The Sins of the Wolf

Synopsis:
Nurse Hester Latterly finds herself well suited for the task: accompany Mrs. Mary Farraline, an elderly Scottish lady in delicate health, on a short train trip to London. Yet Hester's simple job takes a grave turn when Mrs. Farraline dies during the night. And when a postmortem examination of the body reveals a lethal dose of medicine, Hester is charged with murder¨Cpunishable by execution. This notorious case presents detective William Monk with a daunting task: find a calculating killer among the prominent and coolly unassailable Farraline clan Cand try to save Hester from the gallows.


Chapter 1
Hester Latterly sat upright in the train, staring out of the window at the wide, rolling countryside of the Scottish Lowlands.

The early October sun rose through a haze above the horizon. It was a little after eight in the morning, and the stubble fields were still wreathed in mist, the great trees seeming to float rootless above it, their leaves only beginning to turn bronze on odd branches here and there. The buildings she could see were of solid gray stone, looking as if they had sprung from the land in a way the softer colors of the south never did. There were no thatched roofs here, no plaster walls pargeted in patterns, but tall chimneys smoking, crowstepped gables outlined against the sky, and broad windows winking in the early light.

She had come home when her parents had died at the close of the Crimean War, nearly a year and a half before. She would like to have stayed in Scutari until the bitter end, but the family tragedy had required her presence. Since then she had attempted to put into effect some of the new nursing practices she had learned so painfully, and even more, to reform England's old-fashioned ideas of hospital hygiene in accordance with Miss Nightingale's theories. And for her pains, she had been dismissed as opinionated and disobedient. There really was no defense against either charge. She was guilty.

Her father had died in social and financial disgrace. There was no money for her, or for her brother Charles. He would have provided for her, of course, out of his own salary, and she could have lived with him and his wife as a dependent, but that thought was intolerable. Within a short space of time she had found a position as a private nurse, and when the patient recovered, she had found another. Some were agreeable, others less so, but she had never been more than a week without some remunerative employment, and so she was her own mistress.

This summer she had taken another hospital appointment briefly, at the urgent request of her friend and frequent patron Lady Callandra Daviot, when the death of Nurse Barrymore had threatened Dr. Christian Beck with arrest and prosecution. When that matter had been finally resolved she had found another private post, but that too was at an end, and she was once again seeking a place.

She had found it in the form of an advertisement in a London newspaper. A prominent Edinburgh family was seeking a young woman of good birth, and some nursing background, to accompany Mrs. Mary Farraline, an elderly lady of delicate but not critical health, who wished to make the journey to London, and back again some six days later. One of Miss Nightingale's ladies would be preferred. All travel would naturally be paid for by the family, and there would be a generous remuneration for the duties required. Applications were to be sent to Mrs. Baird Mclvor, at 17 Ainslie Place, Edinburgh.

Hester had never been to Edinburgh before-indeed, she had not been to Scotland at all-and the thought of four such train journeys at this time of the year seemed most agreeable. She wrote to Mrs. Mclvor stating her experience and qualifications, and her willingness to accept the position.

She received a reply four days later, and enclosed with Mrs. Mclvor's acceptance of her application was a second-class train ticket for the night journey to Edinburgh on the following Tuesday, leaving London at 9:15 in the evening and arriving in Edinburgh at 8:35 the morning after. A carriage would meet her at Waveriey Station and take her to the Farraline house, where she would spend the day becoming acquainted with her patient, and that evening she and Mrs. Farraline would board the train and return to London.

Hester had made some inquiries, out of interest, even though she would barely arrive in Edinburgh before she left it again, at least on the initial visit. Perhaps when she returned with Mrs. Farraline after her stay in London she would have the opportunity to remain a day or two. Her time would be her own, and she could see something of the city. She had been informed that in spite of being the capital of Scotland, it was a great deal smaller than London, a mere one hundred and seventy thousand compared with London's nearly three million. Nonetheless it was a city of great distinction, "the Athens of the North," renowned for its learning, most particularly in the fields of medicine and law.

The train rattled and lurched around a curve in the tracks, and when the air had cleared Hester could see in the distance the dark rooftops of the city, dominated by the crooked skyline of the castle perched on its massive rock, and beyond them all, the pale gleam of the sea. In spite of all common sense, she felt a thrill of excitement ripple through her as though she were at the outset of some great adventure, not a single day in a strange house before a very ordinary professional task.

The journey had been long and uncomfortable, there being no privacy in a second-class carriage, and very little room. She had naturally sat upright all night, so she was stiff, and had only the occasional snatches of sleep. She stood up and straightened her clothes, then, as discreetly as possible, redid her hair.

The train finally drew into the station amid gushing steam, clanking wheels, shouting voices and slamming doors. She seized her single piece of luggage, a soft-sided valise large enough for only a change of underclothing and her toiletries, and made her way to alight onto the platform.

The cold air struck her sharply, making her draw in her breath. Everywhere there was noise and bustle, people shouting for porters, newsboys calling out, the clatter of trollies and wagons. Cinders shot out of the funnel and a grimy stoker whistled cheerfully. Steam belched and billowed across the platform and a man swore as smuts descended on his clean shirt collar.

Hester felt wildly exhilarated, and she strode along the platform towards the stairs and the exit with most unladylike haste. A large woman in a stiff black dress and poke bonnet looked at her with disapproval and remarked ring-ingly to the man next to her that she did not know what young people were coming to these days. No one had any sense of what was proper anymore. Manners were quite shocking, and everyone was a deal too free with their opinions, whether they had any right to them or not. As for young women, they had every kind of unsuitable idea in their heads that one might imagine.

"Aye, m'dear," the man said absently, continuing to look for a porter to carry their very considerable baggage. "Aye, I'm sure you're right," he added as she appeared to be about to continue.

"Really, Alexander, I sometimes think you are not listening to me at all," the woman said testily.

"Oh, I am, m'dear, I am," he answered, turning his back on her and waving to a porter.

Hester smiled to herself and made her way up the steps to the exit, and after handing in her ticket, went out onto the street. It took her only a few moments to find the carriage which had come to meet her; the driver was the only one looking from person to person, but hesitating when he saw a young woman in a plain gray costume and carrying a single valise. Hester passed her and addressed the man.

"Excuse me, are you from Mrs. Mclvor?" she inquired.

"Aye, miss, I am that. Would you be Miss Latterly, just come up from London to be with the mistress?"

