Anne Perry - Defend and Betray

But she had not known there was anyone else. She had thought that in killing the general she had ended it, freed Cassian from the abuse. She knew of no one else, not even the old colonel.

Evan was still testifying, this time answering Rathbone, but the questions were superfluous, only clarifying points already made, that Evan had found nothing to prove the jealousy Alexandra had denied, and he found it hard to believe in himself.

Monk's thoughts wandered away again. That wound on the General's leg. Surely it had been Cassian who had inflicted that? From what Hester had said of her interview with the boy, and her observation of him, he was ambivalent about the abuse, uncertain whether it was right or wrong, afraid to lose his mother's love, secretive, flattered, frightened, but not entirely hating it. There was a frisson of excitement in him even when he mentioned it, the thrill of inclusion in the adult world, knowing something that others did not.

Had he ever been taken to the Furnivals' house? They should have asked about that. It was an omission.

“Did the general ever take Cassian to the Furnivals' house?” he whispered to Hester next to him.

“Not that I know of,” she replied. “Why?”

' “The other pederast,” he replied almost under his breath. “We have to know who it is.”

“Maxim Furnival?” she said in amazement, raising her voice without realizing it.

“Be quiet,” someone said angrily.

“Why not?” he answered, leaning forward so he could whisper. “It's got to be someone who saw the boy regularly, and privately-and where Alexandra didn't know about it.”

“Maxim?” she repeated, frowning at him.

“Why not? It's someone. Who stabbed the general? Does Rathbone know, or is he just hoping we'll find out before he's finished?”

“Just hoping,” she said unhappily.

“Ssh!” a man hissed behind them, tapping Monk on the shoulder with his forefinger.

The reprimand infuriated Monk, but he could think of no satisfactory rejoinder. His face blazed with temper, but he said nothing.

“Valentine,” Hester said suddenly.

“Be quiet!” The man in front swung around, his face pinched with anger. “If you don't want to listen, then go outside!”

Monk disregarded him. Of course-Valentine. He was only a few years older than Cassian. He would be an ideal victim first. And everyone had said how fond he had been of the general, or at least how fond the general had been of him. He had visited the boy regularly. Perhaps Valentine, terrified, confused, revolted by the general and by himself, had finally fought back.

How to be certain? And how to prove it?

He turned to look at Hester, and saw the same thoughts reflected in her eyes.

Her lips formed the words It is worth trying. Then her eyes darkened with anxiety. “But be careful,” she whispered urgently. “If you're clumsy you could ruin it forever.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to retaliate, then the reality of its importance overtook all vanity and irritation.

“I will.” He promised so softly it was barely audible even to her. “I'll be 'round about. I'll try to get proof first.” And he stood up, much to the fury of the person on his other side, and wriggled past the whole row, stepping on toes, banging knees and nearly losing his footing as he found his way out. The first thing was to learn what was physically possible. If Fenton Pole had never been alone with Cassian or Valentine, then he was not worth pursuing as a suspect. Servants would know, particularly footmen; footmen knew where their masters went in the family carriage, and they usually knew who visited the house. If Pole had been careful enough to travel to some other place to meet there, and go by hansom, then it would be a far harder task to trace him, and perhaps pointless.

He must begin with the obvious. He hailed a cab and gave the driver the address of Fenton and Sabella Pole's house.

All the remainder of the afternoon he questioned the servants. At first they were somewhat reluctant to answer him, feeling that in the absence of knowledge, silence was the wisest and safest course. But one maid in particular had come with Sabella on her marriage, and her loyalties were to Alexandra, because that was where her mistress's loyalties were. She was more than willing to answer anything Monk wished to know, and she was quite capable of discovering from the footman, groom and parlormaid every detail he needed.

Certainly Mr. Pole had known the general before he met Miss Sabella. It was the general who had introduced them, that she knew herself; she had been there at the time. Yes, they had got along very well with each other, better than with Mrs. Carlyon, unfortunately. The reason? She had no idea, except that poor Miss Sabella had not wished to marry, but to go into the Church. There was nothing anyone could say against Mr. Pole. He was always a gentleman.

Did he know Mr. and Mrs. Furnival well?

Not very, the acquaintance seemed to be recent.

Did Mr. Pole often visit the general at his home?

No, hardly ever. The general came here.

Did he often bring young Master Cassian?

She had never known it to happen. When Master Cassian came it was with his mother, to visit Miss Sabella during the daytime, when Mr. Pole was out.

Monk thanked her and excused himself. It seemed Fenton Pole was not a suspect, on the grounds of physical impossibility. The opportunity was simply not there.

He walked in the clear evening back to Great Titchfield Street, passing open carriages as people took the air, fashionably dressed in bonnets with ribbons and gowns trimmed with flowers; couples out strolling arm in arm, gossiping, flirting; a man walking his dog. He arrived a few moments after Hester returned from the court. She looked tired and anxious, and Major Tiplady, sitting up on an ordinary chair now, appeared concerned for her.

“Come in, come in, Mr. Monk,” he said quickly. “I fear the news is not encouraging, but please be seated and we shall hear it together. Molly will bring us a cup of tea. And perhaps you would like supper? Poor Hester looks in need of some refreshment. Please-be seated!” He waved his arm in invitation, but his eyes were still on Hester's face.

Monk sat down, primarily to encourage Hester to speak, but he accepted the invitation to supper.

“Excuse me.” Tiplady rose to his feet and limped to the door. “I shall see about it with Molly and Cook.”

“What is it?” Monk demanded. “What has happened?”

“Very little,” Hester said wearily. “Only what we expected. Evan recounted how Alexandra had confessed.”

“We knew that would come,” Monk pointed out, angry that she was so discouraged. He needed her to have hope, because he too was afraid. It was a ridiculous task they had set themselves, and they had no right to have given Alexandra hope. There was none, none at all of any sense.

“Of course,” she said a little sharply, betraying her own fragile emotions. “But you asked me what had happened.”

He looked at her and met her eyes. There was a moment of complete understanding, all the pity, the outrage, all the delicate shades of fear and self-doubt for their own part in it. They said nothing, because words were unnecessary, and too clumsy an instrument anyway.

“I started to look at physical possibilities,” he said after a moment or two.”I don't think Fenton Pole can be the other abuser. There doesn't seem to have been enough opportunity for him to be alone with either Cassian or Valentine.”

“So where are you going next?”

“The Furnivals', I think.”

“To Louisa?” she said with a flash of bitter amusement.

“Tb the servants.” He understood precisely what she meant, with all its undertones. “Of course she would protect Maxim, but since it hasn't been mentioned yet, she won't have any idea that we are looking for abuse of children. She'll be thinking of herself, and the old charge about the general.”