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Monk glanced at Eilish. Her expression was a painful mixture of anguish and hope, as though she had not expected to be hurt by Kenneth’s guilt, and now that it was on the brink of reality, it caught her unaware, both wounded and abashed. She looked across at Baird, but he was sunk in gloom of his own.
Oonagh turned a questioning gaze at her younger brother.
“Well?” Alastair demanded. “Don’t just stand there glowering, Kenneth. This requires very considerable explanation. Do you admit buying this piece of jewelry and charging it to Mother? Not that there seems any point in denying it; the proof is there.”
“I admit it,” Kenneth said in a strangled voice, although there seemed as much anger in it as fear. “If you paid us decently I wouldn’t have to—”
“You are paid what you are worth!” Alastair said, the color mounting in his cheeks. “But if you were paid nothing at all beyond your keep, that would not excuse you from buying presents for your mistress on Mother’s account. Dear God, what else have you done? Is Uncle Hector right? Have you embezzled from the company accounts?”
The blood fled from Kenneth’s cheeks, but he seemed defiant as much as frightened, and there was still no remorse in him that the eye could see.
Oddly, it was Quinlan who stepped forward to speak, not Kenneth himself.
“Yes he did, months ago, over a year now, and Mother-in-law knew about it at the time. She paid it all back.”
Alastair exploded with disbelief. “Oh really, Quin! Don’t expect me to believe all that. I know how you feel about Baird, but this is absurd. Why on earth would Mother cover up Kenneth’s embezzlement and simply repay it all? I presume we are not speaking about a few pennies. That would hardly fund the life he enjoys and keep his poverty-stricken mistress in the diamonds she apparently likes so much.”
“Of course not,” Quinlan agreed with a twist of his mouth. “If you look at Mother-in-law’s will, you will find that Kenneth gets nothing at all. She took his share in settlement of his debt—both for the embezzlement and, I imagine, the brooch. She knew about that too.” His eyes stared levelly at Alastair, so absolutely without wavering, Monk wondered if this last was a lie.
Alastair said nothing.
Quinlan smiled. “Come on, Alastair. That is what Mother-in-law would have done, and you know it. She would never have precipitated a scandal by prosecuting her own son. We all knew her better than that—even Kenneth. Not when the remedy lay so easily to hand.” He shrugged very slightly. “Certainly she punished him, and redeemed the debt at the same time. If he’d done it again she’d have taken it out of his skin—she would have had him work all day and all night till it was earned again. I daresay she’d received one or two nice presents in her day….”
“How dare you—” Alastair began furiously, but Oonagh cut him off.
“I presume the sol
icitors will know this much?” she said quietly.
“Of course,” Quinlan agreed. “There is no reason given in the will, except that Kenneth himself will understand why he has no inheritance, and have no complaints.”
“How do you know this, when the rest of the family doesn’t?” Monk asked him.
Quinlan’s eyebrows rose. “Me? Because as I said before, I conducted a great deal of her affairs for her. I am extremely good at business, especially investments, and Mother-in-law knew it. Besides, Alastair is too busy, Baird has no head for it, and obviously she would be a complete fool to trust Kenneth.”
“If you know so much about the business,” Eilish challenged him in a choking voice, “how is it you knew nothing about the land in Easter Ross and that she was getting no rent from it?”
Kenneth seemed to be forgotten, at least temporarily. All eyes turned to Eilish, and then to Baird. No one took the slightest notice of Monk or Hester.
Baird looked up at them, his face wretched.
“Mary knew everything that I did, and it was done with her permission,” he said quietly. “That is all I will tell you.”
“Well, it is not enough.” Alastair swung around at him desperately. “Good God, man! Mother is dead—poisoned by someone. The police aren’t going to accept an answer like that. If Miss Latterly didn’t do it, then one of us did!”
“I didn’t.” Baird’s voice was barely a whisper between his lips. “I loved Mary, more than anyone else … except …” He stopped. Few in the room doubted he was going to say “Eilish,” not “Oonagh.”
Oonagh was very pale, but perfectly composed. Whatever emotions tore her at such a reality, they were too well concealed by time, familiarity, or sheer courage to show now.
“Of course,” Alastair said bitterly. “We would hardly expect you to say anything less. But words are immaterial now; it is only facts that matter.”
“Nobody knows the facts,” Quinlan pointed out. “We only know what Mary’s papers say, what the bankers say, and Baird’s excuses. I don’t know what other facts you think there are.”
“I imagine the police may think that sufficient,” Monk responded. “At least for trial. What else they find, or need, is their affair.”
“Is that what you are going to do?” Eilish was desperate; it stared out of her anguished face and rang in the rising pitch of her voice. “Just accuse, and leave it to the police? Baird is one of the family. We’ve lived with him in this house, known him every day for years, shared our dreams and our hopes with him. You can’t just—just say he’s guilty—and abandon him.” She looked wildly from one to another of them, all except Quinlan, ending with Oonagh, perhaps to whom she had always turned in times of need.
“We are not abandoning him, my dear,” Oonagh said quietly. “But we have no alternative to facing the truth, however terrible it is for us. One of us killed Mother.”
