Page 134 of A Sudden, Fearful Death (William Monk 4)

“I imagine he did, but not until after he had used her skills to the full, had her work long hours unrewarded, and given her hope. Then, when she became impatient and wanted a commitment, he killed her.”

She put the ornament down and turned to face him. The humor was back in her eyes.

“All he had to do was tell her it was hopeless,” she answered. “Why on earth would he kill her? You are being ridiculous, Mr. Monk.”

“Because she threatened to tell the authorities he was performing abortions—for money,” he replied, his voice tight with rage. “Unnecessary abortions to save rich women the embarrassment of children they did not want.”

He saw the blood drain from her cheeks, but her expression did not alter.

“If you can prove that, what are you doing here telling me, Mr. Monk? It is a very serious charge—in fact, he would be imprisoned for it. But without proof, what you say is slander.”

“You know it is true—because you procure his patients for him,” he said.

“Do I?” Her eyes widened and there was a smile on her lips, but it was fixed, and already there was something dead in it. “That too is slanderous, Mr. Monk.”

“You knew he performed abortions, and you could testify of it,” he said very levelly. “Your word would not be slander, because you have all the facts, dates, names, details.”

“Even if I had such knowledge”—she was gazing at him without a flicker, her eyes boring into his—“surely you would not expect me to condemn myself by saying so? Why on earth should I?”

He smiled too, a slow showing of the teeth.

“Because if you do not, I shall make it known to all the right people in society—a whisper, a laugh, a word hushed as you approach—that you were his first patient….”

Her face did not alter. She was not frightened.

“When you came back from the Indies,” he went on relentlessly. “And that your child was negroid.”

All the color fled from her skin and he heard the gasp of her indrawn breath and then a choking in her throat.

“Is that slanderous too, Lady Ross Gilbert?” he said between his teeth. “Take me to court and sue me! I know the nurse who put the child into the rubbish and threw it away.”

She gave a harsh cry which was strangled in her throat before it was out.

“On the other hand,” he went on, “should you testify against Sir Herbert, that you referred desperate women to him, whom you could name did not discretion prevent you, and upon whom he performed abortions, then I shall forget I ever knew of such a thing—and you will never hear from me, or from the nurse, again.”

“Won’t I?” she said with desperate, vicious disbelief. “And what is to stop you coming back again and again—for money, or whatever it is you want?”

“Madam,” he said icily, “apart from your testimony, you have nothing I want.”

She reached forward and slapped him as hard as she could.

He almost lost his balance from the force of it, and his cheek burned where her open hand had struck him, but he smiled very slowly.

“I am sorry if that disappoints you,” he said softly. “Be in court tomorrow. Mr. Rathbone will call you—for the defense, of course. How you manage to impart your information is up to you.” And with a very slight bow he walked past her to the door, through the hallway, and out into the street.

The trial was all but over. The jury was bored. They had already reached their verdict in their own minds and could not understand why Rathbone was calling more witnesses to testify to what everyone already believed. Sir Herbert was a paragon of professional virtue and a tediously correct man in his personal and domestic life. Lovat-Smith was openly irritated. The public was restless. For the first time since the trial began, there were even empty seats in the gallery.

Judge Hardie leaned forward, his face creased with impatience.

“Mr. Rathbone, the court is always inclined to give whatever leniency it can to an accused man, but you appear to be wasting our time. Your witnesses are all saying the same thing, and the prosecution has not contested it. Is it really necessary to continue?”

“No, my lord,” Rathbone conceded with a smile. As soon as he spoke the quality of suppressed excitement in his voice caused a ripple of movement in the room, a shifting, a straightening as the tension sharpened again. “I have only one more witness, whom I trust will complete my case.”

“Then call him, Mr. Rathbone, and proceed,” Hardie said sharply.

“I beg leave to recall Lady Berenice Ross Gilbert,” Rathbone said loudly.

Lovat-Smith frowned and leaned forward.