foyer, now rapidly filling with men and women chattering about the play, each other and any trivialities or gossip that came to mind.

Hester and Callandra stepped among them, and within a few minutes and half a dozen exchanges of polite words, they came face-to-face with Oliver Rathbone and a dark young woman with a demure expression on her extremely pretty face.

"Good evening, Lady Callandra." He bowed very slightly and then turned to Hester, smiling. "Miss Latterly. May I present Miss Newhouse?''

They exchanged formal greetings in the approved fashion.

"Wasn't it a delightful play? " Miss Newhouse said politely. "So moving, don't you think?"

"Very," Callandra agreed. "The theme seems to be most popular these days."

Hester said nothing. She was aware of Rathbone looking at her with the same inquisitive amusement he had at their first meeting, before the trial. She was not in the mood for small

talk, but she was Callandra's guest and she must endure it with some grace.

"I could not but feel sorry for the heroine," Miss New-house continued. "In spite of her weaknesses." She looked down for a moment. "Oh, I know of course that she brought her ruin upon herself. That was the playwright's skill, was it not, that one deplored her behavior and yet wept for her at the same time?" She turned to Hester. "Do you not think so, Miss Latterly?"

"I fear I had rather more sympathy with her than was intended," Hester said with an apologetic smile.

"Oh?" Miss Newhouse looked confused.

Hester felt compelled to explain further. She was acutely aware of Rathbone watching her.

"I thought her husband so extremely tedious I could well understand why she... lost interest."

"That hardly excuses her betrayal of her vows.'' Miss New-house was shocked. "It shows how easily we women can be led astray by a few flattering words," she said earnestly. "We see a handsome face and a little surface glamour, instead of true worth!"

Hester spoke before thinking. The heroine had been very pretty, and it seemed the husband had bothered to learn very little else about her. "I do not need anyone to lead me astray! I am perfectly capable of going on my own!"

Miss Newhouse stared at her, nonplussed.

Callandra coughed hard into her handkerchief.

"But not as much fun, going astray alone, is it?'' Rathbone said with brilliant eyes and lips barely refraining from a smile. "Hardly worth the journey!"

Hester swung around and met his gaze. "I may go alone, Mr. Rathbone, but I am perfectly sure I would not rind the ground uninhabited when I got there!"

His smile broadened, showing surprisingly beautiful teeth. He held out his arm in invitation.

"May I? Just to your carriage," he said with an expressionless face.

She was unable to stop laughing, and the fact that Miss Newhouse obviously did not know what was funny only added to her enjoyment.

***

The following day Callandra sent her footman to the police station with a note requesting that Monk wait upon her at his earliest convenience. She gave no explanation for her desire to see him and she certainly did not offer any information that would be of interest or use.

Nevertheless in the late morning he presented himself at her door and was duly shown in. He had a deep regard for her, of which she was aware.

"Good morning, Mr. Monk," she said courteously. "Please be seated and make yourself comfortable. May I offer you refreshment of some kind? Perhaps a hot chocolate? The morning is seasonably unpleasant."

"Thank you," he accepted, his face rather evidently showing his puzzlement as to why he had been sent for.

She rang for the maid, and when she appeared, requested the hot chocolate. Then she turned to Monk with a charming smile.

"How is your case progressing?" She had no idea which case he was engaged on, but she had no doubt there would be one.

He hesitated just long enough to decide whether the question was a mere politeness until the chocolate should arrive or whether she really wished to know. He decided the latter.

"Little bits and pieces of evidence all over the place," he replied. "Which do not as yet seem to add up to anything."

"Is that frequent?"

A flash of humor crossed his face. "It is not unknown, but these seem unusually erratic. And with a family like Sir Basil Moidore's, one does not press as one might with less socially eminent people."

She had the information she needed.

"Of course not. It must be very difficult indeed. And the public, by way of the newspapers, and the authorities also, will naturally be pressing very hard for a solution."

The chocolate came and she served them both, permitting the maid to leave immediately. The beverage was hot, creamy and delicious, and she saw the satisfaction in Monk's face as soon as his lips touched it.

"And you are at a disadvantage that you can never observe them except under the most artificial of circumstances," she went on, seeing his rueful agreement. "How can you possibly

ask them the questions you really wish, when they are so forewarned by your mere presence that all their answers are guarded and designed to protect? You can only hope their lies become so convoluted as to trap some truth."

"Are you acquainted with the Moidores?" He was seeking for her interest in the matter.

She waved a hand airily. "Only socially. London is very small, you know, and most good families are connected with each other. That is the purpose of a great many marriages. I have a cousin of sorts who is related to one of Beatrice's brothers. How is she taking the tragedy? It must be a most grievous time for her."

He set down his chocolate cup for a moment."Very hard,'' he replied, concentrating on a memory which puzzled him. "To begin with she seemed to be bearing it very well, with great calm and inner strength. Now quite suddenly she has collapsed and withdrawn to her bedroom. I am told she is ill, but I have not seen her myself."

"Poor creature," Callandra sympathized. "But most unhelpful to your inquiries. Do you imagine she knows something?"

He looked at her acutely. He had remarkable eyes, very dark clear gray, with an undeviating gaze that would have quelled quite a few people, but Callandra could have outstared a basilisk.

