A Dangerous Mourning (33 page)

"Second thoughts? What do you mean?"

Now Hester retreated. "I'mnotsure. I suppose another way

of looking at the evidence—perhaps if someone were lying— or remembered inaccurately—"

"You are saying that the murderer is still here—among us, Hester." There was no panic in Beatrice's voice, just cold pain. "And whoever it is, is calmly watching Percival go to his death on—on false evidence."

Hester swallowed hard and found her voice difficult to force into her throat.

"I suppose whoever it is must be very frightened. Perhaps it was an accident at first—I mean it was a struggle that was not meant to end in death. Don't you think?"

At last Beatrice turned around, her hands empty.

"You mean Myles?" she said slowly and distinctly. "You think it was Myles who went to her room and she fought with him and he took the knife from her and stabbed her, because by then he had too much to lose if she should speak against him and told everyone what had happened?" She leaned a little against the chest.”That is what they are saying happened with Percival, you know. Yes, of course you know. You are in the servants' hall more than I am. That's what Mary says."

She looked down at her hands. "And it is what Romola believes. She is terribly relieved, you know. She thinks it is all over now. We can stop suspecting one another. She thought it was Septimus, you know, that Tavie discovered something about him! Which is ridiculous—she always knew his story!" She tried to laugh at the idea, and failed. "Now she imagines we will forget it all and go on just as before. We'll forget everything we've learned about each other—and ourselves: the shallowness, the self-deception, how quick we are to blame someone else when we are afraid. Anything to protect ourselves. As if nothing would be different, except that Tavie won't be here.'' She smiled, a dazzling, nervous gesture without warmth. "Sometimes I think Romola is the stupidest woman I 've ever met.''

“It won't be the same,'' Hester agreed, torn between wanting to comfort her and the need to follow every shade or inflection of truth she could.”But in time we may at least forgive, and some things can be forgotten."

"Can they?" Beatrice looked not at her but out of the window again. "Will Minta ever forget that Myles raped that wretched girl? Whatever rape is. What is rape, Hester? If you

do your duty within marriage, that is lawful and right. You would be condemned for doing anything less. How different is it outside marriage that it should be regarded as such a despicable crime?"

“Is it?'' Hester allowed some of her anger to come through. "It seems to me very few people were upset about Mr. Kel-lard's rape of the maid, in fact they were angrier with her for speaking of it than they were with him for having done it. It all hangs upon who is involved."

"I suppose so. But that is small comfort if it is your husband. I can see the hurt of it in her face. Not often—but sometimes in repose, when she does not think of anyone looking at her, I see pain under the composure." She turned back, frowning, a slow troubled expression not intended for Hester. "And sometimes I think a terrible anger."

"But Mr. Kellard is unhurt," Hester said very gently, longing to be able to comfort her and knowing now beyond doubt that Percival's arrest was by no means the beginning of healing. "Surely if Mrs. Kellard were thinking any violence it would be him she would direct it against? It is only natural to be angry, but in time she may forget the sharpness of it, and even think of the fact less and less often." She nearly added that if Myles were to be tender enough with her, and generous, then it would eventually cease to matter. But thinking of Myles she could not believe it, and to speak such an ephemeral hope aloud might only add to the wound. Beatrice must see him at least as clearly as Hester, who knew him such a short while.

"Yes," Beatrice said without conviction. "Of course, you are right. And please, take what time you need this afternoon."

"Thank you."

As she turned to leave, Basil came in, having knocked so perfunctorily that neither of them heard him. He walked past Hester, barely noticing her, his eyes on Beatrice.

"Good," he said briskly. "I see you are dressed today. Naturally you are feeling much better."

"No—" Beatrice began, but he cut her off.

"Of course you are." His smile was businesslike. "I'm delighted, my dear. This fearful tragedy has naturally affected your health, but the worst of it is already over, and you will gain strength every day."

"Over." She faced him with incredulity. "Do you really believe it is over, Basil?"

