Anne Perry - The Sins of the Wolf

“I am afraid I can think of no way in which it will be resolved easily,” he replied. “Criminal trials are always unpleasant. No one is going”-he forced himself to say it-”to be hanged without doing everything they know how to avoid it”

Suddenly and ridiculously he was overwhelmed with a blinding hatred for them all, standing in this warm room waiting to be called in to dinner. One of them had murdered Mary Farraline and was going to allow the law to murder Hester in his or her place. “And no doubt a good defense lawyer will try to spread blame and suspicion somewhere else,” he added between his clenched teeth. “Of course it will be unpleasant. She is fighting for her life. She is a brave woman who has faced loneliness, privation and physical danger before. She won’t surrender. She will have to be beaten.”

Deirdra was staring at him, her face drawn, her eyes wide.

“You speak as if you knew her well,” she said in little more than a whisper.

Monk checked himself instantly, like a runner tripping and regaining his balance.

“It is my business to, Mrs. Farraline. I can hardly defend the prosecution’s interest if I am unfamiliar with the enemy.”

“Oh… no, I suppose not. I had not thought of that.” She frowned. “I had not thought very much about it at all. Alastair would have known better. I expect you have talked with him.” It was an assumption rather than a question. She looked a trifle crestfallen. “You should really speak with Oonagh. She is most observant of people. She always seems to know what a person really means, rather than what they say. I have noticed it often. She is most gifted at reading character.” She smiled. “It is really rather a comforting quality, to feel someone understands you so well.”

“Except in Miss Latterly’s case,” Monk said with more sarcasm than he had meant to show.

She caught his tone and looked at him with a mixture of perception and defense.

He found himself annoyed, both for having been rude to her and for having betrayed himself.

“You must not blame her for that,” she said quickly. “She was so busy caring for poor Mother-in-law. It was she whom Mother confided in. She seemed to be most concerned about Griselda.” A slight frown puckered her brows. “I had not thought there was anything really wrong. She always was rather a worrier. But perhaps it was something more serious? A first confinement can be difficult. So can any, for that matter, of course. But I know Griselda wrote several times a week, until eventually even Oonagh agreed that it really was necessary that Mother should travel down to London to reassure her. Now, poor soul, she will never know what Mother would have told her.”

“Can Mrs. Mclvor not write to her in such a way as to help?” he suggested.

“Oh I am sure she has done,” Deirdra said with certainty. “I wish I could help myself, but I have no idea what was the subject of her anxiety. I think it was some family medical history over which Mother-in-law could have set her mind at ease.”

“Then I am sure Mrs. Mclvor will have done so.”

“Of course.” She smiled a sudden warmth.

“Oonagh will help if anyone can. I daresay Mother confided in her anyway. She will know precisely what to say to make Griselda feel better.”

Further conversation was cut off by the arrival of Alas-tair, looking tired and a trifle harassed. He spoke first to Oonagh, exchanging only a word or two, but then he acknowledged his wife and apologized to Monk for being late. The moment after, the gong sounded and they went into the dining room.

They were into the second course when the embarrassment began. Hector had been sitting in relative silence, only making the occasional monosyllabic reply, until suddenly he looked across at Alastair, frowning at him and focusing his eyes with difficulty.

“I suppose it’s that case again,” he said with disgust “You should leave it alone. You lost. That’s the end of it.”

“No, Uncle Hector,” Alastair said wearily. “I was meeting with the sheriff over something quite new.”

Hector grunted and looked unconvinced, but it might have been that he was too drunk to have understood.

“It was a bad case, that. You ought to have won. I’m not surprised you still think about it.”

Oonagh filled her glass with wine from the decanter on the table and passed it across to Hector. He took it with a glance at her but he did not drink it straightaway.

“Alastair does not win or lose cases, Uncle Hector,” she said gently. “He decides whether there is sufficient evidence to prosecute or not. If there isn’t, there would be no point in bringing it to court. It would only waste public money.”

“And subject the person, most probably innocent, to a harrowing ordeal and public shame,” Monk added rather abruptly.

Oonagh flashed him a look of quick surprise. “Certainly, and that also.”

Hector looked at Monk as if he had only just remembered his presence.

“Oh yes… you’re the detective, aren’t you. Come to make sure of the case against that nurse. Pity.” He looked at Monk with acute disfavor. “I liked her. Nice girl. Courage. Takes a lot of courage for a woman to go out to a place like the Crimea, you know, and look after the wounded.” There was distinct hostility in his face. “You’d better be sure, young man. You’d better be damned sure you’ve got the right person.”

“I shall be,” Monk said grimly. “I am more dedicated to that than you can possibly know.”

Hector stared at him, then at last almost reluctantly began to drink Oonagh’s wine.

“There isn’t any doubt, Uncle Hector,” Quinlan said irritably. “If you were a little closer to sober you’d know that.”

“Would I!” Hector was annoyed. He put down the glass, very nearly spilling it. It was only saved by Eilish, on the other side, reaching forward and pulling a spoon handle out of the way. “Why would I?” Hector demanded, ignoring Eilish. “Why would I know that, Quinlan?”

“Well, apart from the fact that if it was not her then it was one of us,” Quinlan said, baring his teeth in a mockery of a smile, “she was the only one who had any reason. The brooch was found in her case.”

“Books,” Hector said with satisfaction.

“Books?” Quinlan was derisive. “What are you talking about? What books?”

A flash of temper crossed Hector’s face, but he changed his mind about letting go of it. “Company books,” he said with a smile. “Ledgers.”

There was a moment’s silence. Kenneth put down his knife and fork.

“Miss Latterly didn’t know anything about our company books, Uncle Hector,” Oonagh said quietly. “She only arrived in Edinburgh that morning.”

“Of course she didn’t,” Hector agreed crossly. “But we do.”

“Naturally we do,” Quinlan agreed. Monk thought he only just avoided adding “you fool.”

“And one of us knows whether they are right or wrong,” Hector went on doggedly.

Kenneth’s face was pink. “I do, Uncle Hector. It is my job to keep them. And they are right… to the farthing.”

“Of course they are,” Oonagh said frankly, looking first at Kenneth, then at Hector. “We all know you are distressed over Mother’s death, but you are beginning to speak irresponsibly, Uncle Hector. That does not do any of us justice. It would be a good idea if you were to stop discussing that subject before you say something we shall all regret.” Her eyes were very steady on his. “Mother would not have wished us to quarrel with each other, or make hurtful remarks like that.”

Hector looked numbed, as if for a moment he had forgotten Mary’s death, and then suddenly the whole weight of grief struck him again. The color fled from his face and he seemed about to collapse.