"It occurs to me," he said carefully.

"What you need is someone inside the house whom the family and servants would consider of no importance," she said as if the idea had just occurred to her. "And of course quite unrelated to the investigation-someone who has an acute sense of people's behavior and could observe them without their giving any thought to it, and then recount to you what was said and done in private times, the nuances of tone and expression."

"A miracle," he said dryly.

"Not at all," she replied with equally straight-faced aridity. "A woman would suffice."

"We do not have women officers in the police." He picked up his cup again and looked at her over the rim. "And if we did, we could hardly place one in the house."

"Did you not say Lady Moidore had taken to her bed?"

"That is of some help?" He looked wide-eyed.

"Perhaps she would benefit from having a nurse in the house? She is quite naturally ill with distress at her daughter's death by murder. It seems very possible she has some realization of who was responsible. No wonder she is unwell, poor creature. Any woman would be. I think a nurse would be an excellent thing for her."

He stopped drinking his chocolate and stared at her.

With some difficulty she kept her face blank and perfectly innocent.

"Hester Latterly is at present without employment, and she is an excellent nurse, one of Miss Nightingale's young ladies. I can recommend her highly. And she would be perfectly prepared to undertake such an engagement, I believe. She is most observant, as you know, and not without personal courage. The fact that a murder has taken place in the house would not deter her."

"What about the infirmary?" he said slowly, a brilliant light coming into his eyes.

"She is no longer there." Her expression was blandly innocent.

He looked startled.

"A difference of opinion with the doctor," she explained.

"Oh!"

"Who is a fool," she added.

"Of course." His smile was very slight, but went all the way to his eyes.

"I am sure if you were to approach her," she went on, "with some tact she would be prepared to apply for a temporary position with Sir Basil Moidore, to care for Lady Moidore until such time as she is herself again. I will be most happy to supply a reference. I would not speak to the hospital, if I were you. And it might be desirable not to mention my name to Hester-unless it is necessary to avoid untruth."

Now his smile was quite open. "Quite so, Lady Callandra. An excellent idea. I am most obliged to you."

"Not at all," she said innocently. "Not at all. I shall also speak to my cousin Valentina, who will be pleased to suggest such a thing to Beatrice and at the same time recommend Miss Latterly."

***

Hester was so surprised to see Monk she did not even think to wonder how he knew her address.

"Good morning," she said in amazement. "Has something-" she stopped, not sure what it was she was asking.

He knew how to be circumspect when it was in his own interest. He had learned it with some difficulty, but his ambition overrode his temper, even his pride, and it had come in time.

"Good morning," he replied agreeably. "No, nothing alarming has happened. I have a favor I wish of you, if you are willing."

"Of me?" She was still astonished and half disbelieving.

"If you will? May I sit down?"

"Oh-of course." They were in Mrs. Home's parlor, and she waved to the seat nearest the thin fire.

He accepted, and began on the purpose of his visit before trivial conversation should lead him into betraying Callandra Daviot.

"I am engaged in the Queen Anne Street case, the murder of Sir Basil Moidore's daughter."

"I wondered if you would be," she answered politely, her eyes bright with expectation. "The newspapers are still full of it. But I have never met any of the family, nor do I know anything about them. Have they any connection with the Crimea?"

"Only peripheral.''

"Then what can I-" She stopped, waiting for him to answer.

"It was someone in the house who killed her," he said. "Very probably one of the family-"

"Oh-" Understanding began in her eyes, not of her own part in the case, but of the difficulties facing him. "How can you investigate that?"

"Carefully." He smiled with a downward turn of his lips. "Lady Moidore has taken to her bed. I am not sure how much of it is grief-she was very composed to begin with-and how much of it may be because she has learned something which points to one of the family and she cannot bear it."

"What can I do?" He had all her attention now.

"Would you consider taking a position as nurse to Lady

Moidore, and observing the family, and if possible learning what she fears so much?"

She looked uncomfortable. "They may require better references than I could supply."

"Would not Miss Nightingale speak well of you?"

"Oh, certainly-but the infirmary would not."

"Indeed. Then we shall hope they do not ask them. I think the main thing will be if Lady Moidore finds you agreeable-''

"I imagine Lady Callandra would also speak for me."

He relaxed back into his chair. "That should surely be sufficient. Then you will do it?"

She laughed very slightly. "If they advertise for such a person, I shall surely apply-but I can hardly turn up at the door and inquire if they need a nurse!"

"Of course not. I shall do what I can to arrange it.'' He did not tell her of Callandra Daviot's cousin, and hurried on to avoid difficult explanations. "It will be done by word of mouth, as these things are in the best families. If you will permit yourself to be mentioned? Good-"

"Tell me something of the household."

"I think it would be better if I left you to discover it yourself-and certainly your opinions would be of more use to me." He frowned curiously. "What happened at the infirmary?"

Ruefully she told him.

***

Valentina Burke-Heppenstall was prevailed upon to call in person at Queen Anne Street to convey her sympathies, and when Beatrice did not receive her, she commiserated with her friend's distress and suggested to Araminta that perhaps a nurse would be helpful in the circumstances and be able to offer assistance a busy ladies' maid could not.

