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“For heaven’s sake! I never imagined you did,” Hester said, and the moment she said it, she realized it was not true. The darkest fear inside her was that somehow Imogen had been involved, and worse, that she had drawn Charles in as well, although she could not think how.
“Good.” Imogen’s eyes were still wide and bright. “Is that what you really came for? Not luncheon? Or afternoon tea? Or a little gossip about the theater, or fashion, but to find out if I was involved in some sordid murder?”
“I came to try to help you stay out of the investigation,” Hester said, with anger, the deeper because it was unjustified.
“Thank you for your concern; I can care for my own reputation,” Imogen replied stiffly. “But had I witnessed anything to do with the murders, no one could protect me from the necessity of doing my duty regarding it.”
“No. .” Hester felt foolish. She was caught in a trap of her own words, and it was perfectly apparent that Imogen knew it. “Then I’m sure you have other calls to make, or visitors to receive,” she went on awkwardly, trying to retreat with some grace and knowing she was failing.
“I suppose you saw it as your duty to come,” Imogen replied, swirling towards the door to show her out. Her words could have meant anything at all, or nothing, merely the formula for saying good-bye.
Hester found herself out in the street feeling inept and still afraid for both Charles and Imogen, and with no idea what to do next to be any help at all. She was not even sure whether she wanted to tell Monk anything about it.
She started to walk in the mild, damp breeze, knowing that the fog could easily close in again by nightfall.
Monk and Runcorn went from Haverstock Hill to Ebury Street to see Fuller Pendreigh, Elissa Beck’s father. It was a courtesy as much as anything. They did not expect him to have information regarding the crime, but it was possible she might have confided in him some fear or anxiety. Regardless of that, he deserved to be assured that they were giving the tragedy the greatest possible attention.
The house in Ebury Street was magnificent, as fitted a senior Queen’s Counsel with high expectations of becoming a Member of Parliament. Of course, at the moment the curtains were half lowered and there was sawdust in the street to muffle the sound of horses’ hooves. The house was further marked out from its neighbors by the black crepe over the door to signify the death of a member of the family, even though she had not been resident there.
A footman with a black armband received them unsmilingly and conducted them through the magnificent hallway to the somber, green-velveted morning room. The curtains hung richly draped, caught up with thick, silk cords. The walls were wood paneled, the color of old sherry, and one wall was entirely covered with bookshelves. There was a fine painting of a naval battle above the mantelpiece; a small brass plate proclaimed it to be Copenhagen, one of Nelson’s triumphs.
They waited nearly half an hour before Fuller Pendreigh came in and closed the door softly behind him. He was a very striking man, lean and graceful, far taller than average, although standing to his full height seemed to cost him an effort now. But it was his head which commanded most attention. His features were fine and regular, his eyes clear blue under level brows and his fair hair, untouched by gray and of remarkable thickness, sweeping up and back from a broad brow. Only his mouth was individual and less than handsome, but its tight-lipped look now might have been the shock of sudden and terrible bereavement. He was dressed totally in black except for his shirt.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” he said stiffly. “Have you news?”
“Good morning, sir,” Runcorn said, then introduced them both. He had no intention of allowing Monk to take the lead on this occasion. It was very much police business, and Monk was there only as a courtesy and would be reminded of such should he forget it. “I am afraid there is little so far,” he went on. “But we hoped you might be able to tell us rather more about Allardyce and save time, as it were.”
Pendreigh’s fair eyebrows rose. “Allardyce? You think he might be involved? It seems likely, on the face of it. The model was surely the intended victim, and my poor daughter simply chanced to arrive at the worst possible moment. .”
“We must look at all possibilities, sir,” Runcorn replied. “Mrs. Beck was a very beautiful woman. I daresay she awakened admiration in a number of gentlemen. Allardyce certainly appears to have had intense feelings for her.”
“She was far more than merely beautiful, Mr. Runcorn,” Pendreigh said, controlling the emotion in his voice with obvious difficulty. “She had courage and laughter and imagination. She was the most wonderfully alive person I ever knew.” His voice dropped a little to an intense gravity. “And she had a sense of justice and morality which drove her to sublime acts-an honesty of vision.”
There was no possible answer, and it seemed trivial and intrusive to express a regret which could be no more than superficial compared with Pendreigh’s grief.
“I believe she met Dr. Beck when she was living in Vienna,” Monk remarked.
Pendreigh looked at him with slight surprise. “Yes. Her first husband was Austrian. He died young, and Elissa remained in Vienna. That was when she really found herself.” He took a very deep breath and let it out slowly. He did not look at them but somewhere into the distance. “I had always believed her to be remarkable, but only then did I realize how totally unselfish she was to sacrifice her time and youth, even risk her life, to fight beside the oppressed people of her adopted country in their struggle for freedom.”
Monk glanced at Runcorn, but neither of them interrupted.
“She joined a group of revolutionaries in April of ’48,” Pendreigh went on. “She wrote to me about them, so full of courage and enthusiasm.” He turned a little away from them, and his voice grew huskier, but he did not stop. “Isn’t it absurd that she should face death every day, carry messages into the heart of the enemy offices and salons. . walk through the streets and alleys, even over the barricades in October, and live through it all with little more than a few scratches and bruises-and then die in a London artist’s studio?” He came to an abrupt halt, his voice choking.
Runcorn waited a moment as he felt decency required, glancing severely at Monk to forbid him from interrupting.
“Is that where she met Dr. Beck?” he said at last. “In a hospital there?”
“What?” Pendreigh shook his head. “No, not in a hospital. He was a revolutionary as well.”
Monk drew his breath in sharply.
Pendreigh looked at him, frowning a little. “You only see him now, Mr. Monk. He seems very quiet, very single-minded in serving the poor and the sick of our city. But thirteen years ago he was as passionate for revolution as anyone.” He smiled very slightly as memory stirred, and for a few moments the present was swallowed in the past. “Elissa used to tell me how brave he was. She admired courage intensely. . ” A strange expression of pain filled his eyes and pulled his lips tight, as if a bitter memory momentarily drowned out everything else.
Then he moved his hands very slightly. “But she certainly wasn’t foolish or unaware of the dangers of speaking out against tyranny, or of making friends with others who did. She marched with the students and the ordinary people in the streets, against the emperor’s soldiers. She saw people killed, young men and women who only wanted the freedom to read and write as they chose. She knew it could be she at any time. Bullets make no moral choices.”
“She sounds like a very fine lady,” Runcorn said unhappily.
Pendreigh turned to him. “You must suppose me prejudiced in my opinion. Of course I am; she was my daughter. But ask anyone who was there, especially Kristian. He would tell you the same. And I am aware of her failings as well. She was impatient, she did not tolerate foolishness or indecision. Too often she did not listen to the views of others, and she was hasty in her judgment, but when she was wrong she apologized.” His voice softened and he blinked rapidly. “She was a creature of high idealism, Superintendent, the imaginatio