"Of course it is." He did not look at her but walked around the room slowly, looking at the dressing table, then straightening one of the pictures. “There will be the trial, of course; but you do not need to attend.''

"I wish to!"

"If it will help you to feel the matter is dealt with, I can understand it, although I think it would be better if you accepted my account."

"It is not over, Basil! Just because they have arrested Per-cival. . ."

He swung around to face her, impatience in his eyes and mouth.

"All of it is over that needs to concern you, Beatrice. If it will help you to see justice done, then go to the trial by all means, otherwise I advise you to remain at home. Either way, the investigation is closed and you may cease to think about it. You are much better, and I am delighted to see it." She accepted the futility of arguing and looked away, her hands fiddling with the lace handkerchief from her pocket.

"I have decided to help Cyprian to obtain a seat in Parliament," Basil went on, satisfied her concern was over. "He has been interested in politics for some time, and it would be an excellent thing for him to do. I have connections that will make a safe Tory seat available to him by the next general election."

"Tory?" Beatrice was surprised. "But his beliefs are radical!"

"Nonsense!'' He dismissed it with a laugh. "He reads some very odd literature, I know; but he doesn't take it seriously."

"I think he does."

"Rubbish. You have to consider such stuff to know how to fight against it, that is all."

"Basil—I—"

"Absolute nonsense, my dear. It will do him excellently. You will see the change in him. Now I am due in Whitehall in half an hour. I will see you for dinner." And with a perfunctory kiss on her cheek he left, again walking past Hester as if she were invisible.

* * * * *

Hester walked into the chocolate house in Regent Street and saw Monk immediately, sitting at one of the small tables, leaning forward staring into the dregs of a glass cup, his face smooth and bleak. She had seen that expression before, when he had thought the Grey case catastrophic.

She sailed in with a swish of skirts, albeit only blue stuff and not satin, and sat down on the chair opposite him prepared to be angry even before he spoke. His defeatism reached her emotions the more easily because she had no idea how to fight any further herself.

He looked up, saw the accusation in her eyes, and instantly his face hardened.

"I see you have managed to escape the sickroom this afternoon," he said with a heavy trace of sarcasm. "I presume now that the 'illness' is at an end, her ladyship will recover rapidly?"

"Is the illness at an end?" she said with elaborate surprise. "I thought from Sergeant Evan that it was far from over, in fact it appears to have suffered a serious relapse, which may even prove fatal."

"For the footman, yes—but hardly her ladyship and her family," he said without trying to hide his bitterness.

"But for you." She regarded him without the sympathy she felt. He was in danger of sinking into self-pity, and she believed most people were far better bullied out of it than catered to. Real compassion should be reserved for the helplessly suffering, of whom she had seen immeasurably too many. "So you have apparently given up your career in the police—"

"I have not given it up," he contradicted angrily. "You speak as if I did it with deliberate intent. I refused to arrest a man I did not believe guilty, and Runcorn dismissed me for it."

"Very noble," she agreed tersely. "But totally foreseeable. You cannot have imagined for a second that he would do anything else."

"Then you will have an excellent fellow-feeling," he returned savagely. "Since you can hardly have supposed Dr. Pomeroy would permit you to remain at the infirmary after prescribing the dispensing medicine yourself!" He was apparently unaware of having raised his voice, or of the couple at the next table turning to stare at them. "Unfortunately I

doubt you can find me private employment detecting as a freelance, as you can with nursing," he finished.

"It was your suggestion to Callandra." Not that she was surprised; it was the only answer that made sense.

"Of course." His smile was without humor. "Perhaps you can go and ask her if she has any wealthy friends who need a little uncovering of secrets, or tracing of lost heirs?"

"Certainly—that is an excellent idea."

"Don't you dare!" He was furious, offended and patronized. "I forbid it!"

The waiter was standing at his elbow to accept their order, but Monk ignored him.

"I shall do as I please," Hester said instantly. "You will not dictate to me what I shall say to Callandra. I should like a cup of chocolate, if you would be so good."

The waiter opened his mouth, and then when no one took any notice of him, closed it again.

