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‘Exactly,’ Monk agreed. ‘Even to being taken and kept so they can be drained of their blood to perform medical experiments on sick old men who want to live, no matter what cost to others.’
Rand was a little paler. ‘That is the way you see it, Mr Monk, because it would give you the right to come in here and demand information that would justify going after your wife. The law would see it as rescuing abandoned children from starvation and sleeping in the streets, and giving them good food, clean beds and safety from attack by predators who might molest them sexually, or force them into manual labour. The medical side they would see as treating their malnutrition, and taking blood occasionally in the performance of an experiment that might save countless lives in the future. My brother will go down in history as one of the great innovators in the science of medicine.’ There was a faint flush of pride in his face as he said it, and deep satisfaction.
Monk put his hands in his pockets and felt the paper that
Squeaky had prepared. He was reluctant to use it, but if he did, he had one chance before it lost its power. He must lay the foundation carefully. If he wasted it he had nothing else left.
‘The children were not homeless,’ he said levelly. ‘Their parents were desperate, and sold them to you in order to have money to feed the youngest ones. They had no idea what you were going to do with them.’ He saw the sudden doubt in Rand’s face. ‘Do you care so much about your brother’s fame in history?’ He could hear his own heart beating as he waited for the answer.
This time Rand hesitated. He seemed to have retreated within himself and to be remembering, or weighing some decision.
Monk longed to interrupt him and press home his advantage, but this was too important to make the slightest error. Hester’s life could hang on the balance of his judgement now. Almost certainly it did! His throat was so tight that when he swallowed he all but choked.
‘Yes,’ Rand said at last. ‘Of course I care that he succeeds, and that he is recognised for the brilliance and dedication he has given his life to. How could I not? You have no idea what it has cost him, or you wouldn’t ask.’
‘What did it cost him more than most people?’ Monk asked.
Rand put his elbows on the desk and leaned his head forward into his hands, scraping his hair back with his fingers.
‘Hamilton was the best of us,’ he said quietly. ‘At least intellectually, perhaps in all ways. I never really knew Edward. He died while I was still an infant. All I can remember was the dim room, the curtains always half drawn to keep in the warmth in the winter, and the bright sun out in the summer. He was five years older than I was, but he always looked small, very thin, and very pale. He smiled at me, but he didn’t speak very much.’
Monk drew in his breath to ask who Edward was, then changed his mind. He decided to let Rand tell the story, rather than break the thread of memory and the sensation of pain by interruption.
‘Of course I had no idea how ill he was,’ Rand went on. ‘But Hamilton knew. He was older, ten years older than I. Edward was about eight when he died. I can remember the grief. It was summer, but it was as if the whole house was permanently in a cold, grey cloud. No one laughed for a long time. It can’t have been years, but it seemed like it.
‘My mother died shortly after that,’ Rand went on. ‘My father walked around like a ghost. Time went by. Hamilton did superbly well at school. He was going to go on to university and become a doctor. It was what he dreamed of.’
Monk could imagine it easily: a boy steeping himself in the study of medicine to lose his sense of grief, and perhaps to learn the one skill whose practitioners had failed his family.
‘I wanted the same,’ Rand went on. ‘But I was a long way behind Hamilton – in years, of course, but neither had I the brilliance of intellect he had. Then our father died, and there was no money. Hamilton gave up his studies and found a job. It wasn’t one that he liked, but he earned sufficient to keep us both, and eventually to pay for my place at university. I became the doctor he had always wanted to be.’
In spite of himself, Monk felt a deep pity for them both. It was easy to imagine the brothers, the loyalty and sacrifice between them, the duty to live a life for both of them, and perhaps even for Edward as well.
He looked at Rand, waiting for him to continue.
Rand sighed. ‘At last I was earning enough to support us both. Hamilton could give up the job he had come to hate, and take up his studies again. He felt it was too late, and too expensive for him to qualify in medicine. But he was brilliant in many directions. It was not hard for him to qualify in chemistry, at which he excelled.’
‘What did Edward die of?’ Monk asked, almost certain what the answer would be.
‘White blood disease,’ Rand said softly. ‘Did you not realise that?’
‘I supposed,’ Monk answered. ‘And yes, Hamilton paid a very high and selfless price for his medical skill. But he chose to. These children did not choose to die for it, and they might well do. Which I think you know.’
Rand looked tired, his thick hair tousled.
‘I have already told you, Mr Monk, I do not know where they have gone. I imagine Hamilton did not tell me precisely because he knew you would come asking.’
Monk raised his eyebrows. ‘And he didn’t trust you not to tell me?’
‘Of course he did!’ Rand was hurt. ‘He knows my loyalty. He is protecting me so I cannot be to blame.’ He looked angry, belligerent.
‘To blame for what?’ Monk asked, keeping his voice soft. ‘For the deaths of the children? Or my wife?’
Rand’s skin blanched. ‘What are you talking about? He’s not taking your wife’s blood. Don’t you understand anything? It’s only the children’s blood that is any good. It works on anyone, everyone! We just don’t know why yet. Without knowing why, we can’t tell who else’s blood will work. It’s only a fortunate experiment, not a system. For God’s sake, man, think what it would mean!’ He leaned forward across the desk. ‘Think of the lives it would save! We have to know—’
‘I know you’re not taking her blood,’ Monk cut across him. ‘But if this doesn’t work, if Radnor dies, then you won’t need her any more. Do you imagine he will let her walk away?’
Rand looked haggard. ‘She helped! She can’t say anything. In exchange for the children’s lives . . . he’ll . . .’
