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“Probably it is some family quarrel we know nothing of, or even some malice directed at Mrs. Farraline which has tragically gone astray with her death. It hardly matters at the moment. Your part is to bring it to me, and I shall give you a receipt for it and deal with the matter as regards Mrs. Farraline’s executors.”
Still she hesitated, confusion welling in her mind, remembering their faces: Mary, Oonagh, Alastair at the dinner table, the beautiful Eilish, Baird and Quinlan who so obviously disliked each other, Kenneth hurrying to his appointment, absentminded Deirdra, the man whose portrait hung in the hall, and drunken, rambling Uncle Hector.
“Come,” Monk said sharply, pulling abruptly at her elbow. “There is no time to waste, and certainly none to stand here trying to solve a problem for which we have no information.”
“Yes—yes, I’m coming,” she agreed, still uncertain. She turned to Rathbone. “Thank you.”
They rode back to Callandra’s house in silence, Monk apparently lost in thought, and Hester still wrestling with her memories of Edinburgh and searching for any reason at all why someone should have played such a pointless and malicious trick on her. Or was it on Mary? Or the lady’s maid? Was that it? Yes, that must be it. One of the maids was jealous, and trying to get her into trouble, perhaps even usurp her position, without actually stealing the brooch.
She was about to say this to Monk when the cab pulled up and they alighted, and the thought was lost in action.
However, the butler who opened Callandra’s door was pale-faced and totally unsmiling, and he led the way hastily, closing the door with a snap.
“What is it?” Monk demanded immediately.
“I am afraid, sir, that there are two persons from the police in the withdrawing room,” the butler replied grimly, his expression conveying both his distaste and his apprehension. “Her ladyship is speaking with them now.”
Monk strode past him across the floor and threw open the withdrawing room door. Hester followed after him, calmer and cold now that the moment had come.
Inside the room Callandra was standing in the center of the floor and she turned around as soon as she heard the door. Beside her were two men, one small and stocky with a blunt face and wide eyes, the other taller, leaner and foxy looking. If they knew Monk they gave no sign of it.
“Good afternoon, sir,” the shorter one said politely, but his eyes did not widen in the slightest.
“Good afternoon, ma’am. Sergeant Daly, Metropolitan Police. You must be Miss Latterly, am I right?”
Hester swallowed. “Yes….” Suddenly her voice would not stay level. “What is it you wish? Is it regarding the death of Mrs. Farraline?”
“No, miss, not at present.” He came forward, polite and very formal. His taller companion was apparently junior. “Miss Latterly, I have authority to search your baggage, and your person if necessary, for a piece of jewelry belonging to the late Mrs. Mary Farraline, which, according to her daughter, is missing from her luggage. Perhaps you can save us the necessity for anything so unpleasant by telling us if you have such a piece?”
“Yes she has,” Monk said icily. “She has already reported the matter to her legal adviser, and we came here, on his counsel, to take the pin to him so that he might return it to Mrs. Farraline’s estate.”
Sergeant Daly nodded. “Very wise of you, ma’am, but not sufficient, I’m afraid. Constable Jacks”—he nodded abruptly at the other man—“would you go with this gentleman and obtain the said article.” He looked at Monk. “Perhaps you’d be good enough, sir? And you, Miss Latterly, I’m afraid you’ll have to come with us.”
“Nonsense!” Callandra stepped forward. “Miss Latterly has told you what happened. She found the piece of jewelry that was missing and made provision to return it. You do not need further explanations. She has had a long journey to Edinburgh and back again, and a most distressing experience. She is not going anywhere with you, merely in order to repeat an explanation which is quite clear to
you now. You are not a fool, man, you understand exactly what has happened.”
“No, I do not understand, your ladyship,” he said calmly. “I don’t understand at all why a respectable woman who cares for the sick should take from an old lady a piece of jewelry which belongs to her, but that’s unarguably what it looks like. Theft is theft, ma’am, whoever did it and whatever for. And I’m afraid, Miss Latterly, you will have to come with us.” He shook his head gently. “And don’t make it harder for yourself by resisting. I’d hate to have to take you in manacles—but I will, if you force me.”
For the second time that day, Hester felt shock and disbelief buffet her like a blow, and then they vanished, leaving only cold, bitter knowledge.
“I shall not make that necessary,” she said in a very small voice. “I did not steal anything from Mrs. Farraline. She was my patient, and I had the highest regard for her. And I have never stolen anything from anyone.” She turned to Callandra. “Thank you, but I think protest is of no value at this time.” She felt herself painfully close to tears, and did not trust herself to speak anymore, least of all to Monk.
Callandra produced the brooch, which she had placed on the mantelshelf before Hester had left, and silently gave it to the sergeant.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said as he accepted it, and wrapped it in a large clean handkerchief which he took from his coat pocket. He turned again to Hester. “Now, miss, I think it would be best if you come along. Perhaps Constable Jacks can fetch your valise for you. You’ll already have everything you need in that, at least for tonight.”
Hester was surprised, then she realized that of course they knew she would have them with her. They had known where to find her. Her landlady must have given them Callandra’s name. It was an educated guess. She had stayed with her often enough before, between cases. The knowledge was like a door slamming, closing her in.
She had time only to glance at Monk and see the burning anger in his face. The next moment she was in the hall, a policeman on either side of her, being taken inexorably towards the open front door and the street beyond, cold and gray with driving rain.
4
HESTER SAT in the back of the black closed-in police van between the constable and the sergeant. She could see nothing, in fact only feel the jolt and sway of movement as they drove from Callandra’s house to wherever they were taking her. Her mind was in a senseless whirl. It was as if her head were full of noise and darkness. She could not grasp hold of any thought. The moment she had it, it was whipped away from her.
How had the pearl brooch come to be in her bag? Who could have put it there? Why? Mary had left it at home, she had said so. Why would anyone have wished Hester any harm? She had not had time to make an enemy, even if she were important enough to any of them.
The van came to a stop, but she could see nothing through the closed-in sides. A horse whinnied somewhere ahead, and a man swore. They jolted forward again. Was she merely the victim of some plot, some scheme or vengeance she knew nothing about? But what scheme? How could she defend herself? How could she prove any of it?
