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The police station superintendent looked at her gravely, then at Robb.
"I think..." Robb began.
But the superintendent did not wish to hear his opinion. "You are obviously distressed," he said to Miriam, speaking slowly and very clearly. "Mr. Stourbridge is to be your husband. He is the best one to see that you are given the appropriate care and to offer you comfort for the grief you naturally feel upon the arrest of a woman who showed you kindness in the past. You have suffered a great shock. You must rest quietly and restore your strength."
Miriam swung around to gaze at Monk. Her eyes were wild, as if she longed to say something to him but the presence of others prevented her.
He could think of no excuse to speak to her alone. Major Stourbridge and Lucius were just beyond the door waiting to take her back to Cleveland Square. There was a constable on one side of her and the desk sergeant on the other. Their intention was to support her in case she felt faint, but in effect they closed her in as if she were under restraint.
There was nothing he could do. Helplessly, he watched her escorted from the room. The door opened and Lucius Stourbridge stepped forward, his face filled with tenderness and joy. Behind him Harry Stourbridge smiled as if the end of a long nightmare was in sight.
Miriam tripped, staggered forward and had to be all but carried by the constable and the sergeant. She flinched as Lucius touched her.
7
HESTER WAS HOME before Monk, and was looking forward to his coming, but when he came in through the door and she saw his face, she knew instantly that something was very seriously wrong. He looked exhausted. His skin was pale and his dark hair limp and stuck to his brow in the heat.
Alarm welled up inside her. "What is it?" she demanded urgently.
He stood in the middle of the floor. He lifted his hand and touched her cheek very lightly. "I know what it is you couldn’t tell me ... and why. I’m sorry I had to pursue it."
She swallowed. "It?"
"The stolen medicines," he answered. "Who took them and why, and where did they go? It’s a far more obvious cause for blackmail."
She tried not to understand, pushing the realization away from her. "The medicines couldn’t have anything to do with Miriam Gardiner."
"Not directly, but one leads to the other." His eyes did not waver, and she knew that he was quite certain of what he said.
"What? What connection?" she asked. "What’s happened?" There was no purpose in suggesting he sit down or rest in any fashion until he had told her, and neither of them pretended.
"Cleo Anderson stole the medicines to treat the old and the sick," he answered her softly. "Somehow Treadwell knew of it, and he was blackmailing her. Perhaps he followed Miriam. Maybe she unintentionally let something slip, and he pieced together the rest."
"Cleo’s involved? Do you know that?" She was confused, her mind whirling. "If Treadwell was blackmailing Cleo Anderson, then why would Miriam kill him? To protect her? It doesn’t explain why she left Cleveland Square. What about Lucius Stourbridge? Why didn’t she go back to him and explain? Something ..." She trailed off. None of it really made sense.
"Miriam didn’t kill Treadwell," he told her. "The police let her go. She was defending Cleo because of old loyalties, and probably because she believed in her cause as well."
"That isn’t enough," she protested. "Why did she leave Cleveland Square in the middle of the party? Why wouldn’t she allow Lucius to know where she was?"
"I don’t know," he admitted. "She was released into his care, and she looked as if she were going to an execution. She begged not to be, but they wouldn’t listen to her." A frown creased his face and there was pain etched more deeply than the weariness. "For a moment I thought she was going to ask me to help her, but then she changed her mind. They all but carried her out."
She heard the edge of pity in his voice. She felt it herself, and she was angered that the police authorities should consider that Miriam needed to be released into
anybody’s care. She should have been permitted the dignity of going wherever she wished, and with whomever. She was no longer charged with anything.
But far more immediate, and closer to her own emotions, was her concern for Cleo Anderson.
"What are we to do to help her?" She took for granted that he would.
Monk was still standing in the middle of the room, hot, tired, dusty and with aching feet. Remarkably, he kept his temper.
"Nothing. It is a private matter between them now."
"I mean Cleo!" she said. "Miriam has other people to care for her. Anyway, she is not accused of a crime."
"Yes, she is: complicity in concealing Treadwell’s murder. Even though she says she did not know he was dead. She is almost certainly a witness to the attack. The police want her to testify."
She waved her hand impatiently. She did not know Miriam Gardiner, but she did know Cleo and what she had done for old John Robb and others like him.
