Anne Perry - The Twisted Root

Robb looked thoughtful, biting his lips. "And no one gave you any idea why Mrs. Gardiner should have run off in this way?"

"No."

"Where did Treadwell serve before Bayswater? Where was he born?"

Monk felt himself flush with annoyance. They were obvious questions, and he had not thought to ask them. It was a stupid oversight. He had concentrated on Miriam, thinking of Treadwell only as someone to drive the coach for her. It was instinctive to try to defend himself, but there was nothing to say which would not make his omission look worse.

"I don’t know." The words were hollow, an open failure.

Robb was tactful. He even seemed faintly relieved.

"And about her?" he asked.

This time Monk could answer, and did as fully as he knew.

Robb thought for several moments before he spoke again.

"So a relationship between Mrs. Gardiner and this coachman is unlikely, but it is not impossible. It seems she turned to him to take her away from the Stourbridge house, at least." He looked at Monk nervously. "And you still have no idea why?"

"None."

Robb grunted. "I cannot stop you looking for her also, of course, and perhaps finding her before I do. But if she is involved in this crime, even as a witness, and you assist her, I shall charge you!" His young face was set, his lips tight.

"Of course," Monk agreed. "I would in your place." That was unquestionably true. He had a suspicion from what he had learned of himself and the past that Robb was being gentler with him than he had been with others. He smiled bleakly. "Thank you for your civility. I expect we’ll meet again. Good day."

Monk arrived home at Fitzroy Street a little after seven and found dinner ready and Hester waiting for him. It was extremely satisfying. The house was clean and smelled faintly of lavender and polish. There were fresh flowers on the table, a white cloth with blue cross-stitch patterns on it, and crockery and silverware. Hester served cold game pie with crisp pastry and hot vegetables, then an egg custard with nutmeg grated over the top, and lastly cheese and crusty bread. There were even a few early strawberries to finish. He sat back with a feeling of immense well-being to watch Hester clear away the dishes, and was pleased to see her return some twenty-five minutes later ready to sit down and talk with him for the rest of the evening. He wanted to tell her about Treadwell, and about Robb and his grandfather.

"Did you find the coach yet?" she asked.

He leaned back in the chair, crossing his legs.

"Yes. And I found Treadwell also." He saw her eyes widen, then the knowledge came into her face that there was far more to what he said. She understood the tragedy before he put it into words. She did not ask him, but waited.

"I went to the local police station to see if they had seen the coach. The sergeant was occupied with a murder case, but he spared me a few minutes …" He knew she would leap to the conclusion before he told her.

"Treadwell!" She swallowed. "Not Miriam, too?" Her voice was strained with expectation of pain.

"No," he said quickly. "There’s no sign of her at all. I would not have had to mention her, except that I brought Major Stourbridge to identify Treadwell, and Lucius insisted on coming as well. Of course, they had to ask Robb about her."

"Robb is the sergeant?"

"Yes." He described him for her, trying to bring to life in words both the gentleness he had seen in the young man and the determination, and a little of the edge of his nervousness, his need to succeed.

He saw in her face that he had caught her interest. She had understood that there was far more he had not yet told her.

"How was Treadwell killed?" she asked.

"With a blow over the head with something hard and heavy."

"Did he fight?"

"No. It was as if he was taken by surprise."

"Where was he found?" She was leaning forward now, her attention wholly absorbed.

"On the path of a small house on Green Man Hill, just off the Heath."

"That’s close to the hospital," she said quietly. "One or two of our part-time nurses live around there."

"I doubt he was going to see a nurse," he said dryly, but it brought to mind his visit with Robb to the old man, and the poverty in which they lived. Robb’s return home would be so different from his own, no wife with a fine meal ready and a quiet evening in the last of the sun. He would find a sick old man who needed caring for, washing, feeding, cleaning often, and who was always either in distress or close to it. Money must be scarce. The medicines alone would be expensive, and perhaps hard to come by.

"What?" she said softly, as if reading his thoughts, or at least his emotions.

He told her about his lunchtime visit, his feelings pouring through his words in a kind of release. He had not realized how much it had cost to contain them within himself, until now that he could share them with her with the certainty that she understood. He could sense her response as surely as if she had answered every sentence, although she did not interrupt at all. Only when he was finished did she speak.

"I’ll go and see him. Perhaps the hospital can-"

He did not allow her to complete the words. "No, you won’t!" He did not even know why he said it, except that he did not want Robb to think he had interfered, implying that he was not looking after the old man adequately. For someone else to go in unasked would be an intrusion.

Hester stiffened, the whole angle of her body changed.

"I beg your pardon?" Her voice was cool.

Now was the time to make sure she understood him and it was plain between them where the bounds of authority lay.

"You are not to interfere," he stated clearly. He did not explain why. His reasons were good, but that was not the point. If he explained now, she would require an explanation every time. "It would be inappropriate."

"Why?" she asked, her eyes bright and challenging.

He had not intended to allow an argument. In fact, this was precisely what he had meant to avoid.

"I am not going to discuss it," he replied. "I’ve told you, that is sufficient." He rose to his feet to signal the end of the matter. Robb would be offended. He might very easily feel Monk believed his care of his grandfather was not good enough. Or worse, he might feel some implied pressure because he was using police time to go home and attend to the old man.

Hester rose also. Her voice was low and very precise, each word spoken carefully. "Are you telling me whether I may or may not do what I believe to be right, William?"

"You may do anything that is right," he said with a tiny smile of relief, because she had offered him a route of escape. "Always. This is not right."

"You mean I may do what you believe to be right?" she challenged.

"You may," he agreed. "You do not have to. The choice is yours." And with that he went out into the office, leaving her in the middle of the floor, furious. It was not what he wanted at all, but it was a victory that mattered. There were any number of reasons why he must be master in his own home, for the happiness of both of them. When her temper cooled, she would appreciate that.

He sat in the room alone for over an hour, but she did not join him. At first he missed her, then he became irritated. She was childish. She could not expect to have her own way in everything.

But she always had! He remembered with considerable disquiet how she had governed her own life in the past, how willful she had been. Even the hospital authorities could not tolerate her-and did not. She was opinionated in everything, and not loath to express these opinions even at the least-opportune moments-and with a wit which made them even more offensive to some. He had laughed when he had not been on the receiving end. It was less funny when he was.