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“That would depend upon whether the lover were Titus Niven or Caleb,” he replied, not taking the idea seriously, but thinking it would be fun to humor Drusilla. It would be a far more entertaining evening than sitting in some musical concert, or listening to a lecture, however profound the subject.
They crossed the road and he held her arm a trifle more tightly. It was a pleasing feeling, a warmth even in the raw wind that was blowing down the street and funneling between the buildings, carrying the smell of a thousand smoking chimneys.
He entered into the spirit of it.
“She could want something that was fun,” he said cheerfully. “If Angus were a bore, then definitely she would seek something he would not do.”
“A music hall,” she said with a laugh. “A penny arcade. A marionette show, maybe Punch and Judy? A band or a street musician? There are so many things that a stuffy man wouldn’t do which could be marvelous—don’t you think? How about a hurdy-gurdy? A bazaar?” She gave a little giggle. “A peep show? A bare-knuckle fight?”
“What do you know about bare-knuckle fights?” he asked in surprise. It was such a brutal sport, as well as illegal.
She waved a hand. “Oh, nothing. I was thinking of her doing something really daring, where Angus would never think of looking for her, and none of his social circle would ever see her either,” she reasoned. “After all, it would have to be somewhere where no one she knew would ever see her. They might talk, and she couldn’t afford that, the more especially if she was party to his murder.”
“It wouldn’t matter if she was seen with Caleb,” he pointed out. “In the lamplight and shadow, half-decently dressed, anyone would simply assume it was Angus.”
“Oh.” She bit her lip. “Yes, of course. I’d forgotten that.” She was silent for a space of about fifty yards or so. They came to a crossroad and he guided her around Piccadilly Circus and along the far side towards the Haymarket. Most of the possibilities they mentioned were offered here, in Great Windmill Street or Shaftesbury Avenue.
Already in the glare of the gas lamps and the illumination of shop windows among the theater crowds and sightseers, they noticed women walking slowly with an arrogant set to their shoulders and swinging their hips in invitation. Skirts swayed, and now and then an ankle was visible.
They were all sorts of women: young and fresh-faced from the country; pale and sophisticated; those who had been milliners or dressmakers, or in domestic service, and lost their positions through seduction; older women, some already riddle
d with venereal disease.
Young gentlemen sauntered by, well-dressed, taking their pick. Others were older, even silver-haired. Every now and again two would disappear, arm-in-arm, into a doorway to some house of accommodation.
Carriages passed, hooves clattering, occupants laughing. Gaudy theater signs advertised melodrama and titillation. Monk and Drusilla passed a brazier roasting chestnuts and the wave of heat engulfed them for a moment.
“Would you like some?” he asked.
“Oh yes! Yes. I’d love some,” she accepted quickly. “I haven’t tasted them for ages.”
He bought threepence worth, and they shared them, nibbling carefully not to burn their lips or tongues, now and then glancing at each other. The chestnuts were delicious, the more so for being a touch charred on the outside and too hot in the bitter evening.
Around them swirled laughter and a spice of danger. Some men hurried by with coat collars drawn up and hats pulled down over their brows, bent on pleasures for which they preferred to be anonymous. Others were quite open and swaggered brazenly, calling out comments.
Drusilla moved closer to Monk, her eyes bright, her face smooth and glowing with an inner excitement which gave her skin a kind of radiance and made her even lovelier. She was full of laughter, as if she were on the edge of some wonderful joke.
They passed a peep show. It rose to his mind to point out that they could not actually accomplish anything, because they had no way of learning if Genevieve had ever been here, or with whom. He had no likeness of her to show. But to say so would have spoiled their fun, and that was what actually mattered. It was conceivable that Genevieve had connived at Angus’s death, but he did not believe it. Without a body, she had nothing to gain and everything to lose.
An hour later as they walked up Greek Street towards Soho Square, the subject arose, and he was obliged to answer it.
“But maybe the body will turn up?” she said, stepping up the pavement from the road. She swaggered a couple of steps, mimicking the prostitutes, and burst into laughter again. “I’m sorry!” she said happily. “But it’s such fun not to care a fig for an evening, not to worry if everything is correct, who is looking at you or listening to you, if old Lady So-and-So will disapprove, and who she will repeat it to. Such freedom is terribly sweet. Thank you, William, for a unique evening!” And before he could reply, she hurried on. “Perhaps they are keeping it hidden for a reason?”
“What reason?” he asked amusedly. He was enjoying himself too much to care about the illogicality of it all. Tomorrow would be time enough to pursue the real. Tonight was his own, and Drusilla’s.
“Ah!” She stopped suddenly and swung around, her eyes wide and dancing with excitement. “I have it! What if Angus turns up again, alive and well, saying he was hurt in a terrible fight with Caleb, in which he was injured, perhaps knocked on the head, and was unable to contact anyone. He was insensible, delirious. He thinks Caleb is dead.…”
“But he’s alive,” Monk pointed out. “I’ve seen him, and he admitted having killed Angus. In—”
“No, no,” she interrupted eagerly. “Wait! Don’t keep stopping me! Of course he is—and he did! Don’t you see? The Angus who turns up is really Caleb. He and Genevieve have done away with Angus, and when it is too late to tell them apart, and the body has”—she wrinkled her nose—“decomposed sufficiently, all the doctors can say is that it was one of the brothers! By that time there will be no firm flesh in the face to recognize, no uncallused hands, clean fingernails, anything like that. If she says the man who returns is Angus, who will argue with her?” Her hand tightened on his arm. “William, it’s brilliant. It explains everything!”
He searched for a flaw in it, and could not see one. He did not believe it, but it was perfectly possible. The longer he thought about it, the more possible it grew.
“Doesn’t it?” she demanded eagerly. “Tell me I’m a brilliant detective, William! You must take me into partnership—I’ll find the theories to fit all your cases. Then you can go and find the evidence to prove them.”
“A wonderful idea,” he said with a laugh. “Would you like dinner on it?”
“Yes, yes I would. With champagne.” She looked around at the brightly lit street with its inviting windows. “Where shall we dine? Please let us make it somewhere exciting, disreputable and utterly delicious. I’m sure you must know such a place.”
