"I refuse your condescending interference," he said. "You should marry some poor devil and concentrate your managerial skills on one man and leave the rest of us in peace.""
She knew precisely what was hurting him, the fear of the future when he had not even the experience of the past to draw on, the specter of hunger and homelessness ahead, the sense of failure. She struck where it would wound the most surely, and perhaps eventually do the most good.
"Self-pity does not become you, nor does it serve any purpose, "" she said quietly, aware now of the people around them. "And please lower your voice. If you expect me to be sorry for you, you are wasting your time. Your situation is of your own making, and not markedly worse than mine-which was also of my own making, I am aware." She stopped, seeing the overwhelming fury in his face. She was afraid for a moment she had really gone too far.
"You-" he began. Then very slowly the rage died away and was replaced by a sharp humor, so hard as to be almost sweet, like a clean wind off the sea. "You have a genius for saying the worst possible thing in any given situation," he finished. "I should imagine a good many patients have taken up their beds and walked, simply to be free of your ministrations and go where they could suffer in peace."
"That is very cruel," she said a little huffily. "I have never been harsh to someone I believed to be genuinely in distress-"
"Oh." His eyebrows rose dramatically. "You think my predicament is not real?"
"Of course your predicament is real," she said; "But your anguish over it is unhelpful. You have talents, in spite of the Queen Anne Street case. You must find a way to use them for remuneration." She warmed to the subject. "Surely there are cases the police cannot solve-either they are too difficult or they do not fall within their scope to handle? Are there not miscarriages of justice-" That thought brought her back to Percival again, and without waiting for his reply she hurried on. "What are we going to do about Percival? I am even more sure after speaking to Lady Moidore this morning that there is grave doubt as to whether he had anything to do with Oc-tavia"s death.""
At last the waiter managed to intrude, and Monk ordered chocolate for her, insisting on paying for it, overriding her protest with more haste than courtesy.
"Continue to look for proof, I suppose," he said when the matter was settled and she began to sip at the steaming liquid.
"Although if I knew where or what I should have looked already."
"I suppose it must be Myles," she said thoughtfully. "Or Araminta-if Octavia were not as reluctant as we have been led to suppose. She might have known they had an a.s.signation and taken the kitchen knife along, deliberately meaning to kill her."
"Then presumably Myles Kellard would know it," Monk argued. "Or have a very strong suspicion. And from what you said he is more afraid of her than she of him.""
She smiled. "If my wife had just killed my mistress with a carving knife I would be more than a trifle nervous, wouldn"t you?" But she did not mean it, and she saw from his face that he knew it as well as she. "Or perhaps it was Fenella?" she went on. "I think she has the stomach for such a thing, if she had the motive.""
"Well, not out of l.u.s.t for the footman," Monk replied. "And I doubt Octavia knew anything about her so shocking that Basil would have thrown her out for it. Unless there is a whole avenue we have not explored."
Hester drank the last of her chocolate and set the gla.s.s down on its saucer."Well I am still in Queen Anne Street, and Lady Moidore certainly does not seem recovered yet, or likely to be in the next few days. I shall have a little longer to observe. Is there anything you would like me to pursue?"
"No," he said sharply. Then he looked down at his own gla.s.s on the table in front of him. "It is possible that Percival is guilty; it is simply that I do not feel that what we have is proof. We should respect not only the facts but the law. If we do not, then we lay ourselves open to every man"s judgment of what may be true or false; and a belief of guilt will become the same thing as proof. There must be something above individual judgment, however pa.s.sionately felt, or we become barbarous again."
"Of course he may be guUty," she said very quietly. "I have always known that. But I shall not let it go by default as long as I can remain in Queen Anne Street and learn anything at all. If I do find anything, I shall have to write to you, because neither you nor Sergeant Evan will be there. Where may I send a letter, so that the rest of the household will not know it is to you?"
He looked puzzled for a moment.
"I do not post my own mail," she said with a flicker of impatience. "I seldom leave the house. I shall merely put it on the hall table and the footman or the bootboy will take it."
"Oh-of course. Send it to Mr.-" He hesitated, a shadow of a smile crossing his face. "Send it to Mr. Butler-let us move up a rung on the social ladder. At my address in Grafton Street. I shall be there for a few weeks yet."
