Страница 72 из 99
“That is an extraordinary opinion, sir,” Argyll said very distinctly.
“War is an extraordinary occupation, thank God,” Moncrieff replied. “Were it commonplace, I fear the human race would very soon wipe itself out. But appalling as it is, it does on occasion show us qualities we would not otherwise know we possessed. Both men and women rise to heights of gallantry, and of skill, that the calm, more ordered days of peace would never inspire.
“You called me to testify as to what I know of Miss Latterly’s character, sir. I can in honesty say no other than I found her brave, honest, dedicated to her calling, and compassionate without sentimentality.
“On the negative side, so you will not believe me biased, she was opinionated, at times hasty to judge others whom she believed to be incompetent…” He smiled ruefully. “In which I regret she had much cause. And at times her sense of humor was less than discreet. She could be dictatorial and arbitrary, and when she was tired, short-tempered.
“But no one I ever knew saw a single act of personal greed or vindictiveness in her, whatever the circumstances. Nor had she personal vanity. Good heavens, man, look at her!” He waved one arm towards the dock, leaning over the railing of the witness-box. Every head in the courtroom turned at his word. “Does she look to you like a woman who would commit murder to gain a piece of personal adornment?”
Even Rathbone turned, staring at Hester, gaunt, ashen-faced, her hair screwed back, dressed in blue-gray as plain as a uniform.
Argyll smiled. “No sir, she does not. I confess, it seems you are right; a little personal vanity might be more becoming. It is a falling short, I think.”
There was a ripple around the room. In the gallery one woman put her hand on her husband’s arm. Henry Rathbone smiled wanly. Monk gritted his teeth.
“Thank you, Dr. Moncrieff,” Argyll said quickly. “That is all I mean to ask you.”
Gilfeather rose slowly, almost ponderously, to his feet.
Moncrieff faced him steadily. He was not naive enough to think the next few minutes would be easy. He was aware that he had altered, if not the tide of the battle, at least the pitch and the heat of it. In Argyll he had been facing a friend; Gilfeather was the enemy.
“Dr. Moncrieff,” he began softly. “I expect few of us here can imagine the horror and privation you and other workers in the medical field must have faced during the war. It must have been truly terrible. You spoke of hunger, cold, exhaustion and fear. Is that true, no dark exaggeration?”
“None,” Moncrieff said guardedly. “You are correct, sir. It is an experience that ca
“It must place the most extraordinary strain upon those called upon to endure it?”
“Yes sir.”
“I accept that you could not share it with me, for example, other than in the most superficial and unsatisfactory way.”
“Is that a question, sir?”
“No, unless you disagree with me?”
“No, I agree. One can communicate only those experiences for which there is some common language or understanding. One ca
“Precisely. That must leave you with a certain loneliness. Dr. Moncrieff.”
Moncrieff said nothing.
“And a closeness to those with whom you have shared such fearful and profound times.”
Moncrieff could not deny it, even though to judge from his face he could perceive where Gilfeather was leading him.
The jurors leaned forward, listening intently.
“Of course,” he conceded.
“And very naturally a certain impatience with the bland-ness and uncomprehension, perhaps even uselessness, of certain of the women who have no idea whatever of anything more dangerous or demanding than household management?”
“These are your words, sir, not mine.”
“But accurate, sir? Come, you are on oath. Do you not ache to share the past you speak of with such passion now?”
Moncrieff’s expression did not flicker.
“I have no need to, sir. It is beyond sharing by me, or anyone else, except in words that are spoken by the shabby and believed by the ignorant.” He leaned forward, his hands gripping the rail. “But neither do I insult the women who remained at home caring for homes and children. We all have our own challenges, and our virtues. It is too easy to compare, and I think a profitless exercise. As women who manage the domestic economy do not understand the women who went to the Crimea, so, perhaps, those who went away do not know, or pretend to know, the hardships of those who stayed at home.”
“Very well, sir. Your courtesy does you credit,” Gilfeather said between his teeth, the smile vanished from his face. “But nevertheless a closeness must exist, a relief to share what must still cause you deep emotion?”
“Of course.”
“Tell me, sir, did Miss Latterly always appear as dowdy as she does here today? She is a young woman, and not of displeasing form or feature. This must have been an extraordinary ordeal for her. She has been confined first in Newgate Prison in London, and now here in Edinburgh. She is on trial for her life. We ca
“That is true,” Moncrieff agreed carefully.
“Did you like her, Doctor?”
“There is little time for friendship, Mr. Gilfeather. Your question admirably illustrates your assumption that those who were not there ca
“Come, sir!” Gilfeather said grimly, his voice suddenly raised and harsh. “Do not be disingenuous with me! Do you expect us to believe that in two years you were so dedicated to your duty day and night that the natural man never emerged in you?” He spread his hands wide, his face smiling. “You never once, during lulls in battle, times when the summer sunshine shone in the fields, when there was time for picnics… oh yes, we are not totally ignorant of what happened out there! There were war correspondents, you know… even photographs! Do you expect us to believe, sir, that all that time you never saw Miss Latterly as a young and not unpleasing woman?”
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, u
He had not thought himself hungry, and yet in the dining room of the i
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.”