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“A specific set of skills,” he said finally. “Forgery is easy to understand. All shipping needs papers. A gas to disable is easy, too. Safecracker, less certain of. I don’t keep any gold or silver bullion, or gems. No works of art at the moment.”
“Papers of ownership, purchase, authentication?” Monk asked.
Clive bit his lip. “Yes…most thieves don’t bother with such things, but of course if they’re taking stolen goods into Europe to sell to collectors, they’d have a much wider choice, and better price, if they don’t appear to be stolen. Why the explosives?”
“Take down a wall,” Monk replied. “Doesn’t have to be a big explosion. With an expert of Owen’s skill, it could be very carefully controlled. Just a possibility, Mr. Clive. A forewarning, if you like?”
“And who could be behind this?” Clive asked with sudden intensity. “Do you know that? Or is it part of the ‘possibilities’ we have yet to learn?”
Monk could see a tension in him now, as if his mind were racing to learn which threads he could disentangle.
“It’s just a possibility,” Monk replied. “When we find them, I will let you know, sir.”
MONK ARRIVED HOME AT Paradise Place well after dark, and barely noticed the carriage drawn up to the curb fifty feet or so behind him. He paid the cabdriver and went to the front door, glad to be out of the cold.
Hester met him in the hall. He went straight to her, even with his coat still on, and took her in his arms. She yielded and kissed him gently.
He was still standing in the hallway when there was a sharp knock on the front door. Hester pulled away from him and turned to answer it, but he caught hold of her wrist.
“I’ll go. Whoever it is, I don’t want to see them. I’m tired and hungry and looking forward to a long evening at home.”
She gave him a brief smile and let him go to the door.
He opened it and for a moment was totally confused. A woman stood alone on the step, outlined against the lamps of her own carriage, which was now drawn up at the curb behind her. In the light from the hallway he could see her face. It was turbulent, filled with conflicting emotions, and by anybody’s standards, disturbingly beautiful. He had no idea who she was, or why she should be here. Presumably she was lost, and looking for someone else.
She saw his confusion and gave a tiny, bleak smile.
“I am Miriam Clive,” she said. “I’m sorry to call so late, and without warning or permission, but I believe my errand is urgent, and certainly it is private…at least from my own family. I need to speak with you, Commander Monk.” She made no movement forward, waiting to be invited in. The wind gusted behind her and caught at the heavy cloak she wore, scattering rain from its fur-trimmed hood onto her shoulder.
There was no civilized alternative open to him. He stepped back and invited her inside. As she moved past him he closed the door, then offered to take her wet cloak before he took off his own coat and hung it up also.
“Thank you,” she said gravely.
He led her into the parlor, then excused himself to explain to Hester that dinner would have to be delayed. He asked her to make some tea and bring it to the parlor. What else did one offer a lady at this hour, and one who had come alone, and uninvited? How had she even known where to find him? And why had she not gone to the Wapping Police Station?
When he went into the parlor she was not sitting as he had expected, but standing near the fire. Her gown was plain, dark green. It had no ornament to it and her amazing face needed none. She did not ask if she were disturbing his dinner. She had been waiting out in the street in her carriage, so she knew he had only just returned.
She stared directly at him, as a man might have done.
“You came to speak with my husband this morning, Mr. Monk. He told me much of what you have said, and what he had replied to you.” She stood very still, her shoulders stiff, her chin lifted a little, even though she was already of more than average height. “What he said to you was perfectly true, but containing such omissions as to make it in effect false.”
Monk was surprised. He had thought Clive candid, as far as his information went. “What did he omit?” he asked her.
“Did you ask him if he had enemies, specific ones who might wish him harm?” she countered.
“Indirectly.” He tried to recall exactly what he had said. “He told me he had no idea who could be behind any attack such as I warned him may be possible, nor indeed did he know of any merchandise he carried that could be a specific target. Do you think differently, Mrs. Clive?”
“Of the merchandise, I have no idea.” She dismissed it with the lightness of her tone. “I know nothing of the business, except occasionally the different countries involved, if we entertain representatives from them. Some have been most interesting, especially those from the Far East. Their culture is different from our own. But I think it far more likely that an attack, if it is indeed aimed at my husband, would be personal, and the actual robbery only a means to an end.” She still looked away from him as she spoke, and her voice was filled with emotion, as if she dared not let him see it so naked in her.
“The end being to injure him?” he asked gently.
“Yes,” she agreed. “You cannot amass the wealth or the eminence he has without making enemies. I imagine that you are very well aware of that yourself, Mr. Monk?” Now she looked at him. “You are a man of adventure, and decision. You will have succeeded where others have failed.” Her eyes were disturbingly frank as she regarded him from a very slight distance, taking in not only his face but his build, his manner, the confidence that masked his weariness and all the doubts inside him. It was as if she already knew him thoroughly, even though they had never met before.
“If you know who the enemies might be, Mrs. Clive, please tell me. As well, you might let me know why you believe that your husband did not tell me all this himself.”
She gave a very tiny smile that softened her face completely. She had moved a little and the lamplight caught the fine lines around her eyes and mouth. They did not spoil her beauty, but added passion and vulnerability to it. “I am not entirely sure myself,” she admitted. “But I can tell you the facts that I know. The reasons I can only guess, and perhaps this is not the time for opinions I cannot prove.”
He wanted to help her, but she was not giving him enough to work with.