She met his eyes for a moment of clear and total understanding, then rose and took her leave. She did not tell him she was going to make use of the rest of the afternoon to see Callandra Daviot. He might have thought she was going to ask for help for him, which was exactly what she intended to do, but not with his knowledge. He would refuse beforehand, out of pride; when it was a fait accompli he would be obliged to accept.
"He what?" Callandra was appalled, then she began to laugh in spite of her anger. "Not very practical-but I admire his sentiment, if not his judgment.""
They were in her withdrawing room by the fire, the sharp winter sun streaming in through the windows. The new parlormaid, replacing the newly married Daisy, a thin waif of a girl with an amazing smile and apparently named Martha, had brought their tea and hot crumpets with b.u.t.ter. These were less ladylike than cuc.u.mber sandwiches, but far nicer on a cold day.
"What could he have accomplished if he had obeyed and arrested Percival?" Hester defended Monk quickly. "Mr. Runcorn would still consider the case closed, and Sir Basil would not permit him to ask any further questions or pursue any investigation. He could hardly even look for more evidence of Percival"s guilt. Everyone else seems to consider the knife and the peignoir sufficient."
"Perhaps you are right," Callandra admitted. "But he is a hot-headed creature. First the Grey case, and now this. He seems to have little more sense than you have." She took . another crumpet."You have both taken matters into your own hands and lost your livelihoods. What does he propose to do next?"
"I don"t know!" Hester threw her hands wide. "I don"t know what I am to do myself when Lady Moidore is sufficiently well not to need me. I have no desire whatever to spend my time as a paid companion, fetching and carrying and pandering to imaginary illnesses and fits of the vapors." Suddenly she was overtaken by a profound sense of failure. "Callandra, what happened to me? I came home from the Crimea with such a zeal to work hard, to throw myself into reform and accomplish so much. I was going to see our hospitals cleaner- and of so much greater comfort for the sick." Those dreams seemed utterly out of reach now, part of a golden and lost realm. "I was going to teach people that nursing is a n.o.ble profession, fit for fine and dedicated women to serve in, women of sobriety and good character who wished to minister to the sick with skill-not just to keep a bare standard of removing the slops and fetching and carrying for the surgeons. How did I throw all that away?"
"You didn"t throw it away, my dear,"" Callandra said gently. "You came home afire with your accomplishments in wartime, and did not realize the monumental inertia of peace, and the English pa.s.sion to keep things as they are, whatever they are. People speak of this as being an age of immense change, and so it is. We have never been so inventive, so wealthy, so free in our ideas good and bad." She shook her head. "But there is still an immeasurable amount that is determined to stay the same, unless it is forced, screaming and fighting, to advance with the times. One of those things is the belief that women should learn amusing arts of pleasing a husband, bearing children, and if you cannot afford the servants to do it for you, of raising them, and of visiting the deserving poor at appropriate times and well accompanied by your own kind."
A fleeting smile of wry pity touched her lips.
"Never, in any circ.u.mstance, should you raise your voice, or try to a.s.sert your opinions in the hearing of gentlemen, and do not attempt to appear clever or strong-minded; it- is dangerous, and makes them extremely uncomfortable."
"You are laughing at me," Hester accused her.
"Only slightly, my dear. You will find another position nursing privately, if we cannot find a hospital to take you. I shall write to Miss Nightingale and see what she can advise." Her face darkened. "In the meantime, I think Mr. Monk"s situation is rather more pressing. Has he any skills other than those connected with detecting?"
Hester thought for a moment.
"I don"t believe so."
"Then he will have to detect. Jn spite of this fiasco, I believe he is gifted at it, and it is a crime for a person to spend his life without using the talents G.o.d gave him." She pushed the crumpet plate towards Hester and Hester took another.
"If he cannot do it publicly in the police force, then he will have to do it privately." She warmed to the subject. "He will have to advertise in all the newspapers and periodicals. There must be people who have lost relatives, I mean mislaid them. There are certainly robberies the police do not solve satisfactorily-and in time he will earn a reputation and perhaps be given cases where there has been injustice or the police are baffled." Her face brightened conspicuously. "Or perhaps cases where the police do not realize there has been a crime, but someone does, and is desirous to have it proved. And regrettably there will be cases where an innocent person is accused and wishes to clear his name."
"But how will he survive until he has sufficient of these cases to earn himself a living?" Hester said anxiously, wiping her fingers on the napkin to remove the b.u.t.ter.
