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“Runcorn told you?”
“No, I
told him.”
“How the devil did you know? Where have you been?” He did not intend to, but his voice had risen until he was once more shouting at her. Fear drove him, fear that she had been in danger and he had not been there to protect her, or prevent her from taking risks. “Damn it, Hester!” He hurled the caddy into the corner and watched the tea fly all over the floor.
Without any warning she began to laugh. Tearing at the ribbons of her hat, she flung it away and walked into his arms. Her laughter turned to weeping and she clung to him so hard it bruised his skin, and he was happy just to feel the strength of her. He closed his own arms around her and held on to her while he lost all sense of time and it really did not matter anymore.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Monk could have held Hester in his arms all night, but the trial would resume in the morning and they could not afford to leave seeing Imogen and Pendreigh until then. It might be too late.
Hester pushed away and looked up at him. “The judge’s patience is all but ended,” she said. “We must prepare everything we can tonight.” She reached his eyes, seeing the exhaustion in him. “I’m sorry.”
“Have we enough to cast doubt?” he asked. “Allardyce was there, but what if someone can find proof he left before the murders?” His mind was racing over all he had learned in Vienna, and about Max Niemann, who he could not believe had killed Elissa. But deeper and more bitter than anything else was the betrayal of Hanna Jakob. He did not want to tell Hester of it, he wanted to bury it in a silence that would recede into the past until the details blurred and whole months went by without it troubling his mind. Perhaps implicating Allardyce as a suspect would be sufficient, without anything else being said?
“I told Runcorn,” she said quietly. “He’s bound to look for the cabbie he says picked him up. Of course, he may not find him before the end of the trial. It may not even be true.”
He told her Niemann’s theory that Sarah killed Elissa, and then Allardyce in turn killed Sarah.
She looked skeptical. “I don’t believe it, but I know of no reason why it couldn’t be possible. But we must persuade Imogen to testify. That will corroborate what Niemann says about Allardyce definitely being there. If she won’t, I suppose we can always oblige her to?”
“Yes. . but it would be. . unpleasant.”
“I know.” She straightened her shoulders. “We need to go tonight.” As she said it she turned and went for her coat.
They had to walk in the fine rain down to Tottenham Court Road before they could find a hansom, and directed it to Charles and Imogen’s house. They rode in silence. There was no point in planning what to say, there was only the truth, and no time or purpose in dressing it this way or that.
The butler opened the door looking startled and considerably put out. He was obviously about to give a very abrupt answer until he recognized Hester, then his expression turned to alarm. “Is everything all right, Mrs. Monk?” he said nervously.
“There has not been any accident, thank you,” she replied. “But we do have a concern which unfortunately cannot wait until morning. Would you be good enough to tell Mr. Latterly that we are here, and Mrs. Latterly also. We need to speak with them as urgently as possible.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He glanced at Monk. “Sir. If you will come this way, I shall rake the fire in the withdrawing room and get it going again-”
“I can do that,” Monk cut across him. “Thank you. If you would be good enough to fetch Mrs. Latterly.”
The butler looked startled, but he did not argue.
In the withdrawing room, Monk lit the gas and turned it up until the room was as light as possible, then moved over and worked at the fire until it started to burn again. It was not difficult; the embers were still hot and it only required the riddling away of the clogging ash and a little new coal. He was finished before the door opened and Charles came in.
“What is it?” he asked, turning from Hester to Monk, and back again. He looked tired and drawn, but not as if he had been asleep. He greeted them only perfunctorily. “What’s happened?” No one mentioned the trial; it was unnecessary to say that it was concerning Kristian, and Elissa’s death, that they had come. The subject crowded everything else from their thoughts.
Hester answered him, to save Monk the difficulty of trying to word it so as to spare his feelings. There was no time for that. She hated having to tell Charles, to see his fear and embarrassment, but there was no evasion possible.
“Max Niemann saw Imogen leaving the gambling house on the night Elissa was killed.” Odd how she spoke of her, even thought of her, by her Christian name, as if she had known her. “Niemann saw Allardyce there, too, meaning that he was not miles away, as he swore. If Imogen also saw him, it could help to raise reasonable doubt enough to acquit Kristian.”
Charles was very pale, almost jaundiced-looking in the yellow glare of the gas. “I see,” he said slowly. “And you want her to testify.”
“Yes!” Thank heaven at least he understood. “I am afraid it is necessary.”
Silence almost clogged the air. There was no sound at all but the faint whickering of the flames in the fireplace as they burned up and caught the new coal Monk had placed in there.
“I’m sorry,” Hester said gently.
The tiniest of smiles touched Charles’s mouth.
The door opened and Imogen came in. She had dressed, but not bothered to pin up her hair. It hung loose in a cloud of dark waves about her head. Just for an instant, before she came into the direct light of the lamp, she could have been one of Allardyce’s paintings of Elissa come to life.