After a few moments' consideration, Araminta was disposed to agree. It would indeed remove from the rest of the household the responsibility for a task they were not really equipped to handle.

Valentina could suggest someone, if it would not be viewed as impertinent? Miss Nightingale's young ladies were the very best, and very rare indeed among nurses; they were well-bred, not at all the sort of person one would mind having in one's house.

Araminta was obliged. She would interview this person at the first opportunity.

Accordingly Hester put on her best uniform and rode in a hansom cab to Queen Anne Street, where she presented herself for Araminta's inspection.

"I have Lady Burke-Heppenstall's recommendation of your work,'' Araminta said gravely. She was dressed in black taffeta which rustled with every movement, and the enormous skirt kept touching table legs and corners of sofas and chairs as Araminta walked in the overfurnished room. The sombemess of the gown and the black crepes set over pictures and doors in recognition of death made her hair by contrast seem like a pool of light, hotter and more vivid than gold.

She looked at Hester's gray stuff dress and severe appearance with satisfaction.

"Why are you currently seeking employment, Miss Latterly?" She made no attempt at courtesy. This was a business interview, not a social one.

Hester had already prepared her excuse, with Callandra's help. It was frequently the desire of an ambitious servant to work for someone of title. They were greater snobs than many of their mistresses, and the manners and grammar of other servants were of intense importance to them.

"Now that I am home in England, Mrs. Kellard, I should prefer nursing in a private house of well-bred people to working in a public hospital."

"That is quite understandable,'' Araminta accepted without a flicker. "My mother is not ill, Miss Latterly; she has had a bereavement under most distressing circumstances. We do not wish her to fall into a melancholy. It would be easy enough. She will require agreeable company-and care that she sleeps well and eats sufficiently to maintain her health. Is this a position you would be willing to fill, Miss Latterly?"

"Yes, Mrs. Kellard, I should be happy to, if you feel I would suit?" Hester forced herself to be appropriately humble only by remembering Monk's face-and her real purpose here.

"Very well, you may consider yourself engaged. You may bring such belongings as are necessary, and begin tomorrow. Good day to you."

"Good day, ma'am-thank you."

Accordingly, the following day Hester arrived at Queen

Anne Street with her few belongings in a trunk and presented herself at the back door to be shown her room and her duties. It was an extraordinary position, rather more than a servant, but a great deal less than a guest. She was considered skilled, but she was not part of the ordinary staff, nor yet a professional person such as a doctor. She was a member of the household, therefore she must come and go as she was ordered and conduct herself in all ways as was acceptable to her mistress. Mistress-the word set her teeth on edge.

But why should it? She had no possessions and no prospects, and since she took it upon herself to administer to John Airdrie without Pomeroy's permission, she had no other employment either. And of course there was not only caring for Lady Moidore to consider and do well, there was the subtler and more interesting and dangerous job to do for Monk.

She was given an agreeable room on the floor immediately above the main family bedrooms and with a connecting bell so she could come at a moment's notice should she be required. In her time off duty, if there should be any, she might read or write letters in the ladies' maids' sitting room. She was told quite unequivocally what her duties would be, and what would remain those of the ladies' maid, Mary, a dark, slender girl in her twenties with a face full of character and a ready tongue. She was also told the province of the upstairs maid, Annie, who was about sixteen and full of curiosity, quick-witted and far too opinionated for her own good.

She was shown the kitchen and introduced to the cook, Mrs. Boden, the kitchen maid Sal, the scullery maid May, the boot-boy Willie, and then to the laundrymaids Lizzie and Rose, who would attend to her linens. The other ladies' maid, Gladys, she only saw on the landing; she looked after Mrs. Cyprian Moidore and Miss Araminta. Similarly the upstairs maid Maggie, the between maid Nellie, and the handsome parlormaid Dinah were outside her responsibility. The tiny, fierce housekeeper, Mrs. Willis, did not have jurisdiction over nurses, and that was a bad beginning to their relationship. She was used to power and resented a female servant who was not answerable to her. Her small, neat face showed it in instant disapproval. She reminded Hester of a particularly efficient hospital matron, and the comparison was not a fortunate one.

"You will eat in the servants' hall with everyone else,"

Mrs. Willis informed her tartly. "Unless your duties make that impossible. After breakfast at eight o'clock we all," she said the word pointedly, and looked Hester in the eye, "gather for Sir Basil to lead us in prayers. I assume, Miss Latterly, that you are a member of the Church of England?''

"Oh yes, Mrs. Willis," Hester said immediately, although by inclination she was no such thing, her nature was all nonconformist.

"Good." Mrs. Willis nodded. "Quite so. We take dinner between twelve and one, while the family takes luncheon. There will be supper at whatever time the evening suits. When there are large dinnerparties that may be very late." Her eyebrows rose very high. "We give some of the largest dinner parties in London here, and very fine cuisine indeed. But since we are in mourning at present there will be no entertaining, and by the time we resume I imagine your duties will be long past. I expect you will have half a day off a fortnight, like everyone else. But if that does not suit her ladyship, then you won't."

