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“Good morning, sir,” Monk replied. “Yes, some new information has come to me this morning. I would like to ask you if it is true, and if it is, to tell me what you know of the matter.”
Basil did not seem concerned, and was only moderately interested. He was still dressed in black, but elegant, selfconsciously smart black. It was not the mourning of someone bowed down with grief.
“What matter is this, Inspector?”
“A maid that worked here two years ago, by the name of Martha Rivett.”
Basil’s face tightened, and he moved from the window and stood straighter.
“What can she possibly have to do with my daughter’s death?”
“Was she raped, Sir Basil?”
Basil’s eyes widened. Distaste registered sharply in his face, then another, more thoughtful expression. “I have no idea!”
Monk controlled himself with great difficulty. “Did she come to you and say that she was?”
A slight smile moved Basil’s mouth, and his hand at his side curled and uncurled.
“Inspector, if you had ever kept a house with a large staff, many of them young, imaginative and excitable women, you would hear a great many stories of all sorts of entanglements, charges and countercharges of wrongs. Certainly she came and said she had been molested—but I have no way of knowing whether she really had or whether she had got herself with child and was trying to lay the blame on someone else—and get us to look after her. Possibly one of the male servants forced his attentions—” His hands uncurled, and he shrugged very faintly.
Monk bit his tongue and stared at Basil with hard eyes.
“Is that what you believe, sir? You spoke with the girl. I believe she charged that it was Mr. Kellard who assaulted her. Presumably you also spoke with Mr. Kellard. Did he tell you he had never had anything to do with her?”
“Is that your business, Inspector?
” Basil said coldly.
“If Mr. Kellard raped this girl, yes, Sir Basil, it is. It may well be the root of this present crime.”
“Indeed? I fail to see how.” But there was no conciliation in his voice, and no outrage.
“Then I will explain it,” Monk said between his teeth. “If Mr. Kellard raped this unfortunate girl, the fact was concealed and the girl dismissed to whatever fate she could find, then that says a great deal about Mr. Kellard’s nature and his belief that he is free to force his attentions upon women, regardless of their feelings. It seems highly probable that he admired Mrs. Haslett, and may have tried to force his attentions upon her also.”
“And murdered her?” Basil was considering it. There was caution in his voice, the beginning of a new thought, but still heavily tinged with doubt. “Martha never suggested he threatened her with any weapon, and she perfectly obviously had not been injured—”
“You had her examined?” Monk asked baldly.
Temper flashed in Basil’s face. “Of course I didn’t. Whatever for? She made no claim of violence—I told you that.”
“I daresay she considered it of no purpose—and she was right. She charged rape, and was dismissed without a character to live or die in the streets.” As soon as he had said it he knew his words were the result of temper, not judgment.
Basil’s cheeks darkened with anger. “Some chit of a maid gets with child and accuses my daughter’s husband of raping her! For God’s sake, man, do you expect me to keep her in the house? Or recommend her to the houses of my friends?” Still he remained at the far side of the room, glaring at Monk across the table and the chair. “I have a duty both to my family, especially my daughter and her happiness, and to my acquaintances. To give any recommendation to a young woman with a character that would charge such a thing of her employer would be completely irresponsible.”
Monk wanted to ask him about his duty toward Martha Rivett, but knew that such an affront would very probably cause him just the sort of complaint that Runcorn would delight in, and would give Runcorn an excuse for censure, perhaps even removal from the case.
“You did not believe her, sir?” He was civil with difficulty. “Mr. Kellard denied having any relationship with her?”
“No he didn’t,” Basil said sharply. “He said she had led him on and was perfectly willing; it was only later when she discovered she was with child she made this charge to protect herself—and I daresay to try and force us to care for her, to stop her spreading about such a story. The girl was obviously of loose character and out to take a chance to profit from it if she could.”
“So you put an end to it. I assume you believed Mr. Kellard’s account?”
Basil looked at him coldly. “No, as a matter of fact I did not. I think it very probable he forced his attentions on the girl, but that is hardly important now. Men have natural appetites, always have had. I daresay she flirted with him and he mistook her. Are you suggesting he tried the same with my daughter Octavia?”
“It seems possible.”
Basil frowned. “And if he did, why should that lead to murder, which is what you seem to be suggesting? If she had struck at him, that would be understandable, but why should he kill her?”
