Anne Perry - The Sins of the Wolf

“Yes she has,” Monk said icily. “She has already reported the matter to her legal adviser, and we came here, on his counsel, to take the pin to him so that he might return it to Mrs. Farraline’s estate.”

Sergeant Daly nodded. “Very wise of you, ma’am, but not sufficient, I’m afraid. Constable Jacks”-he nodded abruptly at the other man-”would you go with this gentleman and obtain the said article.” He looked at Monk. “Perhaps you’d be good enough, sir? And you, Miss Latterly, I’m afraid you’ll have to come with us.”

“Nonsense!” Callandra stepped forward. “Miss Latterly has told you what happened. She found the piece of jewelry that was missing and made provision to return it. You do not need further explanations. She has had a long journey to Edinburgh and back again, and a most distressing experience. She is not going anywhere with you, merely in order to repeat an explanation which is quite clear to you now. You are not a fool, man, you understand exactly what has happened.”

“No, I do not understand, your ladyship,” he said calmly. “I don’t understand at all why a respectable woman who cares for the sick should take from an old lady a piece of jewelry which belongs to her, but that’s unarguably what it looks like. Theft is theft, ma’am, whoever did it and whatever for. And F’tn afraid, Miss Latterly, you will have to come with us.” He shook his head gently. “And don’t make it harder for yourself by resisting. I’d hate to have to take you in manacles-but I will, if you force me.”

For the second time that day, Hester felt shock and disbelief buffet her like a blow, and then they vanished, leaving only cold, bitter knowledge.

“I shall not make that necessary,” she said in a very small voice. “I did not steal anything from Mrs. Farraline. She was my patient, and I had the highest regard for her. And I have never stolen anything from anyone.” She turned to Callandra. “Thank you, but I think protest is of no value at this time.” She felt herself painfully close to tears, and did not trust herself to speak anymore, least of all to Monk.

Callandra produced the brooch, which she had placed on the mantelshelf before Hester had left, and silently gave it to the sergeant.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said as he accepted it, and wrapped it in a large clean handkerchief which he took from his coat pocket. He turned again to Hester. “Now, miss, I think it would be best if you come along. Perhaps Constable Jacks can fetch your valise for you. You’ll already have everything you need in that, at least for tonight.”

Hester was surprised, then she realized that of course they knew she would have them with her. They had known where to find her. Her landlady must have given them Callandra’s name. It was an educated guess. She had stayed with her often enough before, between cases. The knowledge was like a door slamming, closing her in.

She had time only to glance at Monk and see the burning anger in his face. The next moment she was in the hall, a policeman on either side of her, being taken inexorably towards the open front door and the street beyond, cold and gray with driving rain.

Hester sat in the back of the black closed-in police van between the constable and the sergeant. She could see nothing, in fact only feel the jolt and sway of movement as they drove from Callandra’s house to wherever they were taking her. Her mind was in a senseless whirl. It was as if her head were full of noise and darkness. She could not grasp hold of any thought. The moment she had it, it was whipped away from her.

How had the pearl brooch come to be in her bag? Who could have put it there? Why? Mary had left it at home, she had said so. Why would anyone have wished Hester any harm? She had not had time to make an enemy, even if she were important enough to any of them.

The van came to a stop, but she could see nothing through the closed-in sides. A horse whinnied somewhere ahead, and a man swore. They jolted forward again. Was she merely the victim of some plot, some scheme or vengeance she knew nothing about? But what scheme? How could she defend herself? How could she prove any of it?

She glanced sideways at the sergeant, and saw only his rigid profile as he stared ahead of himself at the far wall of the van. The disgust in him was so palpable she could feel it like a chill in the air. She could understand it. It was contemptible to steal from a patient, an old lady, an invalid who trusted you totally.

It was on the tip of her tongue to say again that she had not taken it, but even as she drew breath, she knew it would be futile. They would expect her to deny it A thief would. It meant nothing.

The journey passed like a nightmare, and eventually they reached the police station, where she was taken into a quiet, drab room and formally charged with having stolen a pearl brooch belonging to her patient, Mrs. Mary Farraline, of Edinburgh, now deceased.

“I did not take it,” she said quietly.

Their faces were sad and scornful. No one made any answer at all. She was taken to the cells, pushed in gently with a hand in the small of her back, and before she had time to tum around the door was closed with a heavy clang and the bolt shot home.

The cell was about ten or eleven feet square, with a cot on one side and a wooden bench with a hole in it, which obviously served the calls of nature. There was a single high, barred window above the cot, the walls were whitewashed and the floor blackened stone of some smooth, seamless nature.

But the most surprising thing was that there were already three people in it, one an elderly woman of perhaps close to sixty, her hair unnaturally yellow, her skin putty-colored and curiously lifeless. She regarded Hester expressionlessly. The second occupant was very dark, with long loose hair that hung in a knotted mass. Her narrow face was handsome in its own way. Her eyes, so shadowed as to seem almost black, looked at Hester with growing suspicion. The third occupant was a child, not more than eight or nine years old, thin, dirty, and with raggedly cut hair so it was impossible to tell at a glance whether it was a boy or a girl. Clothes were little help, being a conglomeration of adult clothes shorn down to size, patched, and tied around with a length of twine.

“Well, you look like a dying duck in a thunderstorm,” the dark woman said critically. “First time, eh? What yer do? Thievin’?” Her sharp eyes took note of Hester’s borrowed dress. “Dollymop? You don’t look like no tail, not in that square-rigged thing!”

“What?” Hester was slow-witted, confused.

“You’ll never pull no gents dressed like that,” the woman said contemptuously. “No need to stand on your importance wi’ us, we’re all family.” Her eyes narrowed again. “Which you ain’t-are yer.” It was an accusation, not a question.

“ ‘Course she ain’t,” the older woman said wearily. “She don’t even understand yer, Doris.”

“Are you… related?” Hester asked slowly, including the child in her remark.

“No we ain’t related, yer dimwit!” The woman shook her head dismissively. “I mean we’re all professionals. Which you ain’t, are yer? Jus’ thought you’d try yer ‘and and yer got caught Watcha do… nick summink?”

“No. No, but they said I did.”

“Oh. Innocent, eh?” Her sneer was totally disbelieving. “In’t we all! Marge ‘ere didn’t do no abortions, did yer, Marge? And Tilly ‘ere didn’t spin no top. An’ o’ course I don’t keep no bawdy ‘ouse.” She put one hand on her hip. “I’m a decent, respectable woman, I am. Can I ‘elp it if some o’ me clients is bent?”

“What do you mean, ‘spin a top’?” Hester moved farther into the small cell and sat down on the cot, about two feet from the woman named Marge.