Callandra thought hard for several moments, then came to some inner decision which clearly pleased her.
"I have always wished to involve myself in something a trifle more exciting than good works, however necessary or worthy. Visiting friends and struggling for hospital, prison or workhouse reform is most important, but we must have a little color from time to time. I shall go into partnership with Mr. Monk."" She took another crumpet."I will provide the money, to begin with, sufficient for his needs and for the administration of such offices as he has to have. In return I shall take some of the profits, when there are any. I shall do my best to acquire contacts and clients-he will do the work. And I shall be told all that I care about what happens." She frowned ferociously. "Do you think he will be agreeable?"
Hester tried to keep a totally sober face, but inside she felt a wild upsurge of happiness.
"I imagine he will have very little choice. In his position I should leap at such a chance."
"Excellent. Now I shall call upon him and make him a proposition along these lines. Which does not answer the question of the Queen Anne Street case. What are we to do about that? It is all very unsatisfactory."
However, it was another fortnight before Hester came to a conclusion as to what she was going to do. She had returned to Queen Anne Street, where Beatrice was still tense, one minute struggling to put everything to do with Octavia"s death out of her mind, the next still concerned that she might yet discover some hideous secret not yet more than guessed at.
Other people seemed to have settled into patterns of life more closely approximating normal. Basil went into the City on most days, and did whatever it was he usually did. Hester asked Beatrice in a polite, rather vague way, but Beatrice knew very little about it. It was not considered necessary as part of her realm of interest, so Sir Basil had dismissed her past inquiries with a smile.
Romola was obliged to forgo her social activities, as were they all, because the house was in mourning. But she seemed to believe that the shadow of investigation had pa.s.sed completely, and she was relentlessly cheerful about the house, when she was not in the schoolroom supervising the new governess. Only rarely did an underlying unhappiness and uncertainty show through, and it had to do with Cyprian, not any suspicion of murder. She was totally satisfied that Percival was the guilty one and no one else was implicated.
Cyprian spent more time speaking with Hester, asking her opinions or experiences in all manner of areas, and seemed most interested in her answers. She liked him, and found his attention flattering. She looked forward to her meetings with him on the few occasions when they were alone and might speak frankly, not in the customary plat.i.tudes.
Septimus looked anxious and continued to take port wine from Basil"s cellar, and Fenella continued to drink it, make outrageous remarks, and absent herself from the house as often as she dared without incurring Basil"s displeasure. Where she went to no one knew, although many guesses were hazarded, most of them unkind.
Araminta ran the house very efficiently, even with some flair, which in the circ.u.mstances of mourning was an achievement, but her att.i.tude towards Myles was cold with suspicion, and his towards her was casually indifferent. Now that Percival was arrested, he had nothing to fear, and mere displeasure did not seem to concern him.
Below stairs the mood was somber and businesslike. No one spoke of Percival, except by accident, and then immediately fell silent or tried to cover the gaffe with more words.
In that time Hester received a letter from Monk, pa.s.sed to her by the new footman, Robert, and she took it upstairs to her room to open it.
December 19th, 1856 Dear Hester, I have received a most unexpected visit from Lady Callandra with a business proposition which was quite extraordinary. Were she a woman of less remarkable character I would suspect your hand in it. As it is I am still uncertain. She did not learn of my dismissal from the police force out of the newspapers; they do not concern themselves with such things. They are for too busy rejoicing in the solution of the Queen Anne Street case and calling for the rapid hanging of footmen widi overweening ideas in general, and Percival in particular.
The Home Office is congratulating itself on such a fortunate solution, Sir Basil is the object of everyone"s sympathy and respect, and Runcorn is poised for promotion. Only Percival languishes in Newgate awaiting trial. And maybe he is guilty? But I do not believe it.
Lady Callandra"s proposition (in case you do not know!) is that I should become a private investigating detective, which she will finance, and promote as she can. In return for which I will work, and share such profits as there may be-? And all she requires of me is that I keep her informed as to my cases, what I learn, and something of the process of detection. I hope she finds it as interesting as she expects!
I shall accept-I see no better alternative. I have done all I can to explain to her the unlikelihood of there being much financial return. Police are not paid on results, and private agents would be-or at least if results were not satisfactory a very large proportion of the time, they would cease to find clients. Also the victims of injustice are very often not in a position to pay anything at all. However she insists that she has money beyond her needs, and this will be her form of philanthropy-and she is convinced she will find it both more satisfying than donating her means to museums or galleries or homes for the deserving poor; and more entertaining. I shall do all I can to prove her right.