"Yes I am."

"Well then, you'll be ready to come and sit down to a decent breakfast, I daresay. I don't suppose they serve anything on those trains, but we can do better, and that's a fact. Here, I'll take your bag for you."

She was about to protest that it was not heavy, but he took it anyway, and crossing the pavement, handed her up into the carriage and closed the door. The journey was far too short; she would have liked to see more of the city. They proceeded simply off the bridge into Princes Street, down the greater part of its length past the fine fronts of shops and houses to the right, and to the left the green slope of the gardens, Scott's monument and the castle beyond and above. They turned right up towards the new town, and after the briefest passage through Georgian streets, they were in Ainslie Place. Number seventeen was exactly like its neighbors to either side: four stories high with spacious windows decreasing in size with each floor, and perfect symmetry to its facade, proportions that were full of grace and ease and the Regency's eye for simplicity.

She was driven around the back; after all, she was more of a servant than a guest. She alighted in the yard before the coachman returned the vehicle and horse to the stables, and presented herself at the door. It opened before she had time to pull the bell, and a bootboy regarded her with interest.

"I'm Hester Latterly, the nurse to accompany Mrs. Farraline on her journey," she introduced herself.

"Oh yes, miss. If ye'll come in, I'll tell Mr. McTeer." And without waiting for her answer, he led her through the kitchen to the passageway, where he almost walked into a gaunt-faced butler with a funereal expression. The butler regarded Hester closely.

"So ye're the nurse that's come to take the mistress to London." He said it as if London were the burial ground. "Ye'd better come in. Mirren'll be bringing your case, no doubt. And I daresay ye'll be wanting a bite to eat before ye go and see Mrs. Mclvor." He looked at her appraisingly. "And a wash and a chance to comb your hair."

"Thank you," she accepted self-consciously, feeling untidier than she had hitherto thought herself.

"Aye, well if ye like to go into the kitchen, the cook'll get ye breakfast, and someone'll come for ye when Mrs. Mclvor's ready."

"Come on," the bootboy said cheerfully, turning on his heel to take her back. "What are them trains like, miss? I never been on one."

"You get about your business, Tommy," the butler ordered dourly. "Never mind about trains. Have you done Mr. Alastair's good boots yet?"

"Yes, Mr. McTeer, I done them all."

"Then I'll find something else for you..."

Hester was given an excellent meal at a comer of the large kitchen table, then shown to a small bedroom set aside for her use, next to the nursery, where her valise had been left. She washed her face and neck, and did her hair yet again.

She had no time to wait until she was sent for and conducted by the dismal McTeer through the green baize door into a large hall with a black-and-white flagged floor like a chessboard. The walls were paneled in wood and there were half a dozen trophies of animal heads mounted and hung, most of them red deer. However, the one thing that arrested her attention and held it was a life-size portrait of a man straight ahead of her. It dominated the room, not only with its coloring, which was remarkable, but with some quality of character in the features. His head was long and narrow with large, clear blue eyes, a long slender nose, pinched at the bridge, and a broad mouth whose lines were blurred and strangely uncertain. His fair hair swept across his brow in a splash of color so startling as to draw the eyes from all the surrounding darkness of oak and gilt and the glassy stare of the long-dead stags.

The butler led her across the hall and down a passage past several doors until he came to one where he knocked briefly, then he opened it and stood back for her to pass.

"Miss Latterly, ma'am, the nurse from London."

"Thank you, McTeer. Please come in, Miss Latterly." The voice was soft, gently modulated, and only very slightly accented in the precise, very proper, rather flat Edinburgh society pitch.

The room was decorated largely in a cool mid-blue with a floral pattern of some indistinct sort upon the walls and in the carpet The wide windows overlooked a small garden and the early light gave the room a chilly air, even though there was a fire burning in the grate. The single occupant was a slender woman in her late thirties and the moment Hester saw her she knew she must be related to the man whose portrait hung in the hall. She had the same long face, and nose and broad mouth, but in her there was no hint of indecision. Her lips were beautifully shaped, the blue eyes steady and direct. Her fair hair was dressed in the current severe fashion, but its warm color gave it a charm which would have been absent in a less glowing shade. And yet her face was not beautiful; there was a power in it which was too apparent and she took no pains to mask her intelligence.

"Please come in, Miss Latterly," she repeated. "I am Oonagh Mclvor. I wrote to you on behalf of my mother, Mrs. Mary Farraline. I hope you had an agreeable journey from London?"

"Yes, thank you, Mrs. Mcfvor, it was quite pleasant, and that part of it which was in daylight was most enjoyable."

"I am delighted." Oonagh smiled with sudden warmth, transforming her face. 'Train travel can be so weary and so terribly grubby. Now I am sure you would like to meet your patient. I must warn you, Miss Latterly, my mother appears to be in excellent health, but it is largely a charade. She tires more easily than she will admit, and her medicine is really quite vital for her well-being, indeed possibly for her life," She spoke the words quite calmly, but there was a sense of urgency in her conveying the importance of what she said. "It is not in the least difficult to administer," she continued. "A simple potion which is unpleasant to the taste, but a small confection after it will more than compensate." She looked up at Hester standing in front of her. "It is simply that my mother can forget to take it if she is feeling well, and by the time she is ill for its lack, it is too late to make up for the oversight without distress, and possible damage to her permanent well-being. I am sure you understand?" Even though she said she was sure, there was a question in her face.

"Of course," Hester said quickly. "A great many people prefer to do without medicine if they can, and misjudge their own capacity. It is easily understood."

"Excellent." Oonagh rose to her feet. She was as tall as Hester, slender without being in any way thin, and she moved with grace despite the awkwardness of wide skirts.

They crossed the hall, and Hester could not help glancing at the portrait again. The face haunted her, the ambiguities in it remained in her mind. She could not decide whether she liked it or not. Certainly she could not forget it.

Oonagh smiled and hesitated in her step.

"My father," she said, although Hester had known it must be. She heard the catch in Oonagh's voice and knew there was intense emotion behind it, carefully controlled, as she imagined such a woman would always be in front of strangers-and servants. "Hamish Farraline," Oonagh went on. "He died eight years ago. My husband has managed the firm since then."

Hester opened her mouth in surprise, then realized how inappropriate that was, and closed it.