Since it was not a permanent position Hester was not yet concerned with time off, so long as she had opportunity to see Monk when necessary, to report to him any knowledge she had gained.

"Yes, Mrs. Willis," she replied, since a reply seemed to be awaited.

"You will have little or no occasion to go into the withdrawing room, but if you do I presume you know better than to knock?" Her eyes were sharp on Hester's face. "It is extremely vulgar ever to knock on a withdrawing room door."

"Of course, Mrs. Willis," Hester said hastily. Shehadnever given the matter any thought, but it would not do to admit it.

"The maid will care for your room, of course,'' the housekeeper went on, looking at Hester critically. "But you will iron your own aprons. The laundrymaids have enough to do, and the ladies' maids are certainly not waiting on you! If anyone sends you letters-you have a family?" This last was something in the nature of a challenge. People without families lacked respectability; they might be anyone.

"Yes, Mrs. Willis, I do," Hester said firmly. "Unfortunately my parents died recently, and one of my brothers was

killed in the Crimea, but I have a surviving brother, and I am very fond both of him and of his wife."

Mrs. Willis was satisfied. "Good. I am sorry about your brother who died in the Crimea, but many fine young men were lost in that conflict. To die for one's Queen and country is an honorable thing and to be bome with such fortitude as one can. My own rather was a soldier-a very fine man, a man to look up to. Family is very important, Miss Latterly. All the staff here are most respectable.''

With great difficulty Hester bit her tongue and forbore from saying what she felt about the Crimean War and its political motives or the utter incompetence of its conduct. She controlled herself with merely lowering her eyes as if in modest consent.

"Mary will show you the female servants' staircase." Mrs. Willis had finished the subject of personal lives and was back to business.

"I beg your pardon?" Hester was momentarily confused.

"The female servants' staircase," Mrs. Willis said sharply. "You will have to go up and down stairs, girl! This is a decent household-you don't imagine you are going to use the male servants' stairs, do you? Whatever next? I hope you don't have any ideas of that sort.''

"Certainly not, ma'am.'' Hester collected her wits quickly and invented an explanation. "I am just unused to such spaciousness. I am not long returned from the Crimea." This in case Mrs. Willis had heard only the reputation of nurses in England, which was far from savory."We had no menservants where I was."

"Indeed." Mrs. Willis was totally ignorant in the matter, but unwilling to say so. "Well, we have five outside menservants here, whom you are unlikely to meet, and inside we have Mr. Phillips, the butler; Rhodes, Sir Basil's valet; Harold and Percival, the footmen; and Willie, the bootboy. You will have no occasion to have dealings with any of them."

"No ma'am."

Mrs. Willis sniffed. "Very well. You had best go and present yourself to Lady Moidore and see if there is anything you can do for her, poor creature." She smoothed her apron fiercely and her keys jangled. "As if it wasn't enough to be bereaved of a daughter, without police creeping all over the

house and pestering people with questions. I don't know what the world is coming to! If they were doing their job in the first place all this would never have happened."

Since she was not supposed to know it, Hester refrained from saying it was a bit unreasonable to expect police, no matter how diligent, to prevent a domestic murder.

"Thank you, Mrs. Willis," she said in compromise, and turned to go upstairs and meet Beatrice Moidore.

She tapped on the bedroom door, and when there was no answer, went in anyway. It was a charming room, very feminine, full of flowered brocades, oval framed pictures and mirrors, and three light, comfortable dressing chairs set about to be both ornamental and useful. The curtains were wide open and the room full of cold sunlight.

Beatrice herself was lying on the bed in a satin peignoir, her ankles crossed and her arms behind her head, her eyes wide, staring at the ceiling. She took no notice when Hester came in.

Hester was an army nurse used to caring for men sorely wounded or desperately ill, but she had a small experience of the shock and then deep depression and fear following an amputation, and the feeling of utter helplessness that overwhelms every other emotion. What she thought she saw in Beatrice Moidore was fear, and the frozen attitude of an animal that dares not move in case it draws attention to itself and does not know which way to run.

"Lady Moidore," she said quietly.

Beatrice realized it was a voice she did not know, and an unaccustomed tone, firmer and not tentative like a maid's. She turned her head and stared.

"Lady Moidore, I am Hester Latterly. I am a nurse, and I have come to look after you until you feel better.''

Beatrice sat up slowly on her elbows. "A nurse?" she said with a faint, slightly twisted smile. "I'm not-" Then she changed her mind and lay back again. "There has been a murder in my family-that is not an illness."

So Araminta had not even told her of the arrangements, let alone consulted her-unless, of course, she had forgotten?

"No," Hester agreed aloud. "I would consider it more in the nature of an injury. But I learned most of my nursing in

the Crimea, so I am used to injury and the shock and distress it causes. One can take some time even to desire to recover."

"In the Crimea? How useful."

Hester was surprised. It was an odd comment to make. She looked more carefully at Beatrice's sensitive, intelligent face with its wide eyes, jutting nose and fine lips. She was far from a classic beauty, nor did she have the rather heavy, sulky look that was currently much admired. She appeared far too spirited to appeal to many men, who might care for something a great deal more domestic seeming. And yet today her aspect completely denied the nature implicit in her features.

