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"I wouldn’t understand it if you did," she answered, smiling at him and unasham
ed to be weeping, too.
He nodded slowly. "You’re a good girl. You know what it means, don’t you." That was a statement, not a question. He drew in his breath as if to thank her, then knew it was unnecessary, even inappropriate. It would have implied debt, and there was none.
Before she could say anything in answer the door opened and Michael Robb came in. Only then did she realize how long she had been there. It was early evening. The shadows of the sun were long across the floor and touched with a deeper color. She felt a warmth of self-consciousness wash up her face. Automatically, she stood up.
Michael’s disapproval and alarm were too obvious to hide. He saw the tears on the old man’s face and turned to glare at Hester.
"I had the best afternoon in years," Robb said gently, looking up at his grandson. "She kept me real company. We talked about all sort o’ things. I’ve got a kind o’ peace inside me. Come, sit down and have a cup o’ tea. You look like your feet hurt, boy, and you’re mortal tired."
Michael hesitated, confusion filling his face. He looked from one to the other of them, then finally accepted that his grandfather was telling the truth about his pleasure and Hester really had given him a rare gift of companionship, unspoiled by duty or the seeking of recompense. A wide smile of relief lit his face, cutting through the weariness and showing for a moment the youth he wanted to be.
"Yes," he agreed vehemently. "Yes, I will:’ He turned to Hester. "Thank you, Mrs. Monk." His eyes shadowed. "I’m sorry... I found Miriam Gardiner."
Hester felt a sudden coldness inside. The sweetness of the moment before was gone.
"I had to arrest her for Treadwell’s murder," he finished, watching her to see her reaction.
"Why?" she protested. "Why on earth would Miriam Gardiner murder the coachman? If she wanted to escape from Lucius Stourbridge, for whatever reason, all she had to do was have Treadwell leave her somewhere. He would never have known where she went after that." She drew in her breath. "And if she simply went somewhere near her home, Lucius would know more about that than Treadwell anyway."
Michael looked as if the answer gave him no pleasure, barely even any satisfaction. He would probably dearly like to have taken off his boots, which were no doubt tight and hot after the long day, but her presence prevented him. "The most obvious reason is that Treadwell knew something about her which would have ruined her prospects of marriage into the Stourbridge family," he answered. "I daresay she loved young Mr. Stourbridge, but whether she did or not, there’s a great deal of money to it, more than she’ll even have seen in her life."
Hester wanted to protest that Miriam had no regard for the money, but she did not know if that was true. She had impressions, feelings, but barely any real knowledge.
She walked over to the kettle, refilled it from the ewer, which was now almost empty, and set it on the stove again.
"I’m sorry," Michael said wearily, sinking into the chair. "It’s too plain to ignore. The two of them left the Stourbridge house together. They came as far as Hampstead Heath. His body was found, and she ran away. Surely any innocent person would have stayed, or at least come back and reported what had happened."
She thought quickly. "What if they were both attacked by someone else, and she was too afraid of that person to tell anyone what happened?"
He looked at her doubtfully. "So afraid that even when we arrested her she still wouldn’t say?" His voice denied his belief in it.
"Do you know this Miriam Gardiner, girl?" Robb asked, looking at Hester sadly.
"No ... no, I haven’t met her." She was surprised that that was true, since she felt so strongly about it. It defied sense. "I ... I just know a little about her ... I suppose I put myself in her place ... a little."
"In her place?" Michael echoed. "What would make you leave a man, beaten, dying, but still alive, and run away, never to come forward until the police hunted you down, and then give no explanation even when you were arrested for killing him?"
"I don’t know," she admitted reluctantly. "I ... can’t think of anything ... but that doesn’t mean there couldn’t be a reason."
"She’s protecting someone," the old man said, shaking his head. "Women’ll do all sorts to protect someone they love. I’ll lay you odds, girl, if she didn’t kill him herself, she knows who did:’
Michael glanced at Hester. "Could be she was having an affair with Treadwell," he said, pursing his lips. "Could be he tried to force her to keep it going, and she wanted to end it because of Stourbridge."
Hester did not argue anymore. Reason was all on his side, and she had nothing to marshal against it. She turned her attention to the kettle.
When she arrived home Monk was already there, and she was startled to see that he had prepared cold game pie and vegetables for dinner and it was set out on the table. She realized how late it was, and apologized with considerable feeling. She was also deeply grateful. She was hot and tired, and her boots felt at least a size too tight.
"What is it?" he asked, seeing the droop in her shoulders and reading her too well to think it was only weariness.
"They’ve found Miriam," she replied, looking up at him from where she had sat down to unlace her boots.
He stood still in the doorway, staring at her.
"They arrested her," she finished quietly. "Michael Robb thinks she killed Treadwell, either because he knew something about her which would have ended her chance of marrying Lucius or because she was having an affair with him and wanted to end it."
His face was grave, the lines harder. "How do you know that?"
