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“Hester!”
She looked up.
He had no idea what to say. He could not face the truth. He had had no time yet to work out what words to use.
“I think Shearer may be the one who killed Alberton.” It was a lame thing to fill the place of what was in his mind. It was hardly a revelation.
She looked a little puzzled. “Well, it would explain the odd time with the train, I suppose,” she conceded. “A conspiracy between Shearer and Breeland which Merrit did not know about? Perhaps she and Breeland were at the yard earlier, and that was when she dropped the watch?” Then her face clouded. “But why would they go there? It doesn’t make sense. Why was Daniel Alberton there anyway, at that time of night?” She frowned. “Was it something to do with Merrit running away, do you suppose? And he was still there when Shearer came to steal the guns?” She shook her head. “It doesn’t sound likely, does it?”
It did not. There was still some major fact they were missing. He had to concentrate hard to make himself feel that it mattered.
“Are you hungry?” she asked, her eyes bright again.
“Yes,” he lied. He guessed she had gone to some trouble. Now that he thought about it, there was a warm, savory odor coming from the kitchen.
She smiled. “Fresh game pie and vegetables.” She looked pleased with herself. “I found a woman today. She’s Scottish. Her name is Mrs. Patrick. She’s a bit fierce, but she’s a terrific cook, and she’s prepared to come every weekday afternoon for three hours, which is good, because most people like to do all day or not at all. Some even expect to live in.” She searched his face. “She’s half a crown a week. Do you think that will be all right?”
He did not even think to add it up. “Excellent! Yes. If you like her, then make it permanent.”
“Thank you.” Her voice lifted. “I do appreciate it.” She touched him lightly, but there was intimacy in it, a sweetness that sent his pulse racing, and a pain through him at his deception. He had no idea how he was going to live with it. An hour at a time, then a day at a time. Maybe he would learn to forget it for whole periods. He
would probably never know exactly what he had done with Taunton, if he had betrayed Arrol Dundas or not, or what had driven him to it. It might have been as simple as greed, the desire for the power of success. Or possibly there was some mitigating circumstance-if only he knew it!
He followed her into the kitchen, pleasantly cool with the back windows open and full of the delicious aromas of expertly seasoned food. In other circumstances it would have been a perfect meal. It took all the skill he possessed, all the self-mastery, to pretend it was.
Hester was unaware of the turmoil within Monk. She believed it was no more than the frustration of a case he could not understand which made him shrink away, and she resolved to play her own part in the detecting as soon as possible.
By the time he left the following morning, still in search of more knowledge of Shearer, she had determined what to do. Dressed in her best morning gown of pale blue-gray muslin, she set out to visit Robert Casbolt. She had no doubt he would see her, because of the depth of his regard for Judith Alberton, and for Merrit. He could not fail to know how desperate the situation was, and regardless of his other commitments, he would make time to help.
She knew where he lived because he had mentioned it that first evening at dinner. She arrived shortly after nine o’clock in the morning and gave her card to the butler, with a respectful note written across the back saying simply that she felt it most urgent to speak with him at his earliest convenience, in Merrit Alberton’s interest.
She was kept waiting only fifteen minutes, then shown into a beautiful sitting room full of warm colors. The walls were paneled with mellow oak, and a red Persian rug covered the floor in front of the huge, stone-manteled fireplace, which at this time of the year was half hidden by a tapestry screen. The sofa and chairs were all odd, some covered in velvet, some in brocade and one in honey-colored leather, but the whole effect was one of the greatest comfort. There were two tall lamps, of different sizes, but both with brass columns and large hexagonal shades fringed in deep gold.
Casbolt himself was dressed casually, but obviously with care. His linen was immaculate, his soft indoor boots polished and shining.
“How good of you to come, Mrs. Monk,” he said earnestly. “After you have already done so much. Judith told me that your husband is still working almost night and day to find some way of proving Merrit’s innocence. What can I do to help? If I knew of anything at all, believe me, I would have done it.”
She had already planned carefully what she intended to say.
“I have been giving a great deal of thought to the matter for which Mrs. Alberton first engaged my husband’s services,” she said, accepting the seat he offered her but declining any refreshment. She did not need the excuse of a social amenity to keep his interest. No pretense was necessary between them.
He looked startled, almost as if he were not sure of her meaning. He sat down opposite her, on the edge of the chair rather than leaning back. There was no relaxing in him at all.
“Whoever was willing to resort to blackmail to obtain the guns may have taken it a step further, do you not think?” she explained.
His face cleared, then he frowned again. “Has Mr. Monk found some evidence which suggests Breeland is not guilty after all? Surely the fact that he has the guns precludes that possibility?”
“Of course he is involved,” she agreed. “And perhaps we are seeing something more than is there because we all so badly wish Merrit to be innocent. We are trying to think of any solution that excludes her.…”
“Of course!” he agreed. His face had a crumpled, hurt look, as if the optimism in his voice were at odds with his belief. Hester wondered if he knew a side to Merrit they did not, and it was that which now caused him to hesitate. Then he smiled. “I think Merrit may have been completely duped by Breeland. She is young, and in love. One does not always see clearly. And all the experience she has had is with honorable people.” He looked down at the rich carpet on the floor, then up again quickly. “I know she quarreled very badly with her father, but believe me, Mrs. Monk, Daniel Alberton was a totally honorable man, a man whose word anyone could trust absolutely and who would never stoop to a cruel or greedy act. She was angry with him, but she spoke in haste and the heat of emotion. In her heart she knows, just as I do, that he was as good a man as walks the earth.”
She met his gaze very frankly. “What are you telling me, Mr. Casbolt? That she could not imagine duplicity, therefore Breeland could easily have misled her; or that she loved her father too much to have been party to hurting him, regardless of her anger that evening?”
“I suppose I’m telling you both, Mrs. Monk.” A sad, self-mocking expression filled his face. “Or that I care very much for the outcome of this tragedy, and I would do anything to spare the family further pain.”
There was no way she could be unaware of the power of his feelings. The air between them was charged with the knowledge of fear, horror, the grief of loneliness. In that moment Hester glimpsed the reality of Casbolt’s involvement with the Albertons, and the depth of his lifelong love and devotion to his cousin.
But she was not here to offer sympathy or encouragement.