"Yes," Hester agreed. "And now that my family are dead and were not able to leave me provided for, I require to remain useful."

Beatrice sat up again. "It must be very satisfying to be useful. My children are adult and married themselves. We do a great deal of entertaining-at least we did-but my daughter Araminta is highly skilled at preparing guest lists that will be interesting and amusing, my cook is the envy of half of London, and my butler knows where to hire any extra help we might need. All my staff are highly trained, and I have an extremely efficient housekeeper who does not appreciate my meddling in her affairs.''

Hester smiled. "Yes, I can imagine. I have met her. Have you taken luncheon today?''

"lam not hungry."

"Then you should take a little soup, and some fruit. It can give you very unpleasant effects if you do not drink. Internal distress will not help you at all."

Beatrice looked as surprised as her indifference would allow.."You are very blunt.''

"I do not wish to be misunderstood."

Beatrice smiled in spite of herself. "I doubt you very often are."

Hester kept her composure. She must not forget that her primary duty was to care for a woman suffering deeply.

"May I bring you a little soup., and some fruit tart, or a custard?"

"I imagine you will bring it anyway-and I daresay you are hungry yourself?"

Hester smiled, glanced around the room once more, and went to begin her duties in the kitchen.

***

It was that evening that Hester made her next acquaintance with Araminta. She had come downstairs to the library to fetch a book which she thought would interest Beatrice and possibly help her to sleep, and she was searching along the shelves past weighty histories, and even weightier philosophies, until she should come to poetries and novels. She was bent over on her knees with her skirts around her when Araminta came in.

"Have you mislaid something, Miss Latterly?" she asked with feint disapproval. It was an undignified position, and too much at home for someone who was more or less a servant.

Hester rose to her feet and straightened her clothes. They were much of a height and looked at each other across a small reading table. Araminta was dressed in black silk trimmed with velvet with tiny silk ribbons on the bodice and her hair was as vivid as marigolds in the sun. Hester was dressed in blue-gray with a white apron, and her hair was a very ordinary brown with faint touches of honey or auburn in it in the sun, but excessively dull compared with Araminta's.

"No, Mrs. Kellard," she replied gravely. "I came to find something for Lady Moidore to read before she retires, so it might help her to sleep.''

"Indeed? I would think a little laudanum would serve better?"

"It is a last resort, ma'am," Hester said levelly. "It tends to form a dependency, and can make one feel unwell afterwards."

"I imagine you know that my sister was murdered in this house less than three weeks ago?" Araminta stood very straight, her eyes unwavering. Hester admired her moral courage to be so blunt on a subject many would consider too shocking to speak of at all.

"Yes I am,'' she said gravely."It is not surprising that your mother is extremely distressed, especially since I understand the police are still here quite often asking questions. I thought a book might take her mind off present grief, at least long enough to fall asleep, without causing the heaviness of drugs. It will not serve her to evade the pain forever. I don't mean to

sound harsh. I have lost my own parents and a brother; I am acquainted with bereavement."

"Presumably that is why Lady Burke-Heppenstall recommended you. I think it will be most beneficial if you can keep my mother's mind from dwelling upon Octavia, my sister, or upon who might have been responsible for her death." Ara-minta's eyes did not flinch or evade in the slightest. "I am glad you are not afraid to be in the house. You have no need to be." She raised her shoulders very slightly. It was a cold gesture. "It is highly possible it was some mistaken relationship which ended in tragedy. If you conduct yourself with propriety, and do not encourage any attentions whatever, nor give the appearance of meddling or being inquisitive-"

The door opened and Myles Kellard came in. Hester's first thought was that he was an extraordinarily handsome man with a quite individual air to him, a man who might laugh or sing, or tell wild and entertaining stories. If his mouth was a trifle self-indulgent, perhaps it was only that of a dreamer.

"-you will find no trouble at all." Araminta finished without turning to look at him or acknowledge his presence.

"Are you warning Miss Latterly about our intrusive and rather arrogant policeman?'' Myles asked curiously. He turned and smiled at Hester, an easy and charming expression. "Ignore him, Miss Latterly. And if he is overpersistent, report him to me, and I shall be glad to dispatch him for you forthwith. Whomever else he suspects-" His eyes surveyed her with mild interest, and she felt a sudden pang of regret that she was so ungenerously endowed and dressed so very plainly. It would have been most agreeable to see a spark of interest light in such a man's eyes as he looked at her.

"He will not suspect Miss Latterly," Araminta said for him. "Principally because she was not here at the time."

"Of course not," he agreed, putting out his arm towards his wife. With a delicate, almost imperceptible gesture she moved away from him so he did not touch her.

He froze, changed direction and reached instead to straighten a picture which was sitting on the desk.

"Otherwise he might," Araminta continued coolly, stiffening her back. "He seems to suspect everyone else, even the family."

"Rubbish!" Myles attempted to sound impatient, but Hester thought he was more uncomfortable. There was a sudden pinkness to his skin and his eyes moved restlessly from one object to another, avoiding their faces. "That is absurd! None of us could have the slightest reason for such a fearful thing, nor would we if we had. Really, Minta, you will be frightening Miss Latterly."