But Oonagh had seen. She smiled and her chin lifted a fraction. "My brother Alastair is the Fiscal," she explained. "He does go to the firm as often as he is able to, but his duties keep him most of the time." She saw Hester's confusion. "The Procurator Fiscal." Her smile broadened, curling her lips. "Something like what you in England would call the Crown Prosecutor."

"Oh!" Hester was impressed in spite of herself. Her acquaintance with the law involved only Oliver Rathbone, the brilliant barrister she had met through Callandra and Monk, and about whom her feelings were so painfully mixed. But that was "personal. Professionally she had for him only the profoundest admiration. "I see. You must be very proud of him."

"Yes indeed." Oonagh continued on her way to the stairs and hesitated till Hester was beside her, then began to climb them. "My younger sister's husband also works in the company. He is very skilled in all matters to do with printing. We were very fortunate that he chose to become one of us. It is always better when an old company like Farralines can remain within the family."

"What do you print?" Hester inquired.

"Books. All kinds of books."

At the top of the stairs Oonagh turned along the landing, carpeted in Turkish red, and stopped at one of the many doors. After a brief knock she opened it and entered. This was entirely different from the blue room downstairs. The colors were all warm yellows and bronzes, as if it were filled with sunlight, although in fact the sky beyond the flowered curtains was actually quite a threatening gray. There were small, gilt-framed landscape paintings on the walls, and a gold-fringed lamp, but Hester barely had time to notice them. Her attention was taken by the woman who sat facing them in one of the three large floral armchairs. She seemed tall, possibly even taller than Oonagh, and she sat with a stiff back and erect head. Her hair was almost white and her long face had an expression of intelligence and humor which was arresting. She was not especially handsome, and even in youth she could not have been a beauty-her nose was too long, her chin far too short-but her expression obliterated all such awareness.

"You must be Miss Latterly," she said with a firm, clear voice, and before Oonagh could effect any introduction. "I am Mary Farraline. Please come in and sit down. I understand you are to accompany me to London and make sure that I behave myself as my family would wish?"

A shadow crossed Oonagh's face. "Mother, we are only concerned for your welfare," she said quickly. "You do sometimes forget to take your medicine..."

"Nonsense!" Mary dismissed it. "I don't forget. I simply don't always need it." She smiled at Hester. "My family fusses," she explained with humor. "Unfortunately, when you begin to lose your physical strength, people tend to think you have lost your wits as well."

Oonagh looked over at Hester and her expression was patient and conspiratorial.

"I daresay I shall be quite unnecessary," Hester said with an answering smile. "But I hope I shall at least be able to make the journey a little easier for you, even if it is only to fetch and carry, and to see that you have all you wish."

Oonagh relaxed a little, her shoulders easing as though she had been standing unconsciously at attention.

"I hardly need a Florence Nightingale nurse for that." Mary shook her head. "But I daresay you will be a great deal better company than most. Oonagh says you were in the Crimea. Is that right?"

"Yes, Mrs. Farraline."

"Well sit down. There is no need to stand there like a maidservant." She pointed to the chair opposite her and continued talking while Hester obeyed. "So you went out to nurse with the army? Why?"

Hester was too taken aback to think of an immediate reply. It was a question she had not been asked since her elder brother Charles had first demanded of her why she wanted to do such a dangerous and totally unsuitable thing. That, of course, had been before Florence Nightingale's fame had made it almost respectable. Now, eighteen months into the peace, Florence Nightingale was second only to the Queen herself in the respect and admiration of the country.

"Come now," Mary said with amusement. "You must have had a reason. Young ladies do not pack their bags and abandon all their families and friends and depart for foreign lands, and disastrous ones at that, without a very pressing reason."

"Mother, it may have been something quite personal," Oonagh protested.

Hester laughed aloud. "Oh no!" she answered them both. "It was not a love affair, or being jilted. I wished to do something more useful than sit at home sewing and painting, neither of which I do well, and I had heard of the terrible conditions from my younger brother, who served in the army there. I-I suppose it suited my nature."

"That is what I imagined." Mary nodded very slightly. "There are not many ambitions for women. Most of us sit at home and keep the lamps burning, literally and metaphorically." She looked around at Oonagh. "Thank you, my dear. It was most thoughtful of you to have found a companion for me who has a sense of passion and adventure, and has had the courage to follow it. I am sure I shall enjoy my trip to London."

"I hope so," Oonagh said quietly. "I have no doubt Miss Latterly will look after you very well and prove interesting company. Now I think I had better have Nora show her your medicine case and how the dose is prepared."

"If you really feel it is necessary..." Mary shrugged. "Thank you for coming, Miss Latterly. I look forward to seeing you at luncheon, and then at dinner of course, which will have to be early. I believe our train leaves at a quarter past nine, so we shall board it at least half an hour before that. We shall have to leave here at a quarter past eight. That usually is too early to dine in any comfort, but there is no help for it tonight."

They excused themselves, and Oonagh took Hester to Mrs. Farraline's dressing room and introduced her to the lady's maid Nora, a thin, dark woman with a grave manner.

"How do you do, miss," she said, regarding Hester politely, and apparently without the slightest envy or resentment.

Oonagh left them, and for the next half hour Nora showed Hester the medicine case, which was as simple as Mary had indicated, merely a matter of a dozen small glass vials filled with liquid, one for each night and morning until she should return again. The dose was already prepared; there was no measuring to be done. All that was necessary was to pour it into a glass already provided and see that Mrs. Farraline did not accidentally spill it, or far more seriously, that she did not forget that she had taken it and repeat the dose. That, as Oonagh had pointed out, could be extremely serious, possibly even fatal.

"You are to keep the key." Nora locked the case and passed the key, tied to a small red ribbon, to Hester. "Please put it around your neck, then it cannot be lost."

"Of course." Hester obeyed, and slipped the key inside her bodice. "An excellent idea."

Hester was sitting sideways on the dressing room's single chair; Nora stood next to the wardrobes. Mary's cases were spread out where the maid had packed them. With the wealth of fabric in every single skirt, half a dozen dresses took up an enormous space. A lady who expected to change at least three times a day-from morning dress to something suitable to go out for luncheon, and then to afternoon dress, tea gown and dinner gown-could hardly travel with less than at least three large cases, if not more. Petticoats, chemises, corsetry, stockings and shoes would require one alone.

"You won't need to tend to any clothes," Nora said with proprietary pride. "I'll take care of all of that. There's a list written out of everything, and there'll be someone at Miss Griselda's to unpack. All you might have to do is dress Mrs. Farraline's hair for her in the morning. Can you do that?"

