The Face of a Stranger by Anne Perry Page B

Shelburne's letter.
    "We believe it was someone who knew Major Grey," he answered
her. "And planned to kill him."
    "Nonsense!" Her response was immediate. "Why should
anyone who knew my son have wished to kill him? He was a man of the greatest
charm; everyone liked him, even those who barely knew him." She stood up
and walked over towards the window, her back half to him. "Perhaps that is
difficult for you to understand; but you never met him. Lovel, my eldest son,
has the sobriety, the sense of responsibility, and something of a gift to
manage men; Menard is excellent with facts and figures. He can make anything
profitable; but it was Joscelin who had the charm, Joscelin who could make one
laugh." There was a catch in her voice now, the sound of real grief.
“Menard cannot sing as Joscelin could; and Lovel has no imagination. He will
make an excellent master of Shelburne. He will govern it well and be just to
everyone, as just as it is wise to be—but my God"—there was sudden heat in
her voice, almost passion—"compared with Joscelin, he is such a
bore!"
    Suddenly Monk was touched by the sense of loss that came through her
words, the loneliness, the feeling that something irrecoverably pleasing had
gone from her life and part of her could only look backwards from now on.
    "I'm sorry," he said, and he meant it deeply. "I know it
cannot bring him back, but we will find the man, and he will be punished."
    "Hanged," she said tonelessly. "Taken out one morning
and his neck broken on the rope."
    "Yes."
    "That is of little use to me." She turned back to him.
"But it is better than nothing. See to it that it is done."
    It was dismissal, but he was not yet ready to go. There were things he
needed to know. He stood up.
    "I mean to, ma'am; but I still need your help—"
    "Mine?" Her voice expressed surprise, and disapproval.
    "Yes ma'am. If I am to learn who hated Major Grey
    enough to kill him"—he caught her expression—"for whatever
reason. The finest people, ma'am, can inspire envy, or greed, jealousy over a
woman, a debt of honor that cannot be paid—"
    "Yes, you make your point." She blinked and the muscles in
her thin neck tightened. "What is your name?"
    "William Monk."
    "Indeed. And what is it you wish to know about my son, Mr.
Monk?"
    "To start with, I would like to meet the rest of the family."
    Her eyebrows rose in faint, dry amusement.
    "You think I am biased, Mr. Monk, that I have told you something
less than the truth?"
    "We frequently show only our most flattering sides to those we care
for most, and who care for us," he replied quietly.
    "How perceptive of you." Her voice was stinging. He tried to
guess what well-covered pain was behind those words.
    "When may I speak to Lord Shelburne?" he asked. "And
anyone else who knew Major Grey well?"
    "If you consider it necessary, I suppose you had better." She
went back to the door. "Wait here, and I shall ask him to see you, when it
is convenient." She pulled the door open and walked through without
looking back at him.
    He sat down, half facing the window. Outside a woman in a plain stuff
dress walked past, a basket on her arm. For a wild moment memory surged back to
him. He saw in his mind a child as well, a girl with dark hair, and he knew the
cobbled street beyond the trees, going down to the water. There was something
missing; he struggled for it, and then knew it was wind, and the scream of
gulls. It was a memory of happiness, of complete safety. Childhood—perhaps his
mother, and Beth?
    Then it was gone. He fought to add to it, focus it more sharply and see
the details again, but nothing else came.
    He was an adult back in Shelburne, with the murder of Joscelin Grey.
    He waited for another quarter of an hour before the door opened again
and Lord Shelburne came in. He was about thirty-eight or forty, heavier of
build than Joscelin Grey, to judge by the description and the clothes; but Monk
wondered if Joscelin had also