William Monk 02 - A Dangerous Mourning

Monk could have forgotten as he had her sister-in-law. From her vivid fire-gold hair, her curiously asymmetrical features, to her slender, stiff body, she was unique. When she came into the room she looked first at her father, ignored Cyprian and faced Monk with guarded interest, then turned back to her father.
    “Papa?”
    “Did Tavie say anything to you about learning somethingshocking or distressing recently?” Basil asked her. “Particularly the day before she died?”
    Araminta sat down and considered very carefully for several moments, without looking at anyone else in the room. “No,” she said at last. She regarded Monk with steady, amber-hazel eyes. “Nothing specific. But I was aware that she was extremely concerned about something which she learned that afternoon. I am sorry, I have no idea what it was. Do you believe that is why she was killed?”
    Monk looked at her with more interest than he had for anyone else he had yet seen in this house. There was an almost mesmeric intensity in her, and yet she was utterly composed. Her thin hands were tight in her lap, but her gaze was unwavering and penetratingly intelligent. Monk had no idea what wounds tore at the fabric of her emotions beneath, and he did not imagine he would easily frame any questions, no matter how subtle, which would cause her to betray them.
    “It is possible, Mrs. Kellard,” he answered. “But if you can think of any other motive anyone might have to wish her harm, or fear her, please let me know. It is only a matter of deduction. There is no evidence as yet, except that no one broke in.”
    “From which you conclude that it was someone already here,” she said very quietly. “Someone who lives in this house.”
    “It seems inescapable.”
    “I suppose it does.”
    “What kind of a woman was your sister, Mrs. Kellard? Was she inquisitive, interested in other people’s problems? Was she observant? An astute judge of character?”
    She smiled, a twisted gesture with half her face.
    “Not more than most women, Mr. Monk. In fact I think rather less. If she did discover anything, it will have been by chance, not because she went seeking it. You ask what kind of woman she was. The kind who walks into events, whose emotions lead her and she follows without regard to the price. She was the kind of woman who lurches into disaster without having foreseen it or understanding it once she is there.”
    Monk looked across at Basil and saw the intense concentration in his face, his eyes fixed on Araminta. There was noreflection in his expression of any other emotion, no grief, no curiosity.
    Monk turned to Cyprian. In him was the terrible hurt of memory and the knowledge of loss. His face was hard etched with pain, the realization of all the words that could not now be said, the affections unexpressed.
    “Thank you, Mrs. Kellard,” Monk said slowly. “If you think of anything else I should be obliged if you would tell me. How did you spend Monday?”
    “At home in the morning,” she answered. “I went calling in the afternoon, and I dined at home with the family. I spoke to Octavia several times during the evening, but I did not attach any particular importance to anything we said. It seemed totally trivial at the time.”
    “Thank you, ma’am.”
    She rose to her feet, inclined her head very slightly, and walked out without looking behind her.
    “Do you wish to see Mr. Kellard?” Basil asked with raised eyebrows, an air of contempt in his stance.
    The very fact that Basil questioned it made Monk accept.
    “If you please.”
    Basil’s face tightened, but he did not argue. He summoned Phillips and dispatched him to fetch Myles Kellard.
    “Octavia would not have confided in Myles,” Cyprian said to Monk.
    “Why not?” Monk asked.
    A look of distaste flickered across Basil’s face at the intrusive indelicacy of such a question, and he answered before Cyprian could. “Because they did not care for each other,” he replied tersely. “They were civil, of course.” His dark eyes regarded Monk quickly to make sure he understood that people of quality did not squabble like riffraff. “It seems most probable the poor girl spoke to no one about whatever she learned so disastrously, and we may never learn what it was.”
    “And whoever killed her will go unpunished,” Cyprian challenged. “That is monstrous.”
    “Of course not!” Basil was furious; his eyes blazed and the deep lines in his face altered to become harsh.