"You are an arrogant and opinionated woman," Monk said fiercely. "And quite the most overbearing I have ever met. And you will not start organizing my life as if you were some damned governess. I am not helpless nor lying in a hospital bed at your mercy."

"Not helpless?" Her eyebrows shot up and she looked at him with all the frustration and impotent anger boiling up inside her, the fury at the blindness, complacency, cowardice and petty malice that had conspired to have Percival arrested and Monk dismissed, and the rest of them unable to see any way to begin to redress the situation. "You have managed to find evidence to have the wretched footman taken away in manacles, but not enough to proceed any further. You are without employment or prospects of any, and have covered yourself with dislike. You are sitting in a chocolate house staring at the dregs of an empty cup. And you have the luxury to refuse help?"

Now the people at all the tables in the immediate vicinity had stopped eating or drinking and were staring at them.

"I refuse your condescending interference," he said. "You should marry some poor devil and concentrate your managerial skills on one man and leave the rest of us in peace.''

She knew precisely what was hurting him, the fear of the future when he had not even the experience of the past to draw

on, the specter of hunger and homelessness ahead, the sense of failure. She struck where it would wound the most surely, and perhaps eventually do the most good.

"Self-pity does not become you, nor does it serve any purpose, '' she said quietly, aware now of the people around them. "And please lower your voice. If you expect me to be sorry for you, you are wasting your time. Your situation is of your own making, and not markedly worse than mine—which was also of my own making, I am aware." She stopped, seeing the overwhelming fury in his face. She was afraid for a moment she had really gone too far.

"You—" he began. Then very slowly the rage died away and was replaced by a sharp humor, so hard as to be almost sweet, like a clean wind off the sea. "You have a genius for saying the worst possible thing in any given situation," he finished. "I should imagine a good many patients have taken up their beds and walked, simply to be free of your ministrations and go where they could suffer in peace."

"That is very cruel," she said a little huffily. "I have never been harsh to someone I believed to be genuinely in distress—"

"Oh." His eyebrows rose dramatically. "You think my predicament is not real?"

"Of course your predicament is real," she said; "But your anguish over it is unhelpful. You have talents, in spite of the Queen Anne Street case. You must find a way to use them for remuneration." She warmed to the subject. "Surely there are cases the police cannot solve—either they are too difficult or they do not fall within their scope to handle? Are there not miscarriages of justice—" That thought brought her back to Percival again, and without waiting for his reply she hurried on. "What are we going to do about Percival? I am even more sure after speaking to Lady Moidore this morning that there is grave doubt as to whether he had anything to do with Oc-tavia's death.''

At last the waiter managed to intrude, and Monk ordered chocolate for her, insisting on paying for it, overriding her protest with more haste than courtesy.

"Continue to look for proof, I suppose," he said when the matter was settled and she began to sip at the steaming liquid.

"Although if I knew where or what I should have looked already."

"I suppose it must be Myles," she said thoughtfully. "Or Araminta—if Octavia were not as reluctant as we have been led to suppose. She might have known they had an assignation and taken the kitchen knife along, deliberately meaning to kill her."

"Then presumably Myles Kellard would know it," Monk argued. “Or have a very strong suspicion. And from what you said he is more afraid of her than she of him.''

She smiled. "If my wife had just killed my mistress with a carving knife I would be more than a trifle nervous, wouldn't you?" But she did not mean it, and she saw from his face that he knew it as well as she. "Or perhaps it was Fenella?" she went on. "I think she has the stomach for such a thing, if she had the motive.''

"Well, not out of lust for the footman," Monk replied. "And I doubt Octavia knew anything about her so shocking that Basil would have thrown her out for it. Unless there is a whole avenue we have not explored."

Hester drank the last of her chocolate and
set
the glass down on its saucer.”Well I am still in Queen Anne Street, and Lady Moidore certainly does not seem recovered yet, or likely to be in the next few days. I shall have a little longer to observe. Is there anything you would like me to pursue?"