The Sins of the Wolf

The judge leaned forward as if to speak, then changed his mind. He looked to Gilfeather, but Gilfeather was quite serene, his flyaway hair on end, his smile amiable and totally unconcerned.

“I propose to call two witnesses to that end,” Argyll continued. “Just in case you feel one to be inadequate, possibly biased. To begin with I shall call Dr. Alan Moncrieff.”

There was a stirring of interest as the usher repeated the name, then a distinct rustle as heads craned to look when the door opened and a tall, lean man with an unusually handsome aquiline face walked across the open space between the gallery and the witness-box and climbed up the steps. He was sworn in and faced Argyll expectantly.

“Dr. Moncrieff, is the prisoner, Miss Hester Latterly, known to you?’

“Yes sir, I know her quite well.” In spite of his Scottish name, his voice was beautifully modulated, and very English.

Rathbone swore under his breath. Could Argyll not have found a man who sounded more like a native, less alien? Moncrieff might have been born and bred in Edinburgh, but he did not sound like it He should have checked it himself. He should have said something. Now it was too late.

“Would you tell the court in what circumstances you knew her, sir?” Argyll requested.

“I served in the Army Medical Corps during the late war in the Crimea,” Moncrieff replied.

“With what regiment, sir?” Argyll asked i

“The Scots Greys, sir,” Moncrieff said with an almost imperceptible lift of his chin and straightening of his shoulders.

There was a second’s silence, and then an indrawing of breath by the half dozen or so who knew their military history. The Scots Greys, the I

One man in the jury blew his nose fiercely and another was not ashamed to wipe his eyes.

Someone in the gallery called out “God save the Queen!” and then fell silent.

Argyll kept a perfect gravity, as if he had heard nothing. “An odd choice for an Englishman?” he observed.

Gilfeather sat like stone.

“I am sure you have no intention of being offensive, sir,”

Moncrieff said quietly. “But I was born in Stirling and studied medicine in Aberdeen and Edinburgh. I have spent some time in England, as well as abroad. You may blame my accent upon my mother.”

“I beg your pardon, sir,” Argyll said grimly. “It was a hasty conclusion, upon appearances-or rather, upon sound.” He did not add anything about the foolishness of such prejudgments. It would have been clumsy. The jury had taken the point as it was.

There was a murmur of approval around the gallery.

The judge scowled.

Rathbone smiled, in spite of himself.

“Please proceed, Mr. Argyll,” the judge said with exaggerated weariness. “Wherever the good doctor was born, or studied, is neither here nor there. I assume you are not going to say that he knew Miss Latterly in either place? No, I thought not. Do get on with it!”

Argyll was not in the slightest disturbed. He smiled at the judge and turned back to Moncrieff.

“And you encountered Miss Latterly while you were in the Crimea, Doctor?”

“Yes sir, on many occasions.”

“In the pursuit of your mutual profession?”

The judge leaned forward, a sharp frown between his brows making his face look even longer and narrower.

“Sir, this court requires that you be precise. You are misleading the jury. Dr. Moncrieff and Miss Latterly do not have a mutual profession, as you well know; and if you do not, then let me inform you. Dr. Moncrieff is a physician, a practitioner of the art of medicine. Miss Latterly is a nurse, a servant to such doctors in their care of the sick, to roll bandages, make beds, fetch and carry. She does not diagnose disease, she does not prescribe medicines, she does not perform operations of even the slightest nature. She does as she is told, no more. Do I make myself clear?” He turned to the jury. “Gentlemen?”

At least half the jurors nodded sagely.

“Doctor,” Argyll said smoothly, addressing Moncrieff. “I do not wish you to presume upon jurisprudence. Please confine yourself to medicine as your skill, and Miss Latterly as your observation.”

There was a titter around the room, hastily suppressed. One man in the gallery guffawed, and someone squeaked with alarm.

The judge was scarlet-faced, but events had overtaken him. He searched for words, and found none.

“Of course not, sir,” Moncrieff said quickly. “I know nothing about it, beyond what is open to every layman.”

“Did you work with Miss Latterly, sir?”

“Frequently.”

“What was your opinion of her professional ability?”

Gilfeather rose to his feet. “We are not doubting her professional ability, my lord. The prosecution is not charging she made any error in judgment as to procedure. We are quite sure all her acts were precisely what she intended them to be, and with full understanding of the consequences… at least medically speaking.”

There was another nervous giggle somewhere, instantly stifled.

“Proceed to what is relevant, Mr. Argyll,” the judge directed. “The court is waiting to hear Dr. Moncrieff’s testimony as to the character of the prisoner. Relevant or not, it is her right to have it heard.”

“My lord, I believe that competence to perform one’s duties, and to place the care of others before one’s own safety, while in great personal danger, is a profound part of a person’s character,” Argyll said with a smile.

There was a long, tense silence. No one in the gallery moved.

In spite of himself Rathbone’s eyes flickered up to Hester. She was staring at Argyll, her face white, the shadow of hope struggling in her eyes.

He felt an overwhelming sense of despair, so total for a moment he could hardly catch his breath. It was as if someone had knocked the air out of his lungs.

Perhaps it was as well Argyll was conducting the case. He cared too much to be in command of himself.

The jury was waiting, all fifteen faces turned towards the judge. This time their emotion was with Argyll, and it was plain to see.

The judge was tight-lipped with anger, but he knew the law.

“Proceed,” he said curtly.

“Thank you, my lord.” Argyll inclined his head and turned back to Moncrieff. “Dr. Moncrieff, I ask you again, what is your opinion of Miss Latterly’s professional ability, in all circumstances with which you are acquainted and competent to form a judgment?”

“Excellent, sir,” Moncrieff answered without hesitation. “She showed remarkable courage on the battlefield when there were enemy skirmishers about, working with the wounded when her own life was in danger. She worked very long hours indeed, often all day and half the night, ignoring her own exhaustion or hunger and cold.” A shadow of amusement crossed Moncrieff’s handsome face. “And she had exceptional initiative. I have on occasions thought it is unfortunate it is impossible to train women to practice medicine. More man one nurse, in cases when there was no surgeon, has performed successful operations to remove musket balls or pieces of shell, and even amputated limbs badly shattered on the field. Miss Latterly was one such.”

Argyll’s face registered the appropriate surprise.

“Are you saying, sir, that she was a surgeon… in the Crimea?”

“In extremis, yes sir. Surgery requires a steady hand, a good eye, a knowledge of anatomy, and a cool nerve. All of these qualities may be possessed by a woman as much as by a man.”

“Stuff and nonsense!” someone shouted from the gallery.

“Good God, sir!” one of the jurors exploded, then blushed scarlet.