Anne Perry - Funeral in Blue

He told her Niemann’s theory that Sarah killed Elissa, and then Allardyce in turn killed Sarah.

She looked skeptical. “I don’t believe it, but I know of no reason why it couldn’t be possible. But we must persuade Imogen to testify. That will corroborate what Niemann says about Allardyce definitely being there. If she won’t, I suppose we can always oblige her to?”

“Yes. . but it would be. . unpleasant.”

“I know.” She straightened her shoulders. “We need to go tonight.” As she said it she turned and went for her coat.

They had to walk in the fine rain down to Tottenham Court Road before they could find a hansom, and directed it to Charles and Imogen’s house. They rode in silence. There was no point in planning what to say, there was only the truth, and no time or purpose in dressing it this way or that.

The butler opened the door looking startled and considerably put out. He was obviously about to give a very abrupt answer until he recognized Hester, then his expression turned to alarm. “Is everything all right, Mrs. Monk?” he said nervously.

“There has not been any accident, thank you,” she replied. “But we do have a concern which unfortunately cannot wait until morning. Would you be good enough to tell Mr. Latterly that we are here, and Mrs. Latterly also. We need to speak with them as urgently as possible.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He glanced at Monk. “Sir. If you will come this way, I shall rake the fire in the withdrawing room and get it going again-”

“I can do that,” Monk cut across him. “Thank you. If you would be good enough to fetch Mrs. Latterly.”

The butler looked startled, but he did not argue.

In the withdrawing room, Monk lit the gas and turned it up until the room was as light as possible, then moved over and worked at the fire until it started to burn again. It was not difficult; the embers were still hot and it only required the riddling away of the clogging ash and a little new coal. He was finished before the door opened and Charles came in.

“What is it?” he asked, turning from Hester to Monk, and back again. He looked tired and drawn, but not as if he had been asleep. He greeted them only perfunctorily. “What’s happened?” No one mentioned the trial; it was unnecessary to say that it was concerning Kristian, and Elissa’s death, that they had come. The subject crowded everything else from their thoughts.

Hester answered him, to save Monk the difficulty of trying to word it so as to spare his feelings. There was no time for that. She hated having to tell Charles, to see his fear and embarrassment, but there was no evasion possible.

“Max Niemann saw Imogen leaving the gambling house on the night Elissa was killed.” Odd how she spoke of her, even thought of her, by her Christian name, as if she had known her. “Niemann saw Allardyce there, too, meaning that he was not miles away, as he swore. If Imogen also saw him, it could help to raise reasonable doubt enough to acquit Kristian.”

Charles was very pale, almost jaundiced-looking in the yellow glare of the gas. “I see,” he said slowly. “And you want her to testify.”

“Yes!” Thank heaven at least he understood. “I am afraid it is necessary.”

Silence almost clogged the air. There was no sound at all but the faint whickering of the flames in the fireplace as they burned up and caught the new coal Monk had placed in there.

“I’m sorry,” Hester said gently.

The tiniest of smiles touched Charles’s mouth.

The door opened and Imogen came in. She had dressed, but not bothered to pin up her hair. It hung loose in a cloud of dark waves about her head. Just for an instant, before she came into the direct light of the lamp, she could have been one of Allardyce’s paintings of Elissa come to life.

“What is it?” she asked, looking straight at Hester. “What’s happened?”

It was Charles who answered. It was clear he was torn between swift honesty and trying to soften the blow for her to shield her from embarrassment. He should have known it was impossible. Perhaps he did, but still could not break the habit of a lifetime. “Allardyce was seen near his studio on the night Mrs. Beck was killed,” he began. “That means he could be guilty after all. The person who saw him also saw you. .” He flushed as her body stiffened. “And if you saw him, then that would be additional proof that he was there.”

“Why should anyone doubt it?” she said quickly. “If this other person says he saw him, isn’t that enough?”

Charles looked at Monk questioningly.

“He is a friend of Kristian Beck’s,” Monk answered. “They may believe he is saying it simply to defend him. He needs corroboration.”

Imogen looked at Charles, her eyes wide. Hester tried to read her expression. It was more than fear alone. Was it shame, even some kind of apology for having to admit publicly where she was and that she had gone without him? It would humiliate him publicly. Had she any idea what else had happened to him at the club that night?

Charles was standing close to her, as if in some way he could physically protect her. She looked at him, but the angle of his shoulders kept a distance between them, a separation.

“It is the only honorable thing to do,” Charles said quietly. He looked at Monk. “Describe this man, exactly where he was, and when. Perhaps Imogen should see him in person?”

“No,” Monk responded hastily. “If we bring him here we shall be prejudicing her testimony. The prosecution will very quickly point out that we, too, are friends of Kristian’s and could have arranged it. It is best the first time she sees him is in court. Pendreigh can call him, and then call Imogen to testify.”

Imogen turned to him. She was shivering, her eyes fever-bright. “But I can’t help! I have no idea who else was in the street that evening. I wouldn’t be able to point to the right man. I think I might only make things worse. I. . I’m sorry.”

Charles stared at her. “Are you sure? Think back. Try to put yourself there again. Think of leaving the. . the house, stepping-”

“I can’t remember!” she interrupted. “I’m sorry. I was simply staring ahead of myself. I could have passed anyone, for all I noticed!” She turned away and smiled apology at Monk, then at Hester, but the refusal in her face was final.

Monk put Hester into the hansom to send her back home to Grafton Street, and he took another to Lamb’s Conduit Street, where Runcorn lived. It was after midnight when he woke Runcorn by banging on the door. As he had expected, it was several minutes before Runcorn appeared, rumpled and half asleep, but as soon as he recognized Monk in the eerie glow of the streetlights, his hair plastered to his face in the rain, he opened the door wider to invite him in.

“Well?” he said as soon as they were in the small hallway. “What did you find in Vienna? Anything?”

“Yes.” Somehow being with Runcorn in this close, ordinary hallway took Monk back to the facets of police procedure, of the law, of what the realities were, separated from the emotions of love and need. As Runcorn went into the kitchen ahead of him, Monk pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat down.

Runcorn turned up the gas and went to riddle the ashes out of the black stove and try to get it burning hot again. “Well?” he said with his back to the room.

“I brought Niemann back,” Monk replied. “He’s more than willing to testify, both to Kristian’s good character. .”

Runcorn swiveled around on his haunches and glared at Monk.

Monk rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath. For all the years of rivalry and dislike, the petty quarrels between them, they shared more beliefs than he had thought even a month ago, and they knew each other too well to hedge around with half-truths. He looked up at Runcorn, who had risen to his feet. The stove was beginning to draw again, and the heart of the fire burned red.