You write that Lady Moidore is still deeply concerned, and that Fenella is less than honest, but you are not certain yet whether it is anything to do with Octavia"s death. This is interesting, but does not do more than increase our conviction that the case is not yet solved. Please be careful in your pursuit, and above all, remember that if you do appear to be close to discovering anything of significance, the murderer will then turn his, or her, attention towards you.
I am still in touch with Evan and he informs me how the police case is being prepared. They have not bothered to seek anything further. He is as sure as he can be that there is more to leam, but neither of us knows how to go about it. Even Lady Callandra has no ideas on that subject.
Again, please take the utmost care, I remain, yours sincerely, William Monk She closed it with her decision already made. There was nothing else she could hope to learn in Queen Anne Street herself, and Monk was effectively prevented from investigating anything to do with the case. The trial was Percival"s only hope. There was one person who could perhaps give her advice on that-Oliver Rathbone. She could not ask Callandra again; if she had been willing to do such a thing she would have suggested it when they met previously and Hester told her of me situation. Rathbone was for hire. There was no reason why she should not go to his offices and purchase half an hour of his time, which was very probably all she could afford.
First she asked Beatrice for permission to take an afternoon off duty to attend to her family matter, which was granted with no difficulty. Then she wrote a brief letter to Oliver Rathbone explaining that she required legal counsel in a matter of some delicacy and that she had only Tuesday afternoon on which to present herself at his offices, if he would make that available to her. She had previously purchased several postage stamps so she could send the letter, and she asked the bootboy if he would put it in the mailbox for her, which he was pleased to do.
She received her answer the following noon, there being several deliveries of post each day, and tore it open as soon as she had a moment un.o.bserved.
December 20th, 1856 Dear Miss Latterly, I shall be pleased to receive you at my offices in Vere Street, which is just off Lincoln"s Inn Fields, on the afternoon on Tuesday 23rd of December, at three in the afternoon. I hope at that time to be of a.s.sistance to you in whatever matter at present concerns you. Until that time, I remain yours sincerely, Oliver Rathbone It was brief and to the point. It would have been absurd to expect more, and yet its very efficiency reminded her that she would be paying for each minute she was there and she must not incur a charge she could not meet. There must be no wasted words, no time for pleasantries or euphemisms.
She had no appealing clothes, no silk and velvet dresses like Araminta"s or Romola"s, no embroidered snoods or bonnets, and no lace gloves such as ladies habitually wore. They were not suitable for those in service, however skilled. Her only dresses, purchased since her family"s financial ruin, were gray or blue, and made on modest and serviceable lines and of stuff fabric. Her bonnet was of a pleasing deep pink, but that was about the best that could be said for it. It also was not new.
Still, Rathbone would not be interested in her appearance; she was going to consult his legal ability, not enjoy a social occasion.
She regarded herself in the mirror without pleasure. She was too thin, and taller than she would have liked. Her hair was thick, but almost straight, and required more time and skill than she possessed to form it into fashionable ringlets. . And although her eyes were dark blue-gray, and extremely well set, they had too level and plain a stare, it made people uncomfortable; and her features generally were too bold.
But there was nothing she, or anyone, could do about it, except make the best of a very indifferent job. She could at least endeavor to be charming, and that she would do. Her mother had frequently told her she would never be beautiful, but if she smiled she might make up for a great deal.
It was an overcast day with a hard, driving wind, and most unpleasant.
She took a hansom from Queen Anne Street to Vere Street, and alighted a few minutes before three. At three o"clock precisely she was sitting in the spare, elegant room outside Oliver Rathbone"s office and becoming impatient to get the matter begun.
She was about to stand and make some inquiry when the door opened and Rathbone came out. He was as immaculately dressed as she remembered from last time, and immediately she was conscious of being shabby and unfeminine.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Rathbone." Her resolve to be charming was already a little thinner. "It is good of you to see me at such short notice."
"It is a pleasure, Miss Latterly." He smiled, a very sweet smile, showing excellent teeth, but his eyes were dark and she was aware only of their wit and intelligence. "Please come into my office and be comfortable." He held the door open for her, and she accepted rapidly, aware that from the moment he had greeted her, no doubt her half hour was ticking away.
