A sudden, fearful death - Anne Perry [184]
“Yes it was,” he said, and there was neither guilt nor fear in his eyes. “She was with child as a result of rape by her brother-in-law. She was in the very early stages, less than six weeks.” He looked sad and tired, and there was fear of hurt in his face, but not shame. “I have performed abortions on several occasions before,” he said quietly, “when I have been consulted early enough, in the first eight or ten weeks, and the child is a result of violence or the woman is very young indeed, sometimes even less than twelve years old—or if she is in such a state of ill health that to bear the child would, in my judgment, cost her her own life. Not in any other circumstances and not ever for payment.” She wanted to interrupt him and say something, but her throat was too tight, her lips stiff. “I am sorry if that is abhorrent to you.” A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. “Very sorry indeed. You must know how deeply I care for you, although it has never been right that I should tell you, since I am not free to offer you anything honorable—but whatever you feel about it, I have thought long and deeply. I have even prayed.” Again the self-mocking humor flashed and disappeared. “And I believe it to be right—acceptable before God. I believe in those cases a woman has the right to choose. I cannot change that, even for you.”
Now she was terrified for him. He would be caught, and that would mean professional ruin and imprisonment. She was aching inside with the tension of fear.
“Victoria Stanhope,” she said huskily, her heart full of memories of a girl in a pink dress, her face drawn, her eyes full of hope, and then despair. She had to know this one last thing, and then dismiss it forever. “Did you operate on her?”
His face shadowed with grief.
“No. I would have, since the child was the result of both incest and seduction—her brother Arthur, God help him—but she was only four months from term. It was too late. There was nothing I could do. I wish there had been.”
Suddenly the whole picture was different. It was not abortion for money but an attempt to help some of the weakest and most desperate people to cope with a situation beyond their bearing. Should he have? Or was it still a sin?
Surely not? Surely it was compassion—and wisdom?
She stared at him, unable to grasp the joy of it, the immeasurable relief that washed over her. Her eyes were prickling with tears and her voice was trapped somewhere in her throat.
“Callandra?” he said gently.
She smiled, a ridiculous, radiant smile, meeting his eyes with such intensity it was like a physical touch.
Very slowly he began to smile too. He reached out his hand across the desktop and took hers. If it occurred to him that she had thought also that he had killed Prudence, he did not say so. Nor did he ask her why she had not told the police. She would have told him it was because she loved him fiercely, unwillingly and painfully, but it was far better for all that such things be unsaid. It was known between them, and understood, with all the other impossibilities which did not need words now.
For several minutes they sat in silence, hands clasped, staring across the desk and smiling.
Rathbone entered court in a white-hot anger. Lovat-Smith sat somberly at his table, knowing he had lost. He looked up at Rathbone without interest, then saw his expression and stiffened. He glanced up at the dock. Sir Herbert was standing with a faint smile on his lips and an air of calm confidence, nothing so vulgar or ill-judged as jubilation, but unmistakable nonetheless.
“Mr. Rathbone?” Judge Hardie looked at him questioningly. “Are you ready to