The Sins of the Wolf - Anne Perry [140]
Moncrieff smiled.
“No sir, I do not ask you to. I had not even thought of the matter, but since you raise it, she is not at all unlike my wife, who has many of the same qualities of courage and honesty.”
“But who was not a nurse in the Crimea, and thus able to share your emotions, sir!”
Moncrieff smiled.
“You are mistaken, sir. She was most certainly in the Crimea, and most able to understand as much of my feelings as another person could.”
Gilfeather was defeated, and he knew it.
“Thank you, Doctor. That is all I have to ask you. Unless my learned friend has anything to add, you may go.”
“No, thank you,” Argyll declined generously. “Thank you, Dr. Moncrieff.”
The court adjourned early for lunch, newspaper correspondents racing out to send messengers flying with the latest word, jostling each other, even knocking people over in their excitement. The judge had retired in considerable ill humor.
A hundred things were on the edge of Rathbone’s tongue to say to Argyll. In the end he said none of them; each seemed too obvious when it came to the point, unnecessary, merely betraying his own fears.
He had not thought himself hungry, and yet in the dining room of the inn he ate luncheon without even being aware of it. He looked down and found his plate empty.
At last he could contain himself no longer.
“Miss Nightingale this afternoon,” he said aloud.
Argyll looked up, his fork still in his hand.
“Aye,” he agreed. “A formidable woman from what I have seen of her—which is little enough, just a few brief words this morning. I confess, I am not sure how much to lead her and how much I should simply point her in the right direction and let her destroy Gilfeather, if he is rash enough to attack her.”
“You must have her say something he will have to attack,” Rathbone said urgently, laying down his knife and fork. “He is too experienced to say anything to her unless you force him to. He will not leave her on the stand a moment longer than she has to be, unless you have her say something he cannot leave uncontested.”
“Yes …” Argyll said thoughtfully, abandoning what little was left of his meal. “I think you are right. But what? She is not a material witness to anything here in Edinburgh. She has presumably never heard of the Farralines. She knows nothing of what happened. All she can testify is that Hester Latterly was a skilled and diligent nurse. Her sole value to us is her own reputation—the esteem in which she is held. Gilfeather will certainly not challenge that.”
Rathbone thought wildly, his brain in a whirl. Florence Nightingale was not a woman to be manipulated into anything, not by Argyll, and not by Gilfeather. What possible thing was there she could say that was pertinent to the case and which Gilfeather would have to challenge? Hester’s courage was not in doubt, nor her capability as a nurse.
Then the beginning of an idea formed in his mind, just a shadow. Slowly, feeling for its shape, he explained it to Argyll, fumbling for words, then, as he saw Argyll’s eyes brighten, gathering confidence.
By the time the court commenced its afternoon session, he was sitting behind Argyll, in precisely the same position as before, but feeling a spark of excitement, something which might even be mistaken for hope. But still he did not look at the gallery, and only once, for a moment, at Hester.
“Call Florence Nightingale,” the usher’s voice boomed out, and there were gasps of indrawn breath around the room. A woman in the gallery screamed and stifled the sound with her hand clasped over her face.
The judge banged his gavel. “I will have order in the court! Another outburst like that and I shall have the place cleared. Is that understood? This is a court of law, not a place of entertainment. Mr. Argyll, I hope this witness is relevant to the case, and not merely a piece