Anne Perry - The Sins of the Wolf

As if reading his thoughts, or perhaps his face, she pulled the corners of her mouth into a grimace. “It doesn’t look well in here, does it? I think I shall have it removed. I would prefer fresh leaves to this, wouldn’t you?”

It was unnerving to have one’s thoughts so easily observed. It made him wonder if she had seen the lies he had told as well, and simply chose not to remark on them.

“I don’t care for artificial flowers,” he agreed, forcing himself to keep the smile on his face.

“You must have worked very hard,” she went on quite casually.

For a moment he had no idea what she meant, then with a jolt he realized she was referring to his report on Deirdra again. Had he overstated his findings? How could he substantiate such answers if she were to ask him how he knew?

“You are quite sure of what you say?” she pressed. There was a flicker of amusement in her eyes-or was it perception?

There was nothing to do but be brazen. He made the same laughter reflect in his own face. It was not difficult.

“Yes, I am quite certain that I have no evidence that she is anything more than extravagant and unaware of the amount she needs to pay rather than can be persuaded to pay,” he answered. “And there is much evidence that she is, in all ways that matter, a thoroughly respectable woman.”

She was standing with her back to the window and the light made a halo of her hair.

“Hmm.” She sighed a little. “All in so short a time, and yet it has taken you many days to search for evidence that will convict Miss Latterly…”

He should have foreseen that, and he had not. He thought quickly.

“Miss Latterly has taken a great deal of trouble to hide any such evidence, Mrs. Mclvor. Mrs. Farraline had nothing to hide. Murder hardly compares with a little extravagance in one’s dressmaker, milliner, glover, hosier, bootmaker, haberdasher, furrier, jeweler or perfumier.”

“Great heavens!” She laughed, turning to face him. “What an array of people! Yes, perhaps I begin to understand. Anyway, I am obliged to you, and also for having the courtesy to tell me so rapidly. How is your own investigation proceeding?”

“So far I can find nothing with which the defense could trap us,” he said truthfully. “I should like very much to learn where she obtained the extra digitalis, but either it was not from an apothecary locally or, if it was, they prefer to remain silent about it.”

“I suppose that would not be altogether surprising. The sale would make them, however innocently, party to the murder,” she said, watching his face. “People do not like to compromise their reputations, especially if they are in business. It would not improve his trade.”

“No.” He pursed his lips. “Although I would like to have found him. The defense will point out that she had very little time in which she could have left the house. She was in a city she did not know-she cannot have gone far.”

Oonagh drew breath as if to say something, then let it out in a sigh.

“Have you given up, Mr. Monk?” There was only the faintest shadow of challenge in her voice, and disappointment.

He too nearly spoke before thinking. It was on the edge of his tongue to deny it fiercely, then he realized how the emotion would betray him. Carefully he masked his feelings.

“Not yet,” he said casually. “But I am close to it. I may soon have done all I can to assure the outcome.”

“I hope you will call on us again before you leave Edinburgh?” There was nothing in her face. She needed no artifice and she knew it. Such a thing would be beneath her.

“Thank you, I should like to. You have been most courteous.”

He excused himself, and in the empty hall, after she had returned to the nether part of the house, he ran lightly to the stairs and up them to search for Hector Farraline. If he waited for McTeer he would have to explain why he wished to see Hector, and would very likely be politely refused.

He knew the geography of the house from his earlier visits, when he had questioned the servants and been shown Mary’s bedroom, the boudoir and the dressing room where the cases and the medicine cabinet had been.

He found Hector’s room without difficulty and knocked on the door. It was opened almost immediately with eagerness which was explained when Hector’s face fell, and Monk realized he had been expecting someone else, probably McTeer with a little refreshment. Monk had observed that the family did not restrict Hector his liquid sustenance, or seem to make any stringent efforts to keep him sober.

“Oh, the detective, again,” Hector said disapprovingly.

“Not that ye’ve found out a damn thing all the time ye’ve been here! Some poor fool’s paying ye money for naught.”

Monk went in and closed the door behind him. In other circumstances he might have lost his temper at such language, but he was too intent upon what he might learn from Hector.

“I came looking to find evidence that the defense would put up to clear Miss Latterly,” he answered with a candid glance at the older man. He still looked ill, red-eyed and pale-faced, his movement shambling.

“Why did she kill Mary?” Hector said wretchedly, crumpling into the large leather chair near the window. He did not bother to invite Monk to sit down. The room was very masculine; there were scores of books in an oak case against one wall, too far away for Monk to read the titles. A very fine watercolor painting of a Napoleonic hussar hung above the mantelpiece, and another of a soldier of the Royal Scots Greys was on the wall opposite. A little below it was a portrait of an officer in full Highland dress. He was a young man, handsome, with fine features, thick fair hair and wide level eyes. It was several minutes before Monk recognized it as Hector himself, probably thirty years ago. What on earth had happened to the man in that time to change him from what he had been to the pathetic wreck he was now? Surely it must have been more than simply an elder brother with more character, more intelligence and more courage? Were envy and defeat such virulent diseases?

“Why would a woman like that risk everything for a few pearls?” Hector demanded, his voice suddenly sharp with irritation. “It makes no sense, man. She’ll be hanged… there’ll be no mercy for her, ye know?”

“Yes,” Monk said very quietly, his throat dry. “I do know. You said something the other day about the company books being falsified…”

“Oh, aye. So they are.” Hector said it without the slightest hesitation, and almost without expression.

“By whom?”

Hector blinked. “By whom?” he repeated, as if the question were a curious thing to ask. “I’ve no idea. Maybe Kenneth. He’s the bookkeeper-but he’d be a fool to do it. It’d be so obvious. But then he is a fool.”

“Is he?”

Hector looked at him, realizing he was asking a question, not merely responding to a casual remark.

“Not over anything specific,” he said slowly. “Just a general opinion.”

Monk was certain he was lying, and equally certain he had no intention of telling anyone precisely what Kenneth had done to earn his contempt.

“How do you know?” he asked, sitting down on the smaller, more upright chair opposite him.

“What?” Hector looked composed. “I live in the same house with him, for heaven’s sake. Have done for years. What’s the matter with you, man?”

Monk was surprised with himself that he was so little irritated.

“I realize how you know he’s a fool,” he said calmly. “I don’t know how you know the books have been meddled with.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Well, how do you know?”

Hector looked far away. “Something Mary said. Can’t remember what, exactly. Annoyed about it though. Very.”