softness gently pressed against him. Was she conscious, herself, of taking the initiative in such memorable intimacy, however mild?
Then she ruined everything.
'I don't go in much for reading these days. Last book I read was Jane Eyre – for GCSE, that was.'
'Did you enjoy it?' (Poor, dear Charlotte had long had a special place in Morse's heart.)
'Pretty boring stuff. We just had to do it, you know, for the exam.'
Oh dear!
Crossing her black-stockinged legs, she took off one of her flat-heeled black shoes, and shook out some invisible irritant on to the ward floor.
'When do people take their shoes off?' asked Morse. ‘Normally, I mean?'
'Funny question, isn't it?'
'When they've a stone in them – like you?'
Fiona nodded. 'And when they go to bed.'
'And?'
'Well – when they go paddling at Blackpool.'
'Yes?'
'When they sit watching the telly with their feet on the sofa – if they've got a mum as fussy as mine.'
'Anything else?'
'What do you want to know all this for?'
‘If they've got corns or something,' persisted Morse, and go to the chiropodist.' ('Kyropodist', in Morse's book.)
'Yes. Or if their feet get sore or tired. Or if they have to take their tights off for some reason-'
'Such as?'
Morse saw the flash of sensuous amusement in her eyes, as she suddenly stood up, pulled his sheets straight, and shook out his pillows. 'Well, if you don't know at your age-'
Oh dear!
Age.
Morse felt as young as he'd ever done; but suddenly, and so clearly, he could see himself as he was seen by this young girl.
Old!
But his mood was soon to be brightened by the totally unexpected re-appearance of Sergeant Lewis, who explained that the purpose of his unofficial visit (it was 2.15 p.m.) was to interview a woman, still in intensive care, in connection with yet another horrendous crash on the A34.
'Feeling OK this morning, sir?'
'I shall feel a jolly sight better once I've had the chance of apologizing to you – for being so bloody ungrateful!'
'Oh yes? When was that, sir? I thought you were always ungrateful to me.'
'I'm just sorry, that's all,' said Morse simply and quietly.
Lewis, whose anger had been simmering and spitting like soup inadvertently left on the stove, had come into the ward with considerable reluctance. Yet when some ten minutes later he walked out, he felt the same degree of delight he invariably experienced when he knew that Morse needed him – even if it were only, as in this case, to do a bit of mundane research (Morse had briefly explained the case) and to try to discover if the Court Registers of the Oxford Assizes, 1859-60, were still available; and if so to see if any records of the trials were still extant.
After Lewis had gone, Morse felt very much more in tune with the universe. Lewis had forgiven him, readily; and he felt a contentment which he, just as much as Lewis, could ill define and only partly comprehend. And with Lewis looking into the Court Registers, there was another researcher in the field: a qualified librarian, who could very quickly sort out Jackson's Oxford Journals. Not that she was coming in that evening, alas!
Patience, Morse!
At 3 p.m. he turned once again to the beginning of the fourth and final episode in the late Colonel Deniston's book.
Chapter Eighteen
PART FOUR
A Pronounced Sentence
A bailiff was sworn in to attend the Jury, who immediately retired to the Clerk of Indictments' Room. After an absence of three-quarters of an hour, they returned to the Court; and, their names having been read over, every person appeared to wait with breathless anxiety for their verdict. In reply to the usual questions from Mr Benham, the foreman replied that the Jury was all agreed and that they were unanimous in finding each of the three prisoners at the bar GUILTY of the murder of Joanna Franks. It is said that no visible alteration marked the countenances of the crew on the verdict being given, except that Oldfield for the moment became somewhat
Then she ruined everything.
'I don't go in much for reading these days. Last book I read was Jane Eyre – for GCSE, that was.'
'Did you enjoy it?' (Poor, dear Charlotte had long had a special place in Morse's heart.)
'Pretty boring stuff. We just had to do it, you know, for the exam.'
Oh dear!
Crossing her black-stockinged legs, she took off one of her flat-heeled black shoes, and shook out some invisible irritant on to the ward floor.
'When do people take their shoes off?' asked Morse. ‘Normally, I mean?'
'Funny question, isn't it?'
'When they've a stone in them – like you?'
Fiona nodded. 'And when they go to bed.'
'And?'
'Well – when they go paddling at Blackpool.'
'Yes?'
'When they sit watching the telly with their feet on the sofa – if they've got a mum as fussy as mine.'
'Anything else?'
'What do you want to know all this for?'
‘If they've got corns or something,' persisted Morse, and go to the chiropodist.' ('Kyropodist', in Morse's book.)
'Yes. Or if their feet get sore or tired. Or if they have to take their tights off for some reason-'
'Such as?'
Morse saw the flash of sensuous amusement in her eyes, as she suddenly stood up, pulled his sheets straight, and shook out his pillows. 'Well, if you don't know at your age-'
Oh dear!
Age.
Morse felt as young as he'd ever done; but suddenly, and so clearly, he could see himself as he was seen by this young girl.
Old!
But his mood was soon to be brightened by the totally unexpected re-appearance of Sergeant Lewis, who explained that the purpose of his unofficial visit (it was 2.15 p.m.) was to interview a woman, still in intensive care, in connection with yet another horrendous crash on the A34.
'Feeling OK this morning, sir?'
'I shall feel a jolly sight better once I've had the chance of apologizing to you – for being so bloody ungrateful!'
'Oh yes? When was that, sir? I thought you were always ungrateful to me.'
'I'm just sorry, that's all,' said Morse simply and quietly.
Lewis, whose anger had been simmering and spitting like soup inadvertently left on the stove, had come into the ward with considerable reluctance. Yet when some ten minutes later he walked out, he felt the same degree of delight he invariably experienced when he knew that Morse needed him – even if it were only, as in this case, to do a bit of mundane research (Morse had briefly explained the case) and to try to discover if the Court Registers of the Oxford Assizes, 1859-60, were still available; and if so to see if any records of the trials were still extant.
After Lewis had gone, Morse felt very much more in tune with the universe. Lewis had forgiven him, readily; and he felt a contentment which he, just as much as Lewis, could ill define and only partly comprehend. And with Lewis looking into the Court Registers, there was another researcher in the field: a qualified librarian, who could very quickly sort out Jackson's Oxford Journals. Not that she was coming in that evening, alas!
Patience, Morse!
At 3 p.m. he turned once again to the beginning of the fourth and final episode in the late Colonel Deniston's book.
Chapter Eighteen
PART FOUR
A Pronounced Sentence
A bailiff was sworn in to attend the Jury, who immediately retired to the Clerk of Indictments' Room. After an absence of three-quarters of an hour, they returned to the Court; and, their names having been read over, every person appeared to wait with breathless anxiety for their verdict. In reply to the usual questions from Mr Benham, the foreman replied that the Jury was all agreed and that they were unanimous in finding each of the three prisoners at the bar GUILTY of the murder of Joanna Franks. It is said that no visible alteration marked the countenances of the crew on the verdict being given, except that Oldfield for the moment became somewhat
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