"Yes, certainly."

"Good. Then that's all I can show you." A slight frown shadowed her face.

"Is there something else?" Hester asked.

"No, no, there's nothing." Nora shook her head. "I just wish she wasn't going. I don't hold wi' travel. There's no need. I know Miss Griselda's newly wed, and expecting her first child, and the poor soul worries something wretched, from all the letters she's been sending. But that's the way some folk are. She'll be all right, like as not; and either way, there's nothing the mistress can do."

"Is Miss Griselda delicate?"

"Lord no, just took it into her head to worry herself. She was all right till she married that Mr. Murdoch with his airs and graces." She bit her lip. "Oh, I shouldn't've said that. I'm sure he's a very nice man."

"Yes, I expect so," Hester said without belief.

Nora looked at her with a faint smile.

"I daresay you'd like a cup o' tea," she offered. "It's near eleven. There'll be something in the dining room, if you want."

"Thank you. I think I will."

The only person sitting at the long oak table was a small woman Hester judged to be in her twenties. She had very dark hair, thick and shining, and a dusky complexion full of the most attractive color, as if she had just come in from an invigorating walk. It was not in the least fashionable, not in London anyway, but Hester found it a pleasant change from the much admired pallor she was accustomed to. The woman's features were neat, and at first seemed merely pretty, but on closer examination there was an intelligence and a determination which was far more individual. And perhaps she was not twenty, but in her early thirties.

"Good morning," Hester said tentatively. "Mrs. Farraline?"

The woman looked up at her as if startled by her intrusion, then she smiled and her entire bearing changed.

"Yes. Who are you?" It was not a challenge but curiosity, as if Hester's appearance were miraculous, and a delightful surprise. "Please do sit down."

"Hester Latterly. I am the nurse to accompany Mrs. Mary Farraline to London."

"Oh-I see. Would you like some tea? Or do you prefer cocoa? And oatcakes, or shortbread?"

"Tea, if you please, and the shortbread looks excellent," Hester accepted, taking a seat opposite.

The woman poured tea and passed it to Hester, then proffered the plate with the shortbread. "Mother-in-law has hers upstairs," she went on. "And of course all the men have gone to work, and Eilish is not up yet. She never is at this hour."

"Is she... poorly?" As soon as Hester spoke she knew she should not have. If a member of the household chose not to rise until nearly lunchtime, it was not her business to inquire the reason.

"Good gracious no! Oh dear, I did not introduce myself. How remiss of me. I am Deirdra Farraline-Alastair's wife." She looked inquiringly at Hester to see if her explanation meant anything, and saw from her face that she already knew who he was. "Then there is Oonagh," she continued. "Mrs. Mclvor, who wrote to you, and then Kenneth, and Eilish-who is Mrs. Fyffe, although I never think of her like that, I don't know why-and lastly Griselda, who now lives in London."

"I see. Thank you."

Hester sipped her tea and bit into the shortbread. It tasted even better than it looked, rich and crumbly, melting on the tongue.

"Don't worry about Eilish," Deirdra went on conversationally. "She never gets up at a decent hour, but she's perfectly well. One has only to look at her to see that. A charming creature, and the loveliest woman in Edinburgh, I shouldn't wonder-but also the laziest. Don't misunderstand me, I'm very fond of her," she added quickly. "But not to deny her faults."

Hester smiled. "If we cared only for perfection, we should be very lonely."

"I quite agree. Have you been to Edinburgh before?"

"No. No, I have never even been to Scotland."

"Ah! Have you always lived in London?"

"No, I spent some time in the Crimea."

"Good gracious!" Deirdra's eyebrows shot up. "Oh. Oh, of course. The war. Yes, Oonagh said something about getting one of Miss Nightingale's nurses for Mother-in-law. I can't see why. She only wants a little dose of medicine, hardly an army nurse! Did you sail out there? It must have taken ages." She screwed up her face earnestly and took another piece of shortbread. "If only man could fly. Then one would not have to go 'round Africa at all, one could simply go straight across Europe and Asia."

"One doesn't have to go 'round Africa to the Crimea," Hester pointed out gently. "It is on the Black Sea. One goes through the Mediterranean and up the Bosphorus."

Deirdra waved away the irrelevance with a small, strong hand. "But one has to go 'round Africa to get to India, or China. It is the same principle."

Hester could think of no suitable reply, and returned to her tea.

"Don't you find this terribly... tame... after the Crimea?" Deirdra asked curiously.

Hester might have assumed that the remark was idle conversation, had she not seen the intensity in Deirdra's face and the obvious intelligence in her eyes. She wondered how to answer her. The chores of nursing were frequently tedious, although patients seldom were. Certainly the danger and the challenge of the Crimea were gone, as was the comradeship. But then the hunger, the cold, the fear and the terrible rage and pity were gone also. In its place had been the emotional tumult of working with Monk. She had met William Monk when he had been a police inspector investigating the Grey case, and then, through Callandra, she had assisted him with the Moidore case so shortly afterwards.

But he had stormed out of the police force and been consequently forced to practice as a private agent of inquiry. She had again found herself calling for his help for Edith Sobel when General Carlyon had been murdered. And she had been the ideal person to take a position in the hospital when Nurse Barrymore's body had been found.

But the relationship with Monk was far too complicated to try to explain, and certainly not something likely to recommend her to a highly respectable family like the Farralines as a suitable companion for their mother.

Deirdra was still waiting, her eyes on Hester's face.

"Sometimes," she admitted, "I am delighted to miss the conditions, but I miss the companionship also, and that is hard."

"And the challenge?" Deirdra pressed, leaning forward over the table. "Is it not a wonderful thing to try to accomplish something immensely difficult?"

"Not when you have no chance of success, and the pain of failure is other people's suffering."

Deirdra's face fell. "No, of course not. I'm sorry, that was heartless of me. I did not mean it quite as it sounded. I was thinking of the challenge to the mind, to the inventiveness, to one's own aspirations-I..." She stopped as the door opened and Oonagh came in. Oonagh glanced from one to the other of them, then her face softened in a smile.

"I hope you are comfortable, Miss Latterly, and being well looked after?"

"Oh yes, indeed, thank you," Hester answered.

"I have been asking Miss Latterly about her experiences, or at least some of them," Deirdra said enthusiastically. "It sounds most stimulating."

