William Monk 02 - A Dangerous Mourning

about her. “I do not need anyone to lead me astray! I am perfectly capable of going on my own!”
    Miss Newhouse stared at her, nonplussed.
    Callandra coughed hard into her handkerchief.
    “But not as much fun, going astray alone, is it?” Rathbone said with brilliant eyes and lips barely refraining from a smile. “Hardly worth the journey!”
    Hester swung around and met his gaze. “I may go alone, Mr. Rathbone, but I am perfectly sure I would not find the ground uninhabited when I got there!”
    His smile broadened, showing surprisingly beautiful teeth. He held out his arm in invitation.
    “May I? Just to your carriage,” he said with an expressionless face.
    She was unable to stop laughing, and the fact that Miss Newhouse obviously did not know what was funny only added to her enjoyment.
    * * *
    The following day Callandra sent her footman to the police station with a note requesting that Monk wait upon her at his earliest convenience. She gave no explanation for her desire to see him and she certainly did not offer any information that would be of interest or use.
    Nevertheless in the late morning he presented himself at her door and was duly shown in. He had a deep regard for her, of which she was aware.
    “Good morning, Mr. Monk,” she said courteously. “Please be seated and make yourself comfortable. May I offer you refreshment of some kind? Perhaps a hot chocolate? The morning is seasonably unpleasant.”
    “Thank you,” he accepted, his face rather evidently showing his puzzlement as to why he had been sent for.
    She rang for the maid, and when she appeared, requested the hot chocolate. Then she turned to Monk with a charming smile.
    “How is your case progressing?” She had no idea which case he was engaged on, but she had no doubt there would be one.
    He hesitated just long enough to decide whether the question was a mere politeness until the chocolate should arrive or whether she really wished to know. He decided the latter.
    “Little bits and pieces of evidence all over the place,” he replied. “Which do not as yet seem to add up to anything.”
    “Is that frequent?”
    A flash of humor crossed his face. “It is not unknown, but these seem unusually erratic. And with a family like Sir Basil Moidore’s, one does not press as one might with less socially eminent people.”
    She had the information she needed.
    “Of course not. It must be very difficult indeed. And the public, by way of the newspapers, and the authorities also, will naturally be pressing very hard for a solution.”
    The chocolate came and she served them both, permitting the maid to leave immediately. The beverage was hot, creamy and delicious, and she saw the satisfaction in Monk’s face as soon as his lips touched it.
    “And you are at a disadvantage that you can never observe them except under the most artificial of circumstances,” she went on, seeing his rueful agreement. “How can you possiblyask them the questions you really wish, when they are so forewarned by your mere presence that all their answers are guarded and designed to protect? You can only hope their lies become so convoluted as to trap some truth.”
    “Are you acquainted with the Moidores?” He was seeking for her interest in the matter.
    She waved a hand airily. “Only socially. London is very small, you know, and most good families are connected with each other. That is the purpose of a great many marriages. I have a cousin of sorts who is related to one of Beatrice’s brothers. How is she taking the tragedy? It must be a most grievous time for her.”
    He set down his chocolate cup for a moment. “Very hard,” he replied, concentrating on a memory which puzzled him. “To begin with she seemed to be bearing it very well, with great calm and inner strength. Now quite suddenly she has collapsed and withdrawn to her bedroom. I am told she is ill, but I have not seen her myself.”
    “Poor creature,” Callandra sympathized. “But most unhelpful to your inquiries. Do you imagine she knows something?”
    He looked at her acutely. He had remarkable eyes, very dark clear gray, with an undeviating gaze that would have quelled quite a few people, but Callandra could have outstared a basilisk.
    “It occurs to me,” he said carefully.
    “What you need is someone inside the house whom the family and servants would consider of no importance,” she said as if the idea had just occurred to her. “And of course quite unrelated to the