AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“If you sent Mr. Monk looking for a tramp you most certainly were,” Audley agreed testily, his breath harsh in his throat. “You should have mentioned it to me! To have troubled a guest was quite unnecessary and unfortunate.”
“Miss Gillespie did not ask me,” Monk said defensively. “I was in the garden in her company at the time. It was the most natural thing in the world to offer to see if there were anyone trespassing.”
Audley fell silent with the best grace he could muster, but it was less than comfortable.
“I was afraid one of my children might have thrown a ball too far and came to retrieve it,” Mrs. Hylton said apologetically, looking from one to the other of them, curiosity alight in her face, and a taste for drama. “Most inconsiderate, I know, but children tend to be like that. I am sure you will find it so, when you have your own….”
Audley’s face was white, his eyes glittering, but his hard glance was not directed at Mrs. Hylton, nor at Julia, but out the window into the trees. Julia’s cheeks were scarlet, but she too was mute.
It was Marianne who spoke, her voice quivering with pain and indignation.
“That may be so, Mrs. Hylton, but we do not all wish to have the same patterns of life. And for some of us the choices are different. I am sure you have sufficient sensitivity to appreciate that….”
Mrs. Hylton realized she had made an appalling blunder and blushed deeply, although from the confusion in her face, she still did not fully understand what it had been.
“Yes,” she said hastily. “Of course. I see, yes. Naturally. Well, I am sure you have done the right thing, Mr. Monk. I—I just wished to—well—good day to you.” And she turned around and retreated in disorder.
Monk had seen more than sufficient to confirm his fears. He would have to speak to Marianne alone, but he would not do it with Audley in the house. He would return tomorrow morning, when he could be almost certain he would find the women alone.
“I don’t wish to intrude,” he said aloud, looking first at Julia, then at Audley. “If it is acceptable, ma’am, I shall call again in the near future to pick up your gift for Mr. Finnister?”
“Oh. Thank you,” Julia accepted quickly, relief flooding her face. “That would be most kind.”
Audley said nothing, and with a few more words, Monk excused himself and left, walking out rapidly into the heat of Hastings Street and the noise and clatter of passing carriages and the trouble of his thoughts.
In the morning he stood in the summerhouse with Marianne. A dozen yards away there were birds singing in the lilac tree and a faint breeze blew a few fallen leaves across the grass. It was Rodwell’s day off.
“I think I have made all the inquiries I can,” Monk began.
“I cannot blame you if you can discover very little,” Marianne answered with a tiny smile. She was leaning against the window, the pale sprigged muslin of her dress billowing around her. She looked very young, but oddly less vulnerable than Julia, even though Monk was aware of the fear in her.
“I discovered several things,” he went on, watching her carefully. “For instance, no one came over the wall into the garden, from any direction.”
“Oh?” She was very still, almost holding her breath, staring away from him across the grass.
“And you are sure it was not Rodwell?”
Now she was incredulous, swinging around to look at him with wide eyes. “Rodwell? You mean the gardener? Of course it was not him! Do you think I wouldn’t recognize our own gardener? Oh—oh no! You can’t think …” She stopped, her face scarlet.
“No I don’t,” he said quickly. “I simply had to be sure. No, I don’t think it was Rodwell, Miss Gillespie. But I do think you know who it was.”
Now her face was very pale except for the splashes of color high in her cheeks. She looked at him in hot, furious accusation.
“You think I was willing! Oh dear heaven, how could you! How could you?” She jerked away and her voice was filled with such horror his last vestiges of doubt vanished.
“No I don’t,” he answered, aware of how facile that sounded. “But I think you are afraid that people will believe it, so you are trying to protect yourself.” He avoided using the word lying.
“You are wrong,” she said simply, but she did not turn back to face him. She still stood with shoulders hunched and staring toward the shrubbery and the end wall of the garden beyond which came the intermittent shouts of the Hylton children playing.
“How did he get in?” he asked gently. “No stranger could come through the house.”
“Then he must have come through the herb garden,” she replied.
“Past Rodwell? He said he saw no one.”
“He must have been somewhere else.” Her voice was flat, brooking no argument. “Maybe he went ’round to the kitchen for a few minutes. Perhaps he went for a drink of water, or a piece of cake or something, and didn’t like to admit it.”
“And this fellow seized his chance and came through into the back garden?” He did not try to keep the disbelief from his voice.