Oonagh sat down and helped herself to tea. She looked across at Hester doubtfully.

"I imagine there are times when you must find England very restricting after the freedom of the Crimea?"

It was a curious remark, one that betrayed a far more intelligent consideration than was usual. It was no idle piece of conversation made merely for something to say.

Hester did not reply immediately, and Oonagh sought to explain herself. "I mean the weight of responsibility you must have had there, if what I have read is anywhere near the truth. You must have seen a great deal of suffering, much of it quite avoidable, had more sense been exercised. And I imagine you did not always have a senior officer to hand, either medical or military, every time some judgment had to be made."

"No-no we didn't," Hester agreed quickly, startled by Oonagh's perception. In fact, now (hat she sat here in this quiet dining room with its polished table and handsome carved sideboard, she realized that the trust and responsibility, and the power to act for herself, were two of the aspects of the Crimea that she missed the most profoundly. Now so many of her decisions were trivial.

It must be even more so for a woman like Oonagh Mclvor, whose responsibilities were largely domestic. What should Cook serve for dinner? How should she resolve the squabble between the kitchen maid and the laundry maid? Should she invite so-and-so to dine this week with the Smiths-or next week with the Joneses? Should she wear green on Sunday, or blue? Looking at the intelligence and the resolve in Oonagh's features, Hester saw that she was not a woman to waste her energy on such things, which mattered not in the slightest, even today, never mind in the course of one's life. Was it envy she could hear in the curious timbre of Oonagh's voice?

"You have a remarkable understanding," she replied aloud, meeting Oonagh's steady gaze. "I don't think I had even phrased it to myself so well. I confess that at times I have found myself almost suffocated by the necessity of obedience, when I had been used to action, simply because there was no one else to turn to and the urgency of the situation did not allow us to delay."

Deirdra was watching her closely, her face quickened with interest, her tea forgotten.

Oonagh smiled as if the answer in some way pleased her.

"You must have seen much waste, and a fearful amount of pain," she observed. "Of course there will always be deaths, when one is occupied with medicine, but there can be nothing like the battlefield in a hospital. That aspect of it must be a relief to you. Does one get hardened to seeing so much death?"

Hester considered for several moments before replying. This was not a person who deserved, or would accept, a trite or insincere response.

"It is not that you become hardened," she said thoughtfully. "But you learn to govern your emotions, and men to ignore them. If you allowed yourself to dwell on it you would become so wretched you would cease to be any use to those who were still living. And while it is very natural to pity, it is also quite pointless in a nurse, where there is so much that is practical to do. Tears don't remove bullets or splint broken limbs."

A look of calm filled Oonagh's eyes, as though some irritating question had been resolved. She rose from the chair, ignoring the rest of her tea, and smoothed her skirts. "I am sure you are exactly the person to accompany Mother to London. She will find you most stimulating, and I have every confidence you will be ideal to care for her. Thank you for being so frank with me, Miss Latterly. You have set my mind at rest entirely." She looked at a fob watch hanging from a ribbon at her shoulder. "It is still some time until luncheon. Perhaps you would like to spend it in the library? It is quite warm in there, and you will not be disturbed, should you wish to read." She glanced at Deirdra.

"Oh yes." Deirdra stood up also, "I suppose I had better go and check through the accounts with Mrs. Lafferty."

"I've already done it," Oonagh said quietly. "But I haven't been through tomorrow's menu with Cook yet. You might do that."

If Deirdra resented her sister-in-law's assumption of household governance, there was not a shred of it in her face.

"Oh, thank you so much. I hate figures, they're always much the same, and so tedious. Yes, by all means, I'll speak to Cook." And with that she smiled charmingly at Hester and excused herself.

"Yes, I should very much like to read," Hester accepted.

It had not been precisely an invitation, but she had nothing better to do, so she permitted herself to be directed to the very gracious library, lined with books on three sides, many of them leather bound and tooled in gold. She was curious to see that several of the handsomest, as well as many bound in ordinary cloth, had been printed by Farraline & Company. They covered a very wide variety of subjects both factual and fictional. Several well-known authors were represented, both living and from the past.

She selected a book of verse and settled herself in one of the half dozen or so large armchairs and opened it to read. The room was almost silent. Through its heavy door she could not hear the sounds of the household beyond; there was only the faint crackle of a fire in the grate and the occasional tapping of a leaf as the wind caught it and sent it against the window.

She lost track of time, and was startled when she looked up to see a young woman standing in front of her. She had not heard the door opening.

"I'm sorry, I did not mean to startle you," the woman apologized. She was very slender, and quite tall, but her form was forgotten the moment one saw her face. She was one of the loveliest creatures Hester had ever seen; her features were subtle and delicate, yet full of passion. Her skin was fair with that radiance peculiar to auburn coloring, her hair thick in a wild halo around her head, the rich shades of bronzed leaves. "Miss Latterly?"

"Yes," Hester said, gathering her wits. She laid the book aside.

"I am Eilish Fyffe," the young woman introduced herself. "I came to tell you that luncheon is served. I hope you will join us?"

"Yes please." Hester rose to her feet, then turned, remembering to replace the book.

Eilish waved her hand impatiently. "Oh leave it. Jeannie will put it away. She can't read, yet, but she'll find the place it came from."

"Jeannie?"

"The maid."

"Oh! I thought she was..." Hester stopped.

Eilish laughed. "A child? No-at least, yes. I suppose so. She's only one of the housemaids. She's about fifteen, she thinks. But she is learning to read." She shrugged as she said it, as if to dismiss the subject. Then she smiled dazzlingly. "The children are Margaret and Catriona, and Robert."

"Mrs. Mclvor's?"

"No, no. They're Alastair's. He is my eldest brother, the Fiscal." She pulled a slight face as she said it, as if she had been in awe of him until very lately. Hester knew just how she felt, thinking of her own elder brother, Charles, who had always been a trifle forbidding and had far too little sense of the absurd. "Alec and Fergus are away at school. They are Oonagh's sons. I daresay Robert will be going soon." She opened the library door into the hall. She made no mention of her own family, so Hester presumed that as yet she had none. Perhaps she had not been long married.

