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He would have disliked disappointing her, but there was no hope in her face.
“No,” he confessed. “It was simply an avenue I dared not leave unexplored.”
She looked down at her hands, twisting together in front of her dress, the only betrayal of the emotion within her.
“I received a letter today from Angus’s guardian, Lord Ravensbrook, offering to assist us until we can … until … You might care to see if he can … help … with information, I mean.” She looked up at him. “I have written his address for you. I am sure he will receive you whenever you care to call.”
“You are going to accept his offer?” he said urgently.
The moment he asked he saw her face shadow, and knew he had been intrusive. It was not his concern. She had promised to pay him, and he wondered now if she assumed that concern for money was the reason he had asked.
“No,” she said, before he could apologize and find some excuse to moderate his discourtesy. “I would very much prefer not to be”—she hesitated—“indebted to him, if it can be avoided. He is a good man, of course!” She went on quickly. “He raised Angus and Caleb when their own parents died. They are only distant relatives. He had no real obligation, but he gave them every opportunity, as if they were his own. His first wife died very young. He has married again now. I am sure he would give you any assistance he can.”
“Thank you,” he accepted, grateful that she had apparently taken no more offense at his clumsiness. “As soon as I learn anything, I promise I will let you know.”
“I am most obliged,” she said quietly. She seemed about to add something, then changed her mind. He wondered if it had been about the depth of her fears for her husband, or the urgency with which she needed an answer. “Good evening, Mr. Monk.”
It was not a courteous time to call upon Lord and Lady Ravensbrook, but Genevieve’s plight struck deep into him, and he was perfectly prepared to disturb them at dinner, or draw them away from guests if need be, and offer the truth as explanation.
As it was, when the hansom dropped him at Ravensbrook House in the rain and he splashed across the footpath through the arc of the streetlight and up the marble steps, he was prepared for whatever battle faced him. But his forethought proved unnecessary. The door was opened by a footman in livery who accepted his card and the letter Genevieve had given him, leaving him in the hall while he went to present them to his master.
Ravensbrook House was magnificent. Monk judged it to date back to Queen Anne, a far more elegant period of architecture than that of the present queen. Here nothing was overcrowded. Ornamentation was simple, giving an air of space and perfect proportion. There were rather good portraits, presumably of the past Ravensbrooks, on three of the four walls. They all either had been of handsome appearance or had been highly flattered by the various artists.
The staircase was gray marble, like the front steps, and swept in a curve up the right-hand wall to a landing balustraded in the same stone. A chandelier of at least eighty candles illuminated the whole, and hothouse hyacinths flowered in a blue delft bowl, scenting the air.
It occurred to Monk that perhaps Angus Stonefield had been given an excellent start in his business, both financially and socially. It was a peculiar and rather harsh pride of Genevieve’s that would not allow her to ac
cept help now, at least for her children’s sake, if not her own. Or did she really believe, in spite of what she said, that Angus would somehow return?
The footman came back, showing only the mildest surprise by the lifting of an eyebrow, and conducted Monk to the library. Lord Ravensbrook awaited him, apparently having left his dinner to receive this unexpected guest.
The door closed behind the retreating footman.
“I apologize, my lord, for the unseemliness of the hour,” Monk said immediately.
Ravensbrook dismissed it with a wave of his hand. He was a tall man, perhaps an inch or two taller than Monk, and extremely handsome. His face was lean and narrow, but with fine, dark eyes, a long nose and a chiseled mouth. Apart from his features, there was a quickness of intelligence in him, lines of wit and laughter around his mouth and a hint of temper between his brows. It was the face of a proud man of unusual charm and, Monk guessed, a considerable ability to command others.
However, on this occasion he made no attempt to impress.
“I gather from Mrs. Stonefield’s letter that she has sought your help to discover what has happened.” He made it a statement, not a question. “I admit, I am close to my wits’ end to think what can have befallen him, and would be glad of any assistance you can give.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Monk acknowledged. “I have been to his offices and they appear to know nothing, although I have not yet been able to question Mr. Arbuthnot, whom I am told is in charge and would have the authority to speak more frankly to me. However, if there is any financial hardship, it is certainly not evident—”
Ravensbrook’s black eyebrows rose fractionally. “Financial hardship? Yes—I suppose you have to consider that. To one who does not know Angus, it would seem a possibility. However …” He walked over to the mantelshelf, where two exquisite Georgian silver candlesticks sat on either end and an Irish crystal vase a little to the left of center held a spray of golden winter jasmine. “As Mrs. Stonefield will have told you,” he continued, “I have known Angus since he was a child. He was five when his parents died. He has always been ambitious, and prudent, and he had the skill to bring dreams into reality. He has never been one to seek shortcuts to success, or easy paths. He would not have gambled.”
He turned to face Monk, his eyes very dark, absolutely level. “He was of a nature which hated risks, and was totally honest down to the slightest detail. I happen to know that his business is flourishing. Of course, if you wish to satisfy yourself in the matter, it will be perfectly possible for you to examine the accounts, but it will be a waste of time, as far as finding him is concerned.”
His voice was tight with emotion, but his expression was unreadable. “Mr. Monk, it is of the utmost urgency that you learn the truth, whatever it may be. The business requires his presence, his judgments.” He took a deep breath. Behind him the fire roared up the chimney. “When it becomes known that he is missing, not merely on some journey, then confidence will crumble. For his family’s sake, if something … appalling has happened to him, the business must be sold or a new manager appointed before it is known, and prestige and the value of his reputation are squandered. I have already offered Genevieve and her children my protection, here in my home, as I did Angus before them, but so far she has declined. But the time will come, and quite shortly, when she can no longer manage.”
Monk made a rapid decision as to whether he should be candid. He regarded Ravensbrook’s lean, intelligent face, the sophisticated taste in the room, the slight drawl in his voice, the steadiness of his gaze.
“After financial difficulty, the other most obvious possibility is another woman,” he said aloud.
“Of course,” Ravensbrook agreed with a slight down-turning of his lips and the barest flicker of distaste. “You have to consider it, but you have met Mrs. Stonefield. She is not a woman a man would leave out of boredom. I rather wish I could believe it was something … forgive me”—a muscle twitched in his jaw—“so pedestrian. Then you could find him, bring him to his senses, and return him home. It would be most unpleasant, but in the end it would make no permanent difference, except perhaps to his wife’s regard for him. But she is a sensible woman. She would get over it. And of course she would be discreet. No one else need know.”
“But you think it unlikely, sir?” Monk was not surprised. He found it less easy to believe than he would were it any other woman than Genevieve Stonefield. But then he did not know her. The warmth and the imagination which seemed to lie behind her eyes might be an illusion. And perhaps Angus had gone seeking the reality.
Ravensbrook shifted his weight. The heart of the fire fell in with a shower of sparks and the heat from it grew more intense. “I do. Let me be frank, Mr. Monk. This is not a time for euphemisms. I fear some serious harm has come to him. He has long been in the habit of going to the most insalubrious parts of the East End of the city, down by the docks … Ide, Limehouse and Blackwall regions. If he has been attacked and robbed he may be lying injured, insensible or worse.” His voice dropped. “It will take all your skill to find him.” He moved a step away from the fire, but still did not invite Monk to sit, nor did he sit himself.