"I did not say one of us had done it, Myles, merely that Inspector Monk believed it of us-I think it must have been something Percival said about you." She watched the color ebb from his skin, then turned away and continued deliberately. "He is most irresponsible. If I were quite sure I should have him dismissed." She spoke very clearly. Her tone suggested she was musing aloud, intent upon her thoughts for themselves, not for any effect upon others, but her body inside its beautiful gown was as stiff as a twig in the still air, and her voice was penetrating. "I think it is the suspicion of what Percival said that has made Mama take to her bed. Perhaps if you were to avoid her, Myles, it might be better for her. She may be afraid of you-" She turned suddenly and smiled at him, dazzling and brittle. "Which is perfectly absurd, I know-but fear is at times irrational. We can have the wildest ideas about people, and no one can convince us they are unfounded."

She cocked her head a little to one side."After all, whatever reason could you possibly have to have quarreled so violently with Octavia?" She hesitated. "And yet she is sure you have. I hope she does not tell Mr. Monk so, as it would be most distressing for us." She swiveled around to Hester. "Do see if you can help her to take a rather firmer hold on reality, Miss Latterly. We shall all be eternally grateful to you. Now I must go and see how poor Romola is. She has a headache, and Cyprian never knows what to do for her.'' She swept her skirts around her and walked out, graceful and rigid.

Hester found herself surprisingly embarrassed. It was perfectly clear that Araminta was aware she had frightened her husband, and that she took a calculated pleasure in it. Hester bent to the bookshelf again, not wishing Myles to see the knowledge in her eyes.

He moved to stand behind her, no more than a yard away, and she was acutely conscious of his presence.

"There is no need to be concerned, Miss Latterly,'' he said

with a very slight huskiness in his voice. "Lady Moidore has rather an active imagination. Like a lot of ladies. She gets her facts muddled, and frequently does not mean what she says. I am sure you understand that?" His tone implied that Hester would be the same, and her words were to be taken lightly.

She rose to her feet and met his eyes, so close she could see the shadow of his remarkable eyelashes on his cheeks, but she refused to step backwards.

"No I do not understand it, Mr. Kellard." She chose her words carefully. "I very seldom say what I do not mean, and if I do, it is accidental, a misuse of words, not a confusion in my mind."

"Of course, Miss Latterly.'' He smiled."I am sure you are at heart just like all women-"

"Perhaps if Mrs. Moidore has a headache, I should see if I can help her?'' she said quickly, to prevent herself from giving the retort in her mind.

"I doubt you can," he replied, moving aside a step. "It is not your attention she wishes for. But by all means try, if you like. It should be a nice diversion.''

She chose to misunderstand him. "If one is suffering a headache, surely whose attention it is is immaterial."

''Possibly,'' he conceded. "I've never had one-at least not of Romola's sort. Only women do."

Hester seized the first book to her hand, and holding it with its face towards her so its title was hidden, brushed her way past him.

"If you will excuse me, I must return to see how Lady Moidore is feeling."

"Of course," he murmured. "Although I doubt it will be much different from when you left her!"

***

It was during the day after that she came to realize more fully what Myles had meant about Romola's headache. She was coming in from the conservatory with a few flowers for Beatrice's room when she came upon Romola and Cyprian standing with their backs to her, and too engaged in their conversation to be aware of her presence.

"It would make me very happy if you would,'' Romola said with a note of pleading in her voice, but dragged out, a little plaintive, as though she had asked many times before.

Hester stopped and took a step backwards behind the curtain, from where she could see Romola's back and Cyprian's face. He looked tired and harassed, shadows under his eyes and a hunched attitude to his shoulders as though half waiting for a blow.

"You know that it would be fruitless at the moment," he replied with careful patience. "It would not make matters any better."

"Oh, Cyprian!'' She turned very petulantly, her whole body expressing disappointment and disillusion. "I really think for my sake you should try. It would make all the difference in the world tome."

"I have already explained to you-" he began, then abandoned the attempt. "I know you wish it," he said sharply, exasperation breaking through. "And if I could persuade him I would."

"Would you? Sometimes I wonder how important my happiness is to you."

"Romola-I-"

At this point Hester could bear it no longer. She resented people who by moral pressure made others responsible for their happiness. Perhaps because no one had ever taken responsibility for hers, but without knowing the circumstances, she was still utterly on Cyprian's side. She bumped noisily into the curtain, rattling the rings, let out a gasp of surprise and mock irritation, and then when they both turned to look at her, smiled apologetically and excused herself, sailing past them with a bunch of pink daisies in her hand. The gardener had called them something quite different, but daisies would do.

***

She settled in to Queen Anne Street with some difficulty. Physically it was extremely comfortable. It was always warm enough, except in the servants' rooms on the third and fourth floors, and the food was by far the best she had ever eaten- and the quantities were enormous. There was meat, river fish and sea fish, game, poultry, oysters, lobster, venison, jugged hare, pies, pastries, vegetables, fruit, cakes, tarts and flans, puddings and desserts. And the servants frequently ate what was returned from the dining room as well as what was cooked especially for them.