Luncheon was not a heavy meal, and the family present were all assembled as Eilish led Hester into the dining room and indicated the chair she was to occupy. Mary Farraline sat at the head of the table, Oonagh at the foot. On the far side were Deirdra and an elderly man who so resembled the portrait in the hall that Hester was taken aback so much she found herself staring. But it was only coloring and feature, the same fair hair, now thinning drastically, fair skin, and the refined nose and sensitive mouth. The inner man was utterly different. He too had wounds of the spirit, but he gave Hester no sense of uncertainty as the portrait had done, no ambiguity; there was a sharp knowledge of pain which had overwhelmed him, and he had lost to it, while knowing exactly what it was. His blue eyes were sunken and he gazed ahead of him at no one in particular. He was introduced as Hector Farraline, and spoken of as Uncle Hector.

Hester took her seat and the first course was served. Conversation was polite, and generally meaningless; it served the purpose for which it was intended, to convey goodwill without costing any thought or distracting from the meal. Discreetly Hester looked around at their faces, which had so much in common and which circumstance and character had stamped so differently. The only ones not born Farraline were Deirdra and Mary. Where they were slender and fair and well above average height, she was small and dark and inclined to stockiness. Yet there was a fierce inner concentration in her face, a sense of controlled excitement, which gave her a warmth the others lacked. She answered when civility required it, but she did not generate any remarks. Her own thoughts apparently consumed her.

Eilish spoke sporadically, as if prompted by good manners, and in between her thoughts also filled her mind. Hester found herself looking at Eilish repeatedly, possibly because she was so beautiful it was natural to stare, but also because of a sadness she thought she could see through the thin mask of courtesy and interest.

It was left to Oonagh and Mary to raise one agreeable, uncontentious subject after another.

"How long does your journey take, Mother-in-law?" Deirdra asked, turning to Mary as soon as the main course was served.

"About twelve hours," Mary replied. "Although most of it I shall spend asleep, so it will feel much shorter. I think it is an excellent way to travel, don't you, Miss Latterly?"

"Indeed," Hester agreed. "Although the little I saw of Scotland on my way here, I should imagine it is very beau- tiful to look at, especially at this time of the year."

"You will have to go back during the day on your return next time," Mary suggested. 'Then you can look out of the window all the way. If it doesn't rain, it should be really very nice."

"I don't know why you're going," Hector Farraline said, speaking for the first time. He had an excellent voice, rich in timbre, and even though a few of his words were slurred, one could tell that when he was completely sober his diction would have been beautiful-and with the faint lilt of the northern Scots, not the flatter Edinburgh accent of Mary's speech.

"Griselda needs her, Uncle Hector," Oonagh said patiently. "It's a very emotional time for a woman when she is expecting her first child. It is not unusual to feel unwell and a trifle apprehensive."

Hector seemed confused. "Apprehensive? Of what? Won't they have the best possible care for her? I thought they were well-to-do... socially prominent family. That's what young Connal said to me."

"Socially prominent! The Murdochs?" Mary said with sharp amusement, her silver eyebrows rising high, giving her face a startled look. "Don't be absurd, my dear. They come from Glasgow. Nobody who matters has ever heard of them."

"They've heard of them in Glasgow," Deirdra put in quickly. "Alastair says they are prominent, and certainly have a great deal of money."

Eilish flashed a smile at Hector, then lowered her eyes. "Mother said nobody who matters," she said quietly. "I rather think that excludes all of Glasgow, doesn't it, Mother?"

Mary blushed very slightly, but she did not retreat. "Most of it, perhaps not quite all. I believe there are some quite agreeable areas a little to the north."

"Just so." Eilish smiled down at the plate.

Hector frowned. "Then why doesn't she come home to have her child, where we can look after her? If there's nobody who matters in Glasgow, what is she doing in London?" After that piece of eccentric logic he turned and looked at Mary, his eyes soft, his face confused and on the verge of anger. "You should stay here, and Griselda should come home and let her child be born in Scotland. Why doesn't what's-his-name-" His face creased up. "What is his name?" He looked at Oonagh.

"Connal Murdoch," she supplied.

"Yes," he agreed. "That's right! Why doesn't Colin Murdoch-"

"Connal, Uncle Hector."

"What?" Now he was totally confounded. "What are you talking about? Why do you keep interrupting me and then repeating what I say?"

"Have a glass of water." Oonagh suited the action to the word and poured a tumbler for him, passing it across.

He ignored it and sipped at his wine again. He did not continue. Hester had the strong impression he had forgotten what he was going to say.

"Quinlan says they are going to reopen the Galbraith case," Deirdra said in the silence, then almost immediately her face tightened as if she wished she had chosen some other subject of conversation.

"Quinlan is Eilish's husband," Oonagh explained to Hester. "But he is not involved in the law, so I don't know how reliable his information may be. I daresay it is merely gossip."

Hester expected Eilish to come to his defense and insist that he was correct, or that he did not listen to, much less repeat, gossip. But she remained silent.

Hector shook his head. "Alastair'U not be pleased," he said dourly.

"No one will." Mary looked unhappy, a frown puckering her brow. "I thought that was over and done with."

"I expect it is," Oonagh said with conviction. "Don't think of it, Mother. It is just idle talk. It will die away when nothing comes of it."

Mary looked at her gravely, but did not reply. "I still wish you weren't going to London," Hector said to no one in particular. He looked sad and aggrieved, as if it were a personal blow to him.

"It'll only be a few days," Mary replied, her face surprisingly gentle as she looked at him. "She needs reassurance, my dear. She really is very troubled, you know."

"Can't think why." Hector shook his head. "Lot of nonsense. Who are these Munros? Won't they look after her properly? Doesn't Colin Munro have a physician?"

"Murdoch-" Oonagh's lips thinned in impatience.

"Connal Murdoch. Of course he has a doctor, and no doubt midwives. But it is how Griselda feels. And Mother will only be gone a week."

Hector reached for more wine and said nothing.

"Have they new evidence in the Galbraith case?" Mary asked, turning to Deirdra, a pucker between her brows.

"Alastair didn't mention it to me," Deirdra replied, looking surprised. "Or if he did, I don't remember. I thought he said there was not sufficient evidence and threw it out?"

"He did," Oonagh said firmly. "People are only talking about it because it would have been such a scandal if Galbraith had come to trial, being who he is. There will always be those who are envious of a man in his position, and whose tongues will wag, whether there is anything for them to wag about or not. The poor man has had to leave Edinburgh. That should be the end of it."

