Anne Perry - The Sins of the Wolf

Monk arrived at Ainslie Place armed with a great deal more knowledge of the family’s status in society and their good reputation, but nothing that he could see in any way would gain him the least idea of who killed Mary Farraline, let alone proof of it.

He was received civilly by McTeer, who now regarded him with discreet interest, albeit still total disapproval. As on previous occasions he was shown into the withdrawing room, where most of the family was assembled. Only Alastair seemed to be missing.

Oonagh came forward to greet him, a half smile on her lips.

“Good evening, Mr. Monk.” She met his eyes with a level look, far too candid and intelligent to be flattering in the usual sense, but he found the fact that she was interested enough not to be merely polite of more value than another woman’s flirtation would have been. “How are you?”

“Very well, thank you, and finding Edinburgh a most remarkable city,” he replied, meeting her look with an equal mixture of ardor in his eyes and conventions on his lips.

She turned to the others, and he followed her, exchanging polite acknowledgments, words on health and the weather and the other trivialities people use when they have nothing of importance to say.

Hector Farraline was present this evening. He looked appalling. His face was so pale the freckles across his cheeks stood out and his eyes were red-rimmed. Monk guessed he must be taking a bottle of whiskey a day to be looking so ill. At this rate it would only be a short time before he drank himself to death. He was sitting slightly splayed out on the largest sofa. He regarded Monk with puzzled interest, as if he were measuring up his role in events.

Monk saw Deirdra with the same pleasure as before. She really was a most individual woman, but not even her dearest friend could have said her gown was highly fashionable. Monk accepted that she was apparently extravagant with dress, but his own immaculate taste knew a good gown when he saw one, and hers was certainly not. The fabric was excellent and there was carefully stitched jet beadwork on the bodice, but the skirt was poorly proportioned. The lowest tier was too short, which on a small woman was all the more unfortunate. The sleeves seemed to have been lifted at the shoulder, and caused something of a pleat where there should not have been one.

But none of these things were of any importance. They showed individuality and made her seem curiously vulnerable, a quality which always appealed to him.

He accepted the wine offered, and stood a little closer to the fire.

“Have you occupied your time successfully?” Quinlan inquired, looking at him over the top of his own glass. It was impossible to tell if his question was ironic or not.

Monk could think of nothing to reply that would elicit a useful response. He was beginning to feel desperate. Time was running short and so far he had heard nothing at all of use to Hester. How much had he to lose by more dangerous tactics?

“I know a great deal more about your family,” he said with a smile of amusement rather than warmth. “Some of it facts, some opinion, much of it of interest one way or another.” That was a lie, but he could not afford the truth.

“About us?” Baird said quickly. “I thought you were investigating Miss Latterly?”

“I’m investigating the entire circumstance. But certainly, if you recall, I said that I knew a great deal more, not that I had pursued the knowledge as my primary goal.”

“The difference seems academic.” Quinlan for once sided with Baird. “And what is interesting about it? Did they tell you I married the beautiful Eilish Farraline almost out of the arms of her previous suitor? A young man of good breeding and no money, of whom her family disapproved.”

Baird’s face darkened, but he bit his tongue rather than respond.

Eilish looked momentarily unhappy, glanced at Baird, but he was looking away from her, then at Quinlan with dislike.

“How fortunate that they approved of you,” Monk said expressionlessly. “Was that personal charm, an influential family, or merely wealth?”

Oonagh drew her breath in sharply, but there was amusement glittering in her eyes, and an appreciation of Monk which he could not fail to see was growing increasingly personal. He felt an acute satisfaction in it; in fact, were he honest he would have acknowledged it as pleasure.

“You would have to have asked Mother-in-law,” Deirdra said at last. “I imagine she was the person whose approval mattered. Of course in many ways Alastair… but he would be guided in such things. I don’t know why he did not care for the other young man. He seemed perfectly agreeable to me.”

“ ‘Perfectly agreeable’ is neither here nor there,” Kenneth said with a touch of bitterness. “Not even money is everything, unless it is thousands. It is all respectability-isn’t it, Oonagh?”

Oonagh looked at him with patience and acute perception.

“Well, it certainly isn’t beauty, wit or the ability to enjoy yourself-still less to give enjoyment to others, my dear. Women like that have their place, but it is not at the altar.”

“For heaven’s sake, please don’t tell us where it is,” Quinlan said quickly, looking at Kenneth. “The answer is only too obvious.”

“Well, I am still none the wiser,” Baird said, staring at Quinlan. “You have no fortune, your family has never been mentioned, and personal charm is not even worth considering.”

Oonagh looked at him with an unreadable expression. “We Farralines do not need money or family allegiances. We marry where we wish to. Quinlan has his qualities, and as long as they please Eilish, and we gave our approval, that is all that matters.” She smiled at Eilish. “Isn’t it, dear?”

Eilish hesitated; a curious play of emotions fought in her expression, then finally it softened with something like apology and she smiled back. “Yes, of course it is. I loathed you at the time for agreeing with Mother. In fact, I thought you were largely to blame. But now I can see I would never have been happy with Robert Crawford.” She glanced at Baird, and away again. “He was certainly not the right person for me.”

A flush of color spread up Baud’s cheeks, and he looked away.

“Romantic love,” Hector said, more to himself than apparently to anyone else. “What a dream… what a beautiful dream.” There was reminiscence in his tone and his eyes were not focused on anything.

They all studiously ignored him.

“Does anyone know what time we may expect Alastair?” Kenneth asked, looking from Deirdra to Oonagh. “Are we going to have to wait dinner for him… again?”

“If he is late,” Oonagh replied coolly, “it will be for an excellent reason, not because he is inconsiderate or has some social entertainment he prefers.”

Like a small boy Kenneth pulled a face, but he said nothing. Monk formed the distinct impression he did not dare to, dearly as he would have liked.

Conversation struggled on for another ten or fifteen minutes. Monk found himself talking with Deirdra, mostly by design, not to obtain Oonagh’s information but because he enjoyed her company. She was an intelligent woman, and seemed to be devoid of the sort of artifice he disliked. He watched Eilish out of the corner of his eye, but her luminous beauty did not appeal to him. He preferred character and wit. Sheer beauty lent an aura of invulnerability, and was peculiarly unattractive to him.

“Have you really found out anything about poor Mother-in-law’s death, Mr. Monk?” Deirdra asked gravely. “I do hope the affair is not going to drag on and cause more and more distress?” The lift in her voice made it a question and her dark eyes were full of anxiety.

She deserved the truth-although he would not have hesitated to lie even to her, had he thought it would serve its purpose.