Page 115 of A Sudden, Fearful Death (William Monk 4)

“Have you ever known her to force or coerce anyone into a gesture or act they did not wish?”

“No, I have not!”

“Or to use privileged knowledge to exert pressure upon people?”

A look of anger crossed Faith Barker’s face.

“That would be blackmail, sir, and in every way despicable. I resent profoundly that you should mention such a sinful act in the same breath with Prudence’s name. If you had known her, you would realize how totally abhorrent and ridiculous such a suggestion is.” Again she stared, tight-faced and implacable, at Sir Herbert, then at the jury.

“No. She despised moral cowardice, deceit, or anything of that nature,” she continued. “She would consider anything gained by such means to be tainted beyond any value it might once have had.” She glared at Rathbone, then at the jury. “And if you imagine she would have blackmailed Sir Herbert in order to make him marry her, that is the most ridiculous thing of all. What woman of any honor or integrity whatever would wish for a husband in such circumstances? Life with him would be insupportable. It would be a living hell.”

“Yes, Mrs. Barker,” Rathbone agreed with a soft, satisfied smile. “I imagine it would be. And I am sure Prudence was not only too honorable to use such a method, but also too intelligent to imagine it could possibly bring her anything but lifelong misery. Thank you for your candor. I have no further questions for you. Perhaps my learned friend has?” He looked at Lovat-Smith with a smile.

Lovat-Smith’s answering smile was bright, showing all his teeth, and probably only Rathbone knew it was empty of feeling.

“Oh certainly I have.” He rose to his feet and advanced toward the stand. “Mrs. Barker, did your sister write home to you of her adventures and experiences while she was in the Crimea?”

“Yes, of course she did, although I did not receive all her letters. I know that because she would occasionally make reference to things she had said on certain occasions, and I knew nothing of them.” She looked puzzled, as if she did not comprehend the reason for his inquiry. Even Hardie seemed dubious.

“But you did receive a considerable number of her letters?” Lovat-Smith pressed.

“Yes.”

“Sufficient to have formed a picture of her experiences, her part in the nursing, and how it affected her?”

“I believe so.” Still Faith Barker did not grasp his purpose.

“Then you will have a fairly vivid understanding of her character?”

“I think I have already said so, to Mr. Rathbone,” she replied, her brow puckered.

“Indeed—so you have.” Lovat-Smith took a pace or two and stopped again, facing her. “She must have been a very remarkable woman; it cannot have been easy even to reach the Crimea in time of war, let alone to master such a calling. Were there not difficulties in her path?”

“Of course,” she agreed with something close to a laugh.

“You are amused, Mrs. Barker,” he observed. “Is my question absurd?”

“Frankly, sir, yes it is. I do not mean to be offensive, but even to ask it, you cannot have the least idea of what obstacles there are to a young single woman of good family traveling alone to the Crimea on a troopship to begin nursing soldiers. Everyone was against it, except Papa, and even he was dubious. Had it been anyone other than Prudence, I think he would have forbidden it outright.”

Rathbone stiffened. Somewhere in the back of his head there was an urgent warning, like a needle pricking him. He rose to his feet.

“My lord, we have already established that Prudence Barrymore was a remarkable woman. This seems to be irrelevant and wasting the court’s time. If my learned friend had wished to have Mrs. Barker testify on the subject, he had ample opportunity when she was his witness.”

Hardie turned to Lovat-Smith.

“I have to agree, Mr. Lovat-Smith. This is wasting time and serves no purpose. If you have questions to ask this witness in cross-examination, then please do so. Otherwise allow the defense to proceed.”

Lovat-Smith smiled. This time it was with genuine pleasure.

“Oh it is relevant, my lord. It has immediate relevance to my learned friend’s last questions to Mrs. Barker, regarding her sister’s character and the extreme unlikelihood of her resorting to coercion”—his smile widened—“or not!”

“Then get to your point, Mr. Lovat-Smith,” Hardie directed.

“Yes, my lord.”

Rathbone’s heart sank. He knew now what Lovat-Smith was going to do.

And he was not mistaken. Lovat-Smith looked up at Faith Barker again.