The Sins of the Wolf - Anne Perry [118]
The judge was seated above them, an elderly man with a narrow, clever face and crooked teeth, a long nose and fine hair. He must have been handsome in his youth. Now his character was too deeply marked and his erratic temper stamped his features.
The first witness for the prosecution was Alastair Farraline. There was a hush in the court and then a slow letting out of breath as his name was called. Everyone knew he was the Procurator Fiscal, a title to elicit both fear and respect in the law. A woman in the gallery gave a little scream of sheer pent-up emotion as he climbed to the witness-box, and the judge glared at her.
“Control yourself, madam, or I shall have you removed,” he warned grimly.
She clapped both hands over her mouth.
“Proceed,” the judge commanded.
Gilfeather thanked him and turned to Alastair with a smile.
“First of all, Mr. Farraline, may I extend to you the court’s sympathy on the loss of your mother. A lady we all held in the highest esteem.”
Alastair, pale and very upright, the light shining on his hair, tried to smile back, and failed.
“Thank you,” he said simply.
Monk glanced at Hester, but she was immobile and staring at Alastair.
Immediately behind Argyll, Oliver Rathbone was so rigid that even from across the room Monk could see the fabric of his coat stretched across his shoulders.
“Now, Mr. Farraline,” Gilfeather continued. “When your mother planned this journey south into England, did you always intend to send someone with her to care for her?”
“Yes.”
“Why, sir? Why not one of her own servants? You have a sufficiency of servants, do you not?”
“Of course.” Alastair looked puzzled and unhappy. “Mother’s lady’s maid had never traveled, and did not wish to. We were afraid her own nervousness would make her unsuitable as a companion, and possibly inefficient, especially at dealing with any difficulty or inconvenience which might arise.”
“Naturally,” Gilfeather agreed, nodding sagely. “You wished someone competent to take care in any contingency, therefore a woman who had traveled before.”
“And a nurse,” Alastair added. “Just in case the….” He swallowed. He looked wretched. “In case the tension of the journey should make Mother unwell.”
The judge’s mouth tightened. There was a rustle in the gallery.
Oliver Rathbone winced. Argyll sat expressionless.
“So you advertised for someone suitable?” Gilfeather prompted.
“Yes. We had two or three replies, but Miss Latterly seemed to us to be the best qualified and most suitable.”
“She gave you references, of course?”
“Of course. She seemed excellent.”
“Did you at any time have cause to doubt the wisdom of your choice prior to your seeing her off in Edinburgh station for the journey to London?”
“No. She seemed a perfectly acceptable young woman,” Alastair answered. Never once did he glance at Hester, but kept his eyes studiously away from her.
Gilfeather asked him a few more questions, all fairly trivial. Monk’s attention wandered. He looked for Oonagh’s fair head and did not find her, but Eilish was easy to see, and Deirdra. He was surprised to see Deirdra looking straight back at him with pity, and something like conspiracy, in her eyes.
Or perhaps it was only the lamplight reflecting.
Gilfeather sat down amid a stir of excitement from the gallery. James Argyll stood up.
“Mr. Farraline …”
Alastair looked at him with a fixed, polite expression of dislike.
“Mr. Farraline.” Argyll did not smile at him. “Why did you choose someone from London rather than Edinburgh? Have we no acceptable nurses in Scotland?”
Alastair’s face tightened noticeably.
“I imagine so, sir. None of them answered our advertisement. We wished for the best we could find. A woman who had served with Florence Nightingale