William Monk 02 - A Dangerous Mourning

you aren’t the man Papa was, but I didn’t imagine you would go to pieces like this and allow everything around you to fall apart as well.”
    “If you don’t care for it here, my dear,” he said with viciousness, “you may always find somewhere that suits you better, and run it according to your own standards.”
    “That’s just the sort of thing I would expect you to say,”she retorted. “But you can hardly throw me out in the street now—too many people are looking at you, and what would they say? The fine Sir Basil, the rich Sir Basil”—her face was twisted with contempt—“the noble Sir Basil whom everyone respects, has thrown his widowed sister out of his home. I doubt it, my dear, I doubt it. You always wanted to live up to Papa, and then you wanted to exceed him. What people think of you matters more than anything else. I imagine that’s why you hated poor Harry Haslett’s father so much, even at school—he did with ease what you had to work so hard for. Well you’ve got it now—money, reputation, honors—you won’t jeopardize it by putting me out. What would it look like?” She laughed abrasively. “What would people say? Just get your servants to do their duty.”
    “Has it occurred to you, Fenella, that they are treating you like this because you betrayed their vulnerabilities in public from the witness stand—and brought it upon yourself?” His face was set in an expression of loathing and disgust, but there was also a touch of pleasure in it, a satisfaction that he could hurt. “You made an exhibition of yourself, and servants don’t forgive that.”
    She stiffened, and Hester could imagine the color rising up her cheeks.
    “Are you going to speak to them or not? Or do they just do as they please in this house?”
    “They do as
I
please, Fenella,” he said very quietly. “And so does everyone else. No, I am not going to speak to them. It amuses me that they should take their revenge on you. As far as I am concerned, they are free to continue. Your tea will be cold, your breakfast burnt, your fire out and your linen lost as long as they like.”
    She was too furious to speak. She let out a gasp of rage, swung on her heel and stormed out, head high, skirts rattling and swinging so wide they caught an ornament on the side table and sent it crashing.
    Basil smiled with deep, hard, inward pleasure.
       Monk had already found two small jobs since he advertised his services as a private inquiry agent prepared to undertake investigations outside police interest, or to continue with cases from which the police had withdrawn. One was a matter ofproperty, and of very little reward other than that of a quickly satisfied customer and a few pounds to make sure of at least another week’s lodging. The second, upon which he was currently engaged, was more involved and promised some variety and pursuit—and possibly the questioning of several people, the art for which his natural talents fitted him. It concerned a young woman who had married unfortunately and been cut off by her family, who now wished to find her again and heal the rift. He was prospering well, but after the outcome of the trial of Percival he was deeply depressed and angry. Not that he had for a moment expected anything different, but there was always a stubborn hope, even until the last, more particularly when he heard Oliver Rathbone was engaged. He had very mixed emotions about the man; there was a personal quality in him which Monk found intensely irritating, but he had no reservations in the admiration of his skill or the conviction of his dedication.
    He had written to Hester Latterly again, to arrange a meeting in the same chocolate house in Regent Street, although he had very little idea what it might accomplish.
    He was unreasonably cheered when he saw her coming in, even though her face was sober and when she saw him her smile was only momentary, a matter of recognition, no more.
    He rose to pull out her chair, then sat opposite, ordering hot chocolate for her. They knew each other too honestly to need the niceties of greeting or the pretense at inquiry after health. They could approach what burdened them without prevarication.
    He looked at her gravely, the question in his eyes.
    “No,” she answered. “I haven’t learned anything that I can see is of use. But I am certain beyond doubt at all that Lady Moidore does not believe that Percival is guilty, but neither does she know who is. At moments she