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“Nothing,” he said dryly. “What did you expect?”
She stood stiffly, shoulders back, chi
n high, and stared at him. Then gradually she realized the inevitability of what he had said and that her first thought of justice and open judgment was never a reality.
“Who knows about it?” she asked instead.
“Only Sir Basil and Lady Moidore, so far as I am aware,” he replied. “That is what Sir Basil believes, anyway.”
“Who told you? Not Sir Basil, surely?”
He smiled with a hard, twisted grimace. “Percival, when he thought I was closing in on him. He certainly won’t go docilely into the darkness for them, whatever poor Martha Rivett did. If Percival goes down, he’ll do his best to take as many of the rest of them with him as he can.”
“I don’t like him,” she said quietly, looking down. “But I can’t blame him for fighting. I think I would. I might suffer injustice for someone I loved—but not for these people, who are only too willing to see him take the blame to get it away from them. What are you going to ask Lady Moidore? You know it’s true—”
“I don’t,” he contradicted. “Myles Kellard says she was a trollop who invited it—Basil doesn’t care whether that is true or not. She couldn’t stay here after she’d accused Kellard—apart from the fact she was with child. All Basil cared about was clearing up the mess here and protecting Araminta.”
The surprise was evident in her face. “She doesn’t know?”
“You think she does?” he said quickly.
“She hates him for something. It may not be that—”
“Could be anything,” he agreed. “Even so, I can’t see how knowing that would be a reason for anyone to murder Octavia—even if the rape was what Octavia found out the day before she was killed.”
“Neither do I,” she admitted. “There’s something very important we don’t know yet.”
“And I don’t suppose I’ll learn it from Lady Moidore. Still, I had better go and see her now. I don’t want them to suspect we discuss them or they will not speak so freely in front of you. Come.”
Obediently she opened the door again and led him across the wide hallway and into the withdrawing room. It was cold and windy outside, and the first drops of heavy rain were beating against the long windows. There was a roaring fire in the hearth, and its glow spread across the red Aubusson carpet and even touched the velvet of the curtains that hung from huge swathed pelmets in swags and rich falls to the fringed sashes, spreading their skirts on the floor.
Beatrice Moidore was seated in the largest chair, dressed in unrelieved black, as if to remind them of her bereaved state. She looked very pale, in spite of her marvelous hair, or perhaps because of it, but her eyes were bright and her manner attentive.
“Good morning, Mr. Monk. Please be seated. I understand you wish to ask me about something?”
“Good morning, Lady Moidore. Yes, if you please. Sir Basil asked that Miss Latterly should remain, in case you feel unwell and need any assistance.” He sat down as he had been invited, opposite her in one of the other armchairs. Hester remained standing as suited her station.
A half smile touched Beatrice’s lips, as though something he could not understand amused her.
“Most thoughtful,” she said expressionlessly. “What is it you would like to ask? I know nothing that I did not know when we last spoke.”
“But I do, ma’am.”
“Indeed?” This time there was a flicker of fear in her, a shadow across the eyes, a tightness in the white hands in her lap.
Who was it she was frightened for? Not herself. Who else did she care about so much that even without knowing what he had learned she feared for them? Who would she protect? Her children, surely—no one else.
“Are you going to tell me, Mr. Monk?” Her voice was brittle, her eyes very clear.
“Yes ma’am. I apologize for raising what must be a most painful subject, but Sir Basil confirmed that about two years ago one of your maids, a girl called Martha Rivett, claimed that Mr. Kellard raped her.” He watched her expression and saw the muscles tighten in her neck and across the high, delicate brows. Her lips pulled crooked in distaste.
“I don’t see what that can have to do with my daughter’s death. It happened two years ago, and it concerned her in no way at all. She did not even know of it.”
“Is it true, ma’am? Did Mr. Kellard rape the parlormaid?”
“I don’t know. My husband dismissed her, so I assume she was at least in great part to blame for whatever happened. It is quite possible.” She took a deep breath and swallowed. He saw the constricted movement of her throat. “It is quite possible she had another relationship and became with child, and then lied to save herself by blaming one of the family—hoping that we should feel responsible and look after her. Such things, unfortunately, do happen.”
“I expect they do,” he agreed, keeping his voice noncommittal with a great effort. He was sharply aware of Hester standing behind the chair, and knowing what she would feel. “But if that is what she hoped in this instance, then she was sorely disappointed, wasn’t she?”
