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Hester felt a stab of guilt so sharp she questioned whether she should be there at all, telling this young woman things which were true, and yet so much less than the whole truth. It would inevitably lead her to knowledge which would destroy forever the memories of happiness and innocence that had molded her youth.
“Then he could simply have been set upon in the street?” Livia was saying eagerly, the color returned to her cheeks. “Whoever killed my father then used his death to try to have some kind of revenge on Mr. Smith, and of course escape blame themselves. Have you told the police this?”
“Not yet,” Hester said guardedly. “I would rather know more first, so that they believe me. Do you know why he would be in the Farringdon Road area? Did he go there often?”
“I have no idea.” Livia blinked away sudden tears. “Papa went out many evenings, at least two or three every week. I am sure that sometimes he went to his club, but usually it would be to do with business. He was . . . I mean, we were . . .” She gulped as realization overwhelmed her again. She forced her voice to remain almost level. “We are on the brink of a great success. He worked so very hard; it hurts us all that he will not be here to see it.”
“The new line opening in Derbyshire?” Hester asked.
Livia’s eyes widened. “You know about that?”
Hester realized she had shown too much knowledge. “I must have heard someone speak of it,” she explained. “After all, expansion of travel and new and better rail lines are of interest to everyone.” The maid returned with tea, and Livia thanked and dismissed her, choosing to pour it herself.
“It is very exciting,” she agreed, passing Hester her cup. For a moment her face betrayed very mixed emotions—there was exhilaration, the sense of being on the verge of change that was wonderful, and also a regret for the loss of the familiar.
Hester was uncertain if it could have any bearing at all upon Baltimore’s death, or what Monk needed to know, but she was curious to learn more. “Will it mean changes for you? This house seems charming. It would be hard to imagine anything better.” She picked up her cup and sipped the hot, fragrant liquid.
Livia smiled. It softened her face and made her look the young, slightly shy girl that she must have been only a month before. “I am glad you like it. I have always been happy here. But my brother assures me that when we move it will be even better.”
“You are to move?” Hester said with surprise.
“We will keep this for the London season,” Livia explained with a slight gesture of her hand. “But we are to have a large estate in the country for our home. The only thing that will cloud it at all is that my father will not be here. He wanted to build all this for us. It is so unfair that he should not be able to have the rewards of his life’s labor, all the risks and the skill that went into it.” She picked up her tea also, but did not drink.
“He must have been a remarkable man,” Hester prompted, feeling that her hypocrisy must show in her face. She despised Baltimore.
“He was,” Livia agreed, accepting the praise eagerly, as if somehow her father could still be warmed by it.
Hester wondered how well Livia had known him. Was her change in tone due to the fact that she was not remembering him so much as saying what she wished were true?
“He must have been very clever,” Hester said aloud. “And very forceful. A weak man would never have been able to command others in the manner that must be necessary in order to build a railway. Any sign of indecision, or wavering from a principle, and he would have failed. One has to admire such . . . spirit.”
“Yes, he was very strong,” Livia agreed, her voice tense with emotion. “When Papa was around one always knew one would be safe. He was always quite certain. I suppose it is a quality men have . . . at least the best men, those who are leaders.”
“I think the leaders are the ones who do not allow us to see their uncertainties,” Hester replied. “After all, if someone does not feel confidence in where they are going, how can they expect others willingly to follow them?”
Livia thought for a moment. “You are quite right,” she said with sudden understanding. “How perceptive you are. Yes, Papa was always . . . I think brave is the word. I know now that there were some more difficult times, when I was a child. We have waited many years for this great success that is coming now.” A smile flickered across her face. “It is not just the new railway line, you know, it is a new invention to do with rolling stock—that means carriages and wagons and so on. I apologize if I tell you what you already know.”
“Not at all,” Hester assured her. “I know only what anyone may read about, or overhear. What kind of an invention?”
“I am afraid I am not certain. Papa said little of it at home. He and my brother, Jarvis, did not discuss business matters at the table. He always said it was not suitable to speak of in front of ladies.” There was a shadow of uncertainty in her eyes, not quite as strong as doubt. “He believed family and business should be kept separate.” Her voice dropped again. “It was something he cared about very much . . . keeping the home a place of peace and graciousness, where things such as money and the struggles of trade should not intrude. We spoke of the values that matter: beauty and intelligence, the exploration of the world, realms of the mind.”
“It sounds excellent,” Hester said, trying to sound as if she meant it sincerely. She did not want to hurt Livia’s feelings, but she knew that the inclusion of the ugly, and some attempt at the understanding of pain, was necessary for the kind of truth that makes the greatest beauty possible. But this was not the time or place to say so. “You must have been very happy,” she added.
“Yes,” Livia agreed. “We were.” She hesitated, sipping her tea.
“Mrs. Monk . . .”
“Yes?”
“Do you think it is likely that the police will ever find out who killed my father? Please be honest . . . I do not want a comfortable lie because you think it would be easier for me.”
“It is possible,” Hester said carefully. “I don’t know about likely. It may depend whether there was a personal reason, or if it was simply mischance, that he passed along the wrong street at the wrong moment. Do you know if he went intending to keep an appointment with anyone?” It was the question to which she most wanted an answer, and yet she was aware that the solution to Baltimore’s death might mean social ruin to his family, particularly to Livia, who was young and as yet unmarried.
Livia looked startled, then, on the brink of speech, she stopped and considered, setting her cup down again. “I don’t know. Certainly he did not tell us, but then he never discussed business with Mama or me. My brother might know. I could ask him. Do you think it would make a difference?”
“It might.” How honest should she be? Her whole reason for being there was dishonest to Livia. She was thinking of Monk and his need to know about fraud, and Fanny and Alice and all the other young women like them—in fact, all the women of the whole Coldbath area who were still living on the streets but were unable to earn anything because of the constant police presence. She was not trying to find the murderer of Nolan Baltimore because it would ease the grief of his family, or even in the impersonal cause of justice.
“I know what people presume,” Livia said quietly, her cheeks very pink. “I simply cannot believe it is true. I won’t.”