Mary glanced at her, as if to speak, then changed her mind and looked down at her plate. No one else added anything. The rest of the meal passed with only the odd remark, and after it was finished, Oonagh suggested that Hester might like to rest for a few hours before the commencement of the return journey. She might go up the main stairs to the bedroom set aside for her use, if she cared to.

Hester accepted gratefully, and was on her way up the stairs when she encountered Hector Farraline again. He was halfway up and leaning heavily on the banister, his face filled with sorrow, and beneath it a deep anger. He was staring across the checkered expanse of the floor at the portrait on the far wall.

Hester came to a stop on the stair behind him.

"It's very fine, isn't it," she said, intending it as a form of agreement.

"Fine?" he said bitterly and without turning to look at her. "Oh yes, very fine. Very handsome, was Hamish. Thought himself quite a fellow." His expression did not change, nor did he move, but stood clinging to the banister rail and leaning half over it.

"I meant it was a fine portrait," Hester corrected. "Of course I didn't know the gentleman to comment upon him."

"Hamish? My brother Hamish. Of course you didn't. Been dead these last eight years, although with that thing hanging there, I don't feel that he's dead at all-just mummified and still with us. I should build a pyramid and pile it on top of him-that's a good idea. A million tons of granite. A mountain of a tomb!" Very slowly he slid down until he was sitting on the tread, his legs sprawled across the stair, blocking her way. He smiled. 'Two million! What does a million tons of rock look like, Miss-Miss-" He looked at her with wide, unfocused eyes.

"Latterly," she offered.

He shook his head. "What do you mean, girl, latterly? A million tons is a million tons! It's always the same. Latterly-formerly-anytime!" He blinked.

"My name is Hester Latterly," she said slowly.

"How do you do. Hector Farraline." He made as if to bow, and slid down another step, bumping against her ankles.

She retreated. "How do you do, Mr. Farraline."

"Ever seen the great pyramids of Egypt?" he asked innocently.

"No. I have never been to Egypt."

"Should go. Very interesting." He nodded several times and she was afraid he was going to slide down ever farther.

"I will do, if I should ever have the opportunity," she assured him.

"Thought Oonagh said you'd been there." He concentrated fiercely, screwing up his face. "Oonagh's never wrong, never. Most unnerving woman. Never argue with Oonagh. Read your thoughts as another man might read a book."

"I've been to the Crimea." Hester retreated another step. She did not want him to knock her over if he should lose his balance again, which he looked to be in imminent danger of doing.

"Crimea? Whatever for?'

"The war."

"Oh."

"I wonder..." She was about to ask him if she might pass, when she heard the discreet steps of the butler, McTeer, coming up behind her.

"Why would you go to a war?" Hector refused to let go of the puzzle. "You're a woman. You can't fight!" He began to laugh, as if the idea amused him.

"Now Mr. Farraline, sir," McTeer said firmly. "You go up to your room and lie down a while. You can't sit here all afternoon. People need the stairs."

Hector shook him off impatiently. "Go away, man. You've got a face like a chief mourner at a funeral. You couldn't look worse if it were your own."

"I'm sorry, miss." McTeer looked apologetically at Hester. "He's a bit of a nuisance, but he's no harm. He'll no bother ye, except for prattlin' on." He took hold of Hector under the arms and hauled him to his feet. "Come on now, ye don't want Miss Mary to see you behaving like a fool, do ye?"

The mention of Mary's name sobered Hector dramatically. He gave one more venomous glance at the portrait across the hall, then allowed McTeer to assist him properly to his feet and together they made their way slowly up the stairs, leaving room for Hester to follow unhindered.

Hester slept, although she had not intended to, and woke with a start to find that it was time to prepare herself for an early dinner and bring her bag down to the hall, along with her cape, ready for departure to the railway station.

Dinner was served in the dining room, but this time the table was set for ten, and it was Alastair Farraline who sat at the head. He was an imposing-looking man and Hester knew instantly who he was because the family resemblance was startling. He had the same long face with fair hair, thinning considerably towards the front, a long nose, definitely aquiline, and a broad mouth. The shape of his bones favored Mary rather than the man in the portrait, and when he spoke his voice was deep and rich, quite his most remarkable feature.

"How do you do, Miss Latterly. Please be seated." He indicated the last remaining empty chair. "I am delighted you accepted our offer to accompany Mother to London. It will set all our minds at rest concerning her welfare."

"Thank you, Mr. Farraline. I shall do my best to see she has an easy journey." She sat down, smiling at the others around the table. Mary sat at the foot, and to her left a man possibly approaching forty, who looked as utterly different from the Farralines as did Deirdra. His head was deep through from front to back, and his heavy hair, almost black, swept thickly across it with barely a wave. His eyes were set deep under dark brows, his jutting nose was straight and strong and his mouth betrayed both passion and will. It was an interesting face, unlike any other Hester could recall.

Mary caught her glance.

She introduced him with a smile of affection. "My son-in-law, Baud Mclvor." Then she turned to the younger man at her left, beyond Oonagh. He was obviously a family member; his coloring was too like the others', his face had the same uncertainty, the shadow of humor and vulnerability in it. "My son Kenneth," she said. "And my other son-in-law, Quinlan Fyffe." She looked opposite to the remaining person Hester did not already know. He was also fair, but his hair was flaxen, almost silver in color, and cropped close to his head in tight curls. His face was long, his nose very straight and a trifle large for the rest of his features, his mouth small and chiseled in shape. It was a clever, meticulous face, that of a man who concealed as much as he told.

"How do you do," Hester said punctiliously. They each replied, and conversation was stilted and sporadic while the first course was served. They inquired after her journey up from London, and she replied that it had been excellent, and thanked them for their concern.

Alastair frowned and looked across at his younger brother, who seemed to be eating with remarkable haste.

"We have plenty of time, Kenneth. The train does not leave until a quarter past nine."

Kenneth continued eating and did not turn his head to look at Alastair. "I am not coming to the station. I shall say good-bye to Mother here." There was a moment's silence. Oonagh also stopped eating and turned towards him. "I am going out," he said, his voice taking on a defiant tone.

Alastair was not satisfied. "Where are you going to, that you dine here first and cannot come to the station with us to wish Mother farewell?"

"What difference does it make if I wish to say good-bye here or at the station?" Kenneth demanded. "And I am dining here so that I can see her off properly, rather than go before dinner." He smiled as if that were a most satisfactory answer.

Alastair pursed his lips, but said no more. Kenneth continued eating, still rapidly.

