Wiliam Monk 01 - The Face of a Stranger

apprehension. Lovel came first, looking irritably from Fabia to Monk, and with surprise at Hester. He had obviously been interrupted while doing something he considered of far greater urgency.
    "What is it?" he said, frowning at his mother. "Has something further been discovered?"
    "Mr. Monk says he knows at last who killed Joscelin," she answered with masklike calm.
    "Who?"
    "He has not told me. He is waiting for Menard."
    Lovel turned to Hester, his face puckered with confusion. "Miss Latterly?"
    "The truth involves the death of my father also, Lord Shelburne," she explained gravely. "There are parts of it which I can tell you, so you understand it all."
    The first shadow of anxiety touched him, but before he could press her further Menard came in, glanced from one to another of them, and paled.
    "Monk finally knows who killed Joscelin," Lovel explained. "Now for heaven's sake, get on with it. I presume you have arrested him?"
    "It is in hand, sir." Monk found himself more polite to them all than previously. It was a form of distancing himself, almost a sort of verbal defense.
    "Then what is it you want of us?" Lovel demanded.
    It was like plunging into a deep well of ice.
    "Major Grey made his living out of his experience in the Crimean War—" Monk began. Why was he so mealy-mouthed? He was dressing it in sickening euphemisms.
    "My son did not 'make his living' as you put it!" Fabia snapped. "He was a gentleman—there was no necessity. He had an allowance from the family estates."
    "Which didn't begin to cover the expenses of the way he liked to live," Menard said savagely. "If you'd ever looked at him closely, even once, you would have known that."
    "I did know it." Lovel glared at his brother. "I assumed he was successful at cards."
    "He was—sometimes. At other times he'd lose—heavily— more than he had. He'd go on playing, hoping to get it back, ignoring the debts—until I paid them, to save the family honor."
    "Liar," Fabia said with withering disgust. "You were always jealous of him, even as a child. He was braver, kinder and infinitely more charming than you." For a moment a brief glow of memory superseded the present and softened all the lines of anger in her fece—then the rage returned deeper man before. "And you couldn't forgive him for it."
    Dull color burned up Menard's face and he winced as if he had been struck. But he did not retaliate. There was still in his eyes, in the turn of his lips, a pity for her which concealed the bitter truth.
    Monk hated it. Futilely he tried again to think of any way he could to avoid exposing Menard even now.
    The door opened and Callandra Daviot came in, meeting Hester's eyes, seeing the intense relief in them, then the contempt in Fabia's eyes and the anguish in Menard's.
    "This is a family concern," Fabia said, dismissing her. "You need not trouble yourself with it."
    Callandra walked past Hester and sat down.
    “In case you have forgotten, Fabia, I was born a Grey. Something which you were not. I see the police are here. Presumably they have learned more about Joscelin's death—possibly even who was responsible. What are you doing here, Hester?"
    Again Hester took the initiative. Her face was bleak and she stood with her shoulders stiff as if she were bracing herself against a blow.
    "I came because I know a great deal about Joscelin's death, which you may not believe from anyone else."
    "Then why have you concealed it until now," Fabia said with heavy disbelief. "I think you are indulging in a most vulgar intrusion, Miss Latterly, which I can only presume is
    a result of that same willful nature which drove you to go traipsing off to the Crimea. No wonder you are unmarried.''
    Hester had been called worse things than vulgar, and by people for whose opinion she cared a great deal more than she did for Fabia Grey's.
    "Because I did not know it had any relevance before," she said levelly. "Now I do. Joscelin came to visit my parents after my brother was lost in the Crimea. He told them he had lent George a gold watch the night before his death. He asked for its return, assuming it was found among George's effects." Her voice dropped a fraction and her back became even stiffer. "There was no watch in George's effects, and my father was so embarrassed he did what he could to make amends to Joscelin—with hospitality, money to invest in Joscelin's business enterprise, not only his own but his friends' also. The business failed and my father's money, and all