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“Eccentric? Is that what you call it? I would have said insane.”
“Most inventors are a trifle strange.”
“A trifle? A flying machine?” Rathbone pulled a face. “Come on, man, she’ll be locked up if anyone finds out.”
“Probably that is why she does it in secret, and at midnight,” Monk agreed, beginning to walk again. “But from what I’ve heard of Mary Farraline, she’d have been entertained by it. She certainly wouldn’t have had her committed.”
Rathbone said nothing.
“The other one is the middle daughter, Eilish,” Monk resumed. “She also goes out at night, secretly, but alone. I followed her.” He omitted mentioning that twice he had been knocked senseless for his pains. “And I found where she goes: down in Cowgate, which is a slum tenement area.”
“Not another fantastical machine?” Rathbone said wryly.
“No, something far more elementary,” Monk replied with a tone of surprise in his voice. “She is conducting her own ragged school for adults.”
Rathbone frowned. “Why in the middle of the night? That seems a highly honorable thing to do!”
“Because presumably her pupils are at their labors during the day,” Monk said waspishly. “Added to which, she has coerced her brother-in-law, who is in love with her, into giving her books from the family company for her pupils’ use.”
“You mean pilfering?” Rathbone chose to ignore the sarcasm.
“If you like. But again, I’m damned sure Mary would have approved heartily had she known. And she might have.”
Rathbone raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t think to ask?”
“Ask whom?” Monk inquired. “Eilish would have said yes, if it mattered and she hadn’t…. The only other person to ask would have been Mary.”
“And is that all?”
“The only other thing is the company books.”
“We’ve no evidenc
e to raise it,” Rathbone pointed out. “You said Hector Farraline is as tight as a newt most of the time. His drunken ramblings, even if he’s right, won’t be enough to demand an audit. Is he fit to put in the witness-box?”
“God knows.”
They had stopped, having reached the building where James Argyll had his offices.
“I’m coming in,” Monk stated.
“I really don’t think …” Rathbone began, but Monk had marched ahead of him through the doors and up the stairs and there was nothing for him to do but follow.
The office was quite small, and not nearly as imposing as Rathbone had expected, being lined with shabby books on three sides, the fourth having a small fireplace with a hotly burning fire and paneled in wood of some African origin.
But the man himself was an entirely different matter. He was tall with powerful shoulders and muscular body, but it was his face which commanded attention. In his youth he must have been very dark, what was referred to as a black Celt, with fine eyes and olive complexion. Now what was left of his hair was grizzled gray, and his deeply lined face was full of humor and intelligence. When he smiled he had marvelous teeth.
“You must be Mr. Oliver Rathbone,” he said, looking past Monk. His voice was deep and his accent was savored with relish, as if he were proud of being a Scot. He held out his hand. “James Argyll at your service, sir. I feel we have a great challenge in front of us. I have your letter stating that Miss Florence Nightingale is prepared to travel to Edinburgh to appear as a character witness for the defense. Excellent, excellent.” He waved to one of the leather chairs and Monk sat in it. Without being asked, Rathbone took the other, and Argyll resumed his own seat.
“Did you have an agreeable journey?” he asked, looking at Rathbone.
“We have no time for chatter,” Monk cut across him. “All we have to fight with are Miss Latterly’s reputation and what we can make of Miss Nightingale. I presume you are well acquainted with her role in the war and how she is greatly regarded? If you were not before, you should be now.”
“I am, Mr. Monk,” Argyll said with unconcealed amusement. “And I am also aware that so far, it is all we have with which to fight. I presume you have still uncovered nothing factually relevant within the Farraline household? We will naturally consider the possible value of innuendo and suggestion, but as you will be aware by now, if you were not before, the family is well thought of in Edinburgh. Mrs. Mary Farraline was a woman of remarkable character, and Mr. Alastair is the Procurator Fiscal, a position close to that of your own Crown Prosecutor.”
Monk took the irony and knew it was well deserved.
“You are saying that to make an unsubstantiated attack would count against us?”