The next course was served, and while they were eating, Hester discreetly studied their faces. Kenneth was obviously intent upon his engagement, whatever it was. He looked neither right nor left, but ate steadily, and then sat with impatience plain in his face while he waited for the maid to clear his plate and the main course to be served. Twice he looked up sharply as if to speak, and Hester felt he would have asked for his portion to be served separately, ahead of the others, had he dared.

Hector ate very little, but emptied his wineglass twice. Before filling it the third time, McTeer glanced up and met Oonagh's eyes. She shook her head minutely, and it was only because Hester was looking directly at her that she saw it at all. McTeer removed the bottle in its basket, and Hector said nothing.

Deirdra made some mention of an important dinner which was to be held and she wished to attend.

"For which, no doubt, you will need a new gown?" Alastair said dryly.

"It would be nice," she agreed. "I only wish to do you justice, my dear. I should not like people to think that the Fiscal's wife made do from one event to another."

"Little chance of that," Quinlan remarked with a smile. "You have had at least six this year... that I know of." But there was no rancor in his voice, only amusement.

"As Fiscal's wife, she goes to far more of those events than most of us," Mary said soothingly. Then added, "Thank goodness," under her breath.

Baird Mclvor looked at her with a smile. "You don't care for civic dinners, Mother-in-law?" He spoke as if he already knew the answer, his dark face conveyed both amusement and considerable affection.

"I do not," she agreed, her eyes bright. "A lot of people only too aware of their own importance, sitting around eating too well, and giving portentous opinions upon everything and everyone. I often have the feeling that anyone caught making a joke would be fined immediately and then dismissed."

"You exaggerate, Mother." Alastair shook his head. "Judge Campbell is a bit dour, his wife is more than a little self-important, Judge Ross tends to fall asleep, but most of them are well enough."

"Mrs. Campbell?" Mary raised silver eyebrows and her expression assumed a sour severity. "Ayv'e never heeard anything layke it in all may born days!" she said in heavily affected accent. "When aye was a geerl, we didn't..."

Eilish giggled and glanced at Hester. It was apparently something of a family joke.

"When she was a girl, her grandfather was selling fish on the Leith docks and her mother was running errands for old McVeigh," Hector said with a twist of his lips.

"Never!" Oonagh was incredulous. "Mrs. Campbell?"

"Aye-Jeannie Robertson, as she was then," he assured her. "Two brown pigtails down her back, she had, and holes in her boots."

Deirdra looked at him with new appreciation. "I shall remember that, next time she looks me up and down with a sneer on her face."

"The old man was drowned," Hector went on, enjoying his audience. "Took a dram too much, and fell off the docks one night in December. Twenty-seven, I think it was. Yes, eighteen twenty-seven."

Kenneth's impatience finally overcame his caution and he told McTeer to bring his dessert ahead of the others. Mary frowned; Alastair opened his mouth as if to say something, then caught Mary's eye and changed his mind.

Oonagh made some remark about a play that was on in the city. Quinlan agreed with her, and Baird immediately contradicted him. The matter was totally trivial, and yet Hester was startled to hear in their voices an animosity which sounded acutely personal, as if the subject were one of intense importance. She glanced at Quinlan's face and saw his eyes hard, his lips tight as he stared across the table. Opposite him Baird was brooding, his brows drawn down, his hands clenched. He looked as if he nursed within himself some deep pain.

Eilish did not look at either of them, but down at her plate, her fork idle, food ignored.

No one else appeared to notice anything unusual.

Mary turned to Alastair. "Deirdra says they are going to reopen the Galbraith case. Is that true?"

Alastair raised his head very slowly, his face set in a hard, wary expression. "Gossip," he said between his teeth. He looked down the table at his wife. "It is repeating such things that gives ignorant people to start speculating, and reputations are ruined. I'm sorry you did not know better than to do such a thing."

Mary's face darkened at the insult, but she did not speak.

The color rushed up Deirdra's cheeks and the muscles in her throat tightened. "I mentioned it to no one outside this room," she said angrily. "Miss Latterly is hardly going to rush out around London telling people. They've never heard of Galbraith! Anyway, is it true? Are they going to reopen it?"

"No, of course not," Alastair said angrily. "There is no evidence. If there had been, I would not have dismissed it in the first place."

"There is no new evidence?" Mary pressed.

"There is no evidence at all, old or new," Alastair replied, meeting her gaze squarely, finality in his voice.

Kenneth rose from the table. "Excuse me. I must go, or I shall be late." He bent over and kissed his mother lightly on the cheek. "Have a good journey, Mother, and give Griselda my love. I'll come to meet you at the station when you get home again." He looked across at Hester. "Goodbye, Miss Latterly. I'm happy to have made your acquaintance, and that Mother will be in such able hands. Good night." And with a wave he went out of the room and closed the door.

"Where is he going?" Alastair said irritably. He looked around the table. "Oonagh?"

"I've no idea," Oonagh said.

"A woman, I imagine," Quinlan suggested with a shadow of a smile. "It is to be expected."

"Well why don't we know about her?" Alastair asked. "If he is courting her, we should know who she is!" He glared at his brother-in-law. "Do you know, Quin?"

Quinlan's eyes widened in surprise.

"No. Certainly not! It is merely an educated guess. Maybe I am wrong. Perhaps he is gambling, or going to a theater?"

"It's late for a theater," Baud said quickly.

"He said he was late!" Quinlan said.

"He didn't. He said he would be late if he waited for us to finish," Baud contradicted him.

"It is only ten minutes before eight," Oonagh put in. "Perhaps it is a theater close by."

"Alone?" Alastair said doubtfully.

"He may be meeting people there. Really, does it matter so much?" Eilish asked. "If he is courting someone, he'd have told us-if he is having any success."

"I want to know who it is before there is any 'success'!" Alastair glared at her. "By that time it would be too late!"

"Stop making yourself angry over something that has not happened yet," Mary said briskly. "Now-McTeer, bring in the dessert and let us have a pleasant end to the meal, before you take Miss Latterly and me to the station. It is a fine night, and we shall have an agreeable journey. Hector, my dear, would you be good enough to pass me the cream. I am sure I should like cream on it, whatever it is."

With a smile Hector obliged, and the rest of the meal was spent in inconsequential chatter, until it was eventually time to rise, bid farewell, and gather coats, baggage, and make their way out to the waiting carriage.