The room was not large, but it was furnished very spa.r.s.ely, in a fashion reminiscent more of William IV than of the present Queen, and the very leanness of it gave an impression of light and s.p.a.ce. The colors were cool and the woodwork white. There was a picture on the farthest wall which reminded her of a Joshua Reynolds, a portrait of a gentleman in eighteenth-century dress against a romantic landscape.
All of which was irrelevant; she must address the matter in hand.
She sat down on one of the easy chairs and left him to sit on the other and cross his legs after neatly hitching his trousers so as not to lose their line.
"Mr. Rathbone, I apologize for being so blunt, but to do otherwise would be dishonest. I can afford only half an hour"s worth of your time. Please do not permit me to detain you longer than that."" She saw the spark of humor in his eyes, but his reply was completely sober.
"I shall not, Miss Latterly. You may trust me to attend the clock. You may concentrate your mind on informing me how I may be of a.s.sistance to you."
"Thank you," she said. "It is concerning the murder in Queen Anne Street. Are you familiar with any of the circ.u.mstances?"
"I have read of it in the newspapers. Are you acquainted with the Moidore family?"
"No-at least not socially. Please do not interrupt me, Mr. Rathbone. If I digress, I shall not have sufficient time to tell you what is important."
"I apologize." Again there was that flash of amus.e.m.e.nt.
She suppressed her desire to be irritated and forgot to be charming.
"Sir Basil Moidore"s daughter, Octavia Haslett, was found stabbed in her bedroom." She had practiced what she intended to say, and now she concentrated earnestly on remembering every word in the exact order she had rehea.r.s.ed, for clarity and brevity. "At first it was presumed an intruder had disturbed her during the night and murdered her. Then it was proved by the police that no one could have entered, either by the front or from the back of the house, therefore she was killed by someone already there-either a servant or one of her own family."
He nodded and did not speak.
"Lady Moidore was very distressed by the whole affair and became ill. My connection with the family is as her nurse."
"I thought you were at the infirmary?" His eyes widened and his brows rose in surprise.
"I was," she said briskly. "I am not now."
"But you were so enthusiastic about hospital reform."
"Unfortunately they were not. Please, Mr. Rathbone, do not interrupt me! This is of the utmost importance, or a fearful injustice may be done."
"The wrong person has been charged," he said.
"Quite." She hid her surprise only because there was not time for it. "The footman, Percival, who is not an appealing character-he is vain, ambitious, selfish and something of a Iothario-"
"Not appealing," he agreed, sitting a little farther back in his chair and regarding her steadily.
"The theory of the police," she continued, "is that he was enamored of Mrs. Haslett, and with or without her encouragement, he went up to her bedroom in the night, tried to force his attentions upon her, and she, being forewarned and having taken a kitchen knife upstairs with her"-she ignored his look of amazement-"against just such an eventuality, attempted to save her virtue, and in the struggle it was she, not he, who was stabbed-fatally."
He looked at her thoughtfully, his fingertips together.
"How do you know all this, Miss Latterly? Or should I say, how do the police deduce it?"
"Because on hearing, some considerable time into the investigation-in fact, several weeks-that the cook believed one of her kitchen knives to be missing," she explained, "they inst.i.tuted a second and very thorough search of the house, and in the bedroom of the footman in question, stuffed behind the back of a drawer in his dresser, between the drawer itself and the outer wooden casing, they found the knife, bloodstained, and a silk peignoir belonging to Mrs. Haslett, also bloodstained."
"Why do you not believe him guilty?" he asked with interest.
Put so bluntly it was hard to be succinct and lucid in reply.
"He may be, but I do not believe it has been proved," she began, now less certain. "There is no real evidence other than the knife and the peignoir, and anyone could have placed them there. Why would he keep such things instead of destroying them? He could very easily have wiped the knife clean and replaced it, and put the peignoir in the range. It would have burned completely.""
"Some gloating in the crime?" Rathbone suggested, but there was no conviction in his voice.
"That would be stupid, and he is not stupid," she said immediately. "The only reason for keeping them that makes sense is to use them to implicate someone else-"
"Then why did he not do so? Was it not known that the cook had discovered the loss of her knife, which must surely provoke a search?" He shook his head fractionally. "That would be a most unusual kitchen.""