She learned the hierarchy of the servants' hall, exactly whose domain was where and who deferred to whom, which was extremely important. No one intruded upon anyone else's duties, which were either above them or beneath them, and they guarded their own with jealous exactitude. Heaven forbid a senior housemaid should be asked to do what was the under housemaid's job, or worse still, that a footman should take a liberty in the kitchen and offend the cook.

Rather more interestingly she learned where the fondnesses lay, and the rivalries, who had taken offense at whom, and quite often why.

Everyone was in awe of Mrs. Willis, and Mr. Phillips was considered more the master in any practical terms than Sir Basil, whom many of the staff never actually saw. There was a certain amount of joking and irreverence about his military mannerisms, and more than one reference to sergeant majors, but never within his hearing.

Mrs. Boden, the cook, ruled with a rod of iron in the kitchen, but it was more by skill, dazzling smiles and a very hot temper than by the sheer freezing awe of the housekeeper or the butler. Mrs. Boden was also fond of Cyprian and Rom-ola's children, the fair-haired, eight-year-old Julia and her elder brother, Arthur, who was just ten. She was given to spoiling them with treats from the kitchen whenever opportunity arose, which was frequently, because although they ate in the nursery, Mrs. Boden oversaw the preparation of the tray that was sent up.

Dinah the parlormaid was a trifle superior, but it was in good part her position rather than her nature. Parlormaids were selected for their appearance and were required to sail in and out of the front reception rooms heads high, skirts swishing, to open the front door in the afternoons and carry visitors' cards in on a silver tray. Hester actually found her very approachable, and keen to talk about her family and how good they had been to her, providing her with every opportunity to better herself.

Sal, die kitchen maid, remarked that Dinah had never been seen to receive a letter from them, but she was ignored. And Dinah took all her permitted time off duty, and once a year returned to her home village, which was somewhere in Kent.

Lizzie, the senior laundrymaid, on the other hand, was very

superior indeed, and ran the laundry with an unbending discipline. Rose, and the women who came in to do some of the heavy ironing, were never seen to disobey, whatever their private feelings. It was an entertaining observation of nature, but little of it seemed of value in learning who had murdered Oc-tavia Haslett.

Of course the subject was discussed below stairs. One could not possibly have a murder in the house and expect people not to speak of it, most particularly when they were all suspected-and one of them had to be guilty.

Mrs. Boden refused even to think about it, or to permit anyone else to.

"Not in my kitchen,'' she said briskly, whisking half a dozen eggs so sharply they all but flew out of the bowl. "I'll not have gossip in here. You've got more than enough to do without wasting your time in silly chatter. Sal-you do them potatoes by the time I've finished this, or I'll know the reason why! May! May! What about the floor, then? I won't have a dirty floor in here."

Phillips stalked from one room to another, grand and grim. Mrs. Boden said the poor man had taken it very hard that such a thing should happen in his household. Since it was obviously not one of the family, to which no one replied, obviously it must be one of the servants-which automatically meant someone he had hired.

Mrs. Willis's icy look stopped any speculation she overheard. It was indecent and complete nonsense. The police were quite incompetent, or they would know perfectly well it couldn't be anyone in the house. To discuss such a thing would only frighten the younger girls and was quite irresponsible. Anyone overheard being so foolish would be disciplined appropriately.

Of course this stopped no one who was minded to indulge in a little gossip, which was all the maids, to the endless patronizing comments of the male staff, who had quite as much to say but were less candid about it. It reached a peak at tea time in the servants' hall.

"I think it was Mr. Thirsk, when 'e was drunk," Sal said with a toss of her head. "I know 'e takes port from the cellar, an' no good sayin"e doesn't!"

"Lot o' nonsense," Lizzie dismissed with scorn. "He's ever such a gentleman. And what would he do such a thing for, may I ask?"

"Sometimes I wonder where you grew up." Gladys glanced over her shoulder to make sure Mrs. Boden was nowhere in earshot. She leaned forward over the table, her cup of tea at her elbow. "Don't you know anything?"

"She works downstairs!'' Mary hissed back at her.''Downstairs people never know half what upstairs people do."

"Go on then," Rose challenged. "Who do you think did it?"

"Mrs. Sandeman, in a fit o' jealous rage," Mary replied with conviction. "You should see some o' the outfits she wears-and d'you know where Harold says he takes her sometimes?"

They all stopped eating or drinking in breathless anticipation of the answer.

"Well?" Maggie demanded.

"You're too young." Mary shook her head.

"Oh, go on," Maggie pleaded. "Tell us!"

"She doesn't know 'erself," Sal said with a grin. "She's 'avinus on."

"I do so!" Mary retorted. "He takes her to streets where decent women don't go-down by the Haymarket."

"What-over some admirer?" Gladys savored the possibility. "Go on! Really?"

"You got a better idea, then?" Mary asked.

Willie the bootboy appeared from the kitchen doorway, where he had been keeping cavey in case Mrs. Boden should appear.

"Well I think it was Mr. Kellard!'' he said with a backward glance over his shoulder. "May I have that piece o' cake? I'm starvin"ungry."

"That's only because you don't like 'im." Mary pushed the cake towards him, and he took it and bit into it ravenously.

"Pig," Sal said without rancor.

"I think it was Mrs. Moidore," May the scullery maid said suddenly.

