what it was, but she refused to say.”
Basil was stunned and Cyprian stood paralyzed on the spot.
“Where had she been, Mr. Thirsk?” Monk asked quietly. “You said she was coming in.”
“I have no idea,” Septimus replied with the grief replacing anger in his eyes. “I asked her, but she would not tell me, except that one day I would understand, better than anyone else. That was all she would say.”
“Ask the coachman,” Cyprian said immediately. “He’ll know.”
“She didn’t go in our coaches.” Septimus caught Basil’s eye. “I mean your coaches,” he corrected pointedly. “She walked in. I presume she either walked all the way or found a hansom.”
Cyprian swore under his breath. Basil looked confused, and yet his shoulders eased under the black cloth of his jacket and he stared beyond them all out of the window. He spoke with his back to Monk.
“It seems, Inspector, as if the poor girl did hear something that day. It will be your task to discover what it was—and if you cannot do that, to deduce in some other way who it was who killed her. It is possible we may never discover why, and it hardly matters.” He hesitated, for a moment more absorbed in his own thoughts. No one intruded.
“If there is any further help the family can give you, we shall of course do so,” he continued. “Now it is past midday and I can think of no purpose in which we can assist you at present. Either you or your juniors are free to question the servants at any time you wish, without disturbing the family. I shall instruct Phillips to that effect. Thank you for your courtesy so far. I trust it will continue. You may report any progress you make to me, or if I am not present, to my son. I would prefer you did not distress Lady Moidore.”
“Yes, Sir Basil.” He turned to Cyprian. “Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Moidore.” Monk excused himself, and was shown out, not by the butler this time but by a very striking footman with bold eyes and a face whose handsomeness was spoiled only by a small, clever mouth.
In the hallway he saw Lady Moidore and had every intentionof passing her with no more than a polite acknowledgment, but she came towards him, dismissing the footman with a wave of her hand, and he had no option but to stop and speak with her.
“Good day, Lady Moidore.”
It was hard to tell how much the pallor of her face was natural, an accompaniment to her remarkable hair, but the wide eyes and the nervous movements were unmistakable.
“Good morning, Mr. Monk. My sister-in-law tells me you believe there was no intruder in the house. Is that so?”
He could save her nothing by lying. The news would be no easier coming from someone else, and the mere fact that he had lied would make it impossible for her to believe him in future. It would add another confusion to those already inevitable.
“Yes ma’am. I am sorry.”
She stood motionless. He could not even see the slight motion of her breathing.
“Then it was one of us who killed Tavie,” she said. She surprised him by not flinching from it or dressing it in evasive words. She was the only one in the family to make no pretense that it must have been one of the servants, and he admired her intensely for the courage that must have cost.
“Did you see Mrs. Haslett after she came in that afternoon, ma’am?” he asked more gently.
“Yes. Why?”
“It seems she learned something while she was out which distressed her, and according to Mr. Thirsk, she intended to pursue it and discover a final proof of the matter. Did she confide anything of it to you?”
“No.” Her eyes were so wide she seemed to stare at something so close to her she could not blink. “No. She was very quiet during dinner, and there was some slight unpleasantness with—” She frowned. “With both Cyprian and her father. But I assumed she had one of her headaches again. People are occasionally unpleasant with each other, especially when they live in the same
Basil was stunned and Cyprian stood paralyzed on the spot.
“Where had she been, Mr. Thirsk?” Monk asked quietly. “You said she was coming in.”
“I have no idea,” Septimus replied with the grief replacing anger in his eyes. “I asked her, but she would not tell me, except that one day I would understand, better than anyone else. That was all she would say.”
“Ask the coachman,” Cyprian said immediately. “He’ll know.”
“She didn’t go in our coaches.” Septimus caught Basil’s eye. “I mean your coaches,” he corrected pointedly. “She walked in. I presume she either walked all the way or found a hansom.”
Cyprian swore under his breath. Basil looked confused, and yet his shoulders eased under the black cloth of his jacket and he stared beyond them all out of the window. He spoke with his back to Monk.
“It seems, Inspector, as if the poor girl did hear something that day. It will be your task to discover what it was—and if you cannot do that, to deduce in some other way who it was who killed her. It is possible we may never discover why, and it hardly matters.” He hesitated, for a moment more absorbed in his own thoughts. No one intruded.
“If there is any further help the family can give you, we shall of course do so,” he continued. “Now it is past midday and I can think of no purpose in which we can assist you at present. Either you or your juniors are free to question the servants at any time you wish, without disturbing the family. I shall instruct Phillips to that effect. Thank you for your courtesy so far. I trust it will continue. You may report any progress you make to me, or if I am not present, to my son. I would prefer you did not distress Lady Moidore.”
“Yes, Sir Basil.” He turned to Cyprian. “Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Moidore.” Monk excused himself, and was shown out, not by the butler this time but by a very striking footman with bold eyes and a face whose handsomeness was spoiled only by a small, clever mouth.
In the hallway he saw Lady Moidore and had every intentionof passing her with no more than a polite acknowledgment, but she came towards him, dismissing the footman with a wave of her hand, and he had no option but to stop and speak with her.
“Good day, Lady Moidore.”
It was hard to tell how much the pallor of her face was natural, an accompaniment to her remarkable hair, but the wide eyes and the nervous movements were unmistakable.
“Good morning, Mr. Monk. My sister-in-law tells me you believe there was no intruder in the house. Is that so?”
He could save her nothing by lying. The news would be no easier coming from someone else, and the mere fact that he had lied would make it impossible for her to believe him in future. It would add another confusion to those already inevitable.
“Yes ma’am. I am sorry.”
She stood motionless. He could not even see the slight motion of her breathing.
“Then it was one of us who killed Tavie,” she said. She surprised him by not flinching from it or dressing it in evasive words. She was the only one in the family to make no pretense that it must have been one of the servants, and he admired her intensely for the courage that must have cost.
“Did you see Mrs. Haslett after she came in that afternoon, ma’am?” he asked more gently.
“Yes. Why?”
“It seems she learned something while she was out which distressed her, and according to Mr. Thirsk, she intended to pursue it and discover a final proof of the matter. Did she confide anything of it to you?”
“No.” Her eyes were so wide she seemed to stare at something so close to her she could not blink. “No. She was very quiet during dinner, and there was some slight unpleasantness with—” She frowned. “With both Cyprian and her father. But I assumed she had one of her headaches again. People are occasionally unpleasant with each other, especially when they live in the same
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