The Twisted Root

death. He learned of all manner of misfortune and of kindness. Cleo Anderson’s reputation was high. Few had a harsh word to say of her. Miriam also had earned a share of approval. It seemed often enough she had been willing to help in the duties of care, especially after she had been widowed and no longer had her time filled with seeing to the well-being of Mr. Gardiner.
    Monk followed every trail that seemed likely to lead to where Miriam might be now. By late morning he had crossed Sergeant Robb’s path twice and was wondering if Robb was equally aware of him. Surely he must be, by deduction even if he had not actually seen Monk.
    A little after midday he came around the corner of Prince Arthur Road and stopped abruptly. Ten yards ahead of him, Robb was glancing at his watch anxiously, and in reading the time he looked reluctantly, once, at a house on the farther side, then, biting his lip, set off at a very rapid pace the opposite way.
    For a moment Monk was confused, then he realized Robb was going in the direction of his home. His grandfather would have been alone since early in the morning, almost helpless, certainly needing food and, in this warm weather above all, fresh water to drink and assistance with his personal needs. Robb would never forget that, whatever the urgencies or the requirements of his job.
    Monk was moved with an acute pity for him, and also for the sick old man sitting alone day after day, dependent on a young man desperate to do his job and torn between two duties.
    But Monk’s first duty was towards Miriam Gardiner, because that was what Lucius Stourbridge had hired him for and what he had given his word to do. Robb had far more resources than he had, in information given to the police, his own local knowledge, and in his power to command cooperation. They wished the same thing, to find Miriam Gardiner, Monk because it was his final goal, Robb to learn from her what she knew of Treadwell’s murder, perhaps even to charge her with complicity in it. It was imperative Monk find her first.
    He sauntered slowly over towards the house Robb had eyed and had then left with such reluctance. He had no idea who lived there or what Robb had hoped to find, but there was no time to investigate more carefully. This was his only chance to gain the advantage. He knocked on the door and stepped back, waiting for it to be answered.
    The maid who peered out at him could not have been more than fourteen or fifteen years old, but she was determined to make a good impression.
    "Yes sir?"
    He smiled at her. "Good afternoon." Time was short. "Mrs. Gardiner asked me if I could carry a message to your mistress, if she is in." He wished he had some way of knowing the family name. It would have sounded more convincing.
    For a moment the girl looked blank, but she obviously wished to be helpful. "Are yer sure yer got the right ’ouse, sir? There’s no one but old Mr. ’Ornchurch ’ere."
    "Oh." He was confounded. What had Robb wanted with old Mr. Hornchurch?
    Her face brightened. "Mebbe she meant the ’ousekeeper? Mrs. Whitbread, as comes in every day an’ cooks an’ does fer Mr. ’Ornchurch. She was took bad the winter before last, an’ it were Mrs. Gardiner wot looked after ’er."
    He could feel the sweat of relief prickle on his skin. He swallowed before he could catch his breath. "Yes. Of course. That’s what I should have said. Perhaps it would be more convenient if I were to speak to Mrs. Whitbread at her home? Can you tell me how to get there from here?" The people Miriam would turn to would be the ones she had helped in their time of need.
    The girl looked dubious. "Mebbe. I’ll ask ’er. She don’ like nobody callin’ on ’er at ’ome. Reckon as when yer orff, yer wanna be private, like."
    "Of course," he agreed, still standing well back from the step. "I’m sure you could simply give her the message, if you would be so kind?"
    "I’m sure I could do that," she agreed, obviously relieved.
    He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket, and a pencil, and wrote "Tell Sergeant Robb nothing about Miriam," then folded the note twice, turning the ends in, and gave it to the girl. "Be sure to give it to her straightaway," he warned. "And if the police come here, be very careful what you say."
    Her eyes widened. "I will," she promised. "Never say nothin’ to the rozzers, that’s wot one ol’ man tol’ me. That’s the best. Known nothin’, seen nothin’, ’eard nothin’, me."
    "Very