"Why?" Gladys demanded with offended dignity. Romola was her charge, and she was personally offended by the suggestion.

"Go on with you!" Mary dismissed it. "YouVe never even seen Mrs. Moidore!"

"I 'ave too," May retorted. "She came down "ere when young Miss Julia was sick that time! A good mother, she is. I reckon she's too good to be true-all that peaches-an'-cream skin and 'andsome face. She done married Mr. Cyprian for 'is money."

" 'E don't 'ave any," William said with his mouth full. " 'E's always borrowin' off folks. Least that's what Percival says."

"Then Percival's speakin' out of turn," Annie criticized. "Not that I'm saying Mrs. Moidore didn't do it. But I reckon it was more likely Mrs. Kellard. Sisters can hate something 'orrible."

"What about?" Maggie asked. "Why should Mrs. Kellard hate poor Miss Octavia?''

"Well Percival said Mr. Kellard fancied Miss Octavia something rotten," Annie explained. "Not that I take any notice of what Percival says. He's got a wicked tongue, that one."

At that moment Mrs. Boden came in.

"Enough gossiping,'' she said sharply."And don't you talk with your mouth full, Annie Latimer. Get on about your business. Sal. There's carrots you 'aven't scraped yet, and cabbage for tonight's dinner. You 'aven't time to sit chatterin' over cups o'tea."

The last suggestion was the only one Hester thought suitable to report to Monk when he called and insisted on interviewing all the staff again, including the new nurse, even though it was pointed out to him that she had not been present at the time of the crime.

"Forget the kitchen gossip. What is your own opinion?" he asked her, his voice low so no servants passing beyond the housekeeper's sitting room door might overhear them. She frowned and hesitated, trying to find words to convey the extraordinary feeling of embarrassment and unease she had experienced in the library as Araminta swept out.

"Hester?"

"I am not sure," she said slowly. "Mr. Kellard was frightened, that I have no doubt of, but I could not even guess whether it was guilt over having murdered Octavia or simply

having made some improper advance towards her-or even just fear because it was quite apparent that his wife took a certain pleasure in the whole possibility that he might be suspected quite gravely-even accused. She was-" She thought again before using the word, it was too melodramatic, then could find none more appropriate. "She was torturing him. Of course," she hurried on, "I do not know how she would react if you were to charge him. She might simply be doing this as some punishment for a private quarrel, and she may defend him to the death from outsiders.''

"Do you think she believes him guilty?" He stood against the mantel shelf, hands in his pockets, face puckered with concentration.

She had thought hard about this ever since the incident, and her reply was ready on her lips.

"She is not afraid of him, of that I am certain. But there is a deep emotion there which has a bitterness to it, and I think he is more afraid of her-but I don't know if that has anything to do with Octavia's death or is simply that she has the power to hurt him."

She took a deep breath. "It must be extremely difficult for him, living in his father-in-law's house and in a very real way being under his jurisdiction and constantly obliged to please him or face very considerable unpleasantness. And Sir Basil does seem to rule with a heavy hand, from what I have seen." She sat sideways on the arm of one of the chairs, an attitude which would have sent Mrs. Willis into a rage, both for its unladylike pose and for the harm she was sure it would do to the chair.

"I have not seen much of Mr. Thirsk or Mrs. Sandeman yet. She leads quite a busy life, and perhaps I am maligning her, but I am sure she drinks. I have seen enough of it in the war to recognize the signs, even in highly unlikely people. I saw her yesterday morning with a fearful headache which, from the pattern of her recovery, was not any ordinary illness. But I may be hasty; I only met her on the landing as I was going in to Lady Moidore."

He smiled very slightly. "And what do you think of Lady Moidore?"

Every vestige of humor vanished from her face. "I think she is very frightened. She knows or believes something which

is so appalling that she dare not confront it, yet neither can she put it from her mind-"

"That it was Myles Kellard who killed Octavia?'' he asked, stepping forward a pace. "Hester-be careful!" He took her arm and held it hard, the pressure of his fingers so strong as to be almost painful. "Watch and listen as your opportunities allow, but do not ask anything! Do you hear me?"

She backed away, rubbing her arm. "Of course I hear you. You requested me to help-I am doing so. I have no intention of asking any questions-they would not answer them anyway but would dismiss me for being impertinent and intrusive. I am a servant here.''

"What about the servants?" He did not move away but remained close to her. "Be careful of the menservants, Hester, particularly the footmen. It is quite likely one of them had amorous ideas about Octavia, and misunderstood"-he shrugged-"or even understood correctly, and she got tired of the affair-"

"Good heavens. You are no better than Myles Kellard," she snapped at him. "He all but implied Octavia was a trollop."

"It is only a possibility!" he hissed sharply. "Keep your voice down. For all we know there may be a row of eavesdroppers at the door. Does your bedroom have a lock?"

"No."

"Then put a chair behind the handle."

"I hardly think-" Then she remembered that Octavia Has-lett had been murdered in her bedroom in the middle of the night, and she found she was shaking in spite of herself.

"It is someone in this house!" Monk repeated, watching her closely.

"Yes," she said obediently. "Yes, I know that. Weallknow that-that is what is so terrible."