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“To incriminate her … so we wouldn’t go after him … a sort of warning that he had her wi
th him … a hostage.”
He sat silently, turning it over in his mind.
She waited. There was no point in detailing the possibilities. He could think of them all as well as she could, perhaps better. She poured more tea for both of them, well steeped, and now not quite so hot.
“Mrs. Alberton knows he might hold her hostage,” he said at last. “She wants us to try anyway.”
“And if she went willingly?” she asked. It had to be faced.
“She knows Merrit is hotheaded and idealistic and acts before she thinks, but she doesn’t believe that in any circumstances whatever she would condone murder.” Now he was looking at her, searching her eyes to read in them if she agreed.
“I hope she’s right,” she answered.
“You don’t think so?” he said quickly.
“I don’t know. But what else could any woman say of her own child?”
“Do you want me to refuse?”
“No.” The answer slipped out before she had time to weigh it, surprising her more than it did him. “No,” she repeated. “If it were me, I think I would rather have the truth than live with hope of the best, and fear of the worst, all my life. If I loved someone, I would like to think I would have the faith to put it to the test. Anyway, it doesn’t matter what I think, or you. It’s what Mrs. Alberton wants.”
“She wants us to go to America and bring Merrit back, willingly or unwillingly, and Breeland too, if we can.”
She was startled. “Breeland too!”
“Yes. He’s guilty of triple murder. He should stand trial and answer for it.”
“That’s all?” In spite of herself there was a lift of desperate sarcasm in her voice. “Just that?”
He smiled, his eyes wide and steady. “Just that. Shall we?”
She took a deep breath. “Yes … we shall.”
The following day, Sunday, June 29, Hester packed the few things it would be necessary for them to take, almost entirely clothes and toiletries. Monk returned to Tavistock Square to give Judith Alberton their answer. It was a sort of relief to know that at least it was the one she wished.
He found her alone in the study, not concealing the fact that she had been waiting for him. She was wearing black unrelieved by any ornament and it accentuated the pallor of her skin, but her hair still had the same warmth of color, and the sun streaming through the window caught the brightness of it.
She wished him good morning with the usual formal phrases, but her eyes never left his and the question was in them, betraying her emotion.
“I spoke to my wife,” he said as soon as she had resumed her seat and he had sat opposite the desk. “She is willing to go and to do all we can to bring Merrit back here.” He saw her relax, almost smile. “But she was concerned that Merrit may be implicated in the crime,” he went on, “even by association, and that it may, after all, not be what you wish to happen. That would be beyond our control.”
“I know that, Mr. Monk,” she said levelly. “I believe in her innocence. I am prepared to take that risk. And I am perfectly aware that I am taking it for her, as well as for myself.” She bit her lip. Her hands on the desktop were slender, white-knuckled. She wore no jewelry but her wedding ring. “If she were older, perhaps I would not, but she is still a child, in spite of her opinion to the contrary. And I am prepared to live with the fact that she may hate me for it. I have thought about it all night, and I believe absolutely that in spite of the risks of coming back to England, the dangers if she remains in America with Breeland are greater, and there will be no one else to fight for her there.”
She lowered her eyes from his. “Apart from that, she must face what Breeland has done, and if she had a part in it, however small or unintended, she must face that also. One cannot build happiness upon lies … as terrible as this.”
There was nothing for him to say. He could not argue, and even to agree seemed somehow impertinent, as if he were qualified to share in her pain. That would belittle it.
“Then we shall go as soon as arrangements can be made,” he replied. “My wife is already packing cases.”
“I am very grateful, Mr. Monk.” She smiled at him faintly. “I have the money here, and the name of the steamship company. I am afraid it is in Liverpool. That is where they sail most frequently for New York … every Wednesday, to be precise. It will require haste to catch the next ship, since this is Sunday. But it can be done, and I beg you not to delay. In the hope that you would accept, I telegraphed the steamship company yesterday reserving a cabin for you.” She bit her lip. “I can have it canceled.”
“We shall go tomorrow morning,” he promised.
“Thank you. I also have money for your use while in America. I do not know how long it will take you to accomplish your task, but there should be sufficient for a month. It is all I can supply at such short notice. My husband’s affairs are naturally not disposed of yet. I have sold some jewelry of my own.”
“A month should be more than enough,” he said quickly. “I hope we shall find her long before that. And either she will be eager to come home, if she was not aware of Breeland’s acts or if he is holding her against her will, or, if she is not, then we shall have to take her as soon as possible, in case Breeland finds a way to make it more difficult for us. Whatever the circumstances, these will be adequate funds.”
