William Monk 02 - A Dangerous Mourning

outstare Monk, and then realized he could not intimidate him without a specific threat and that he was not prepared at this point to make one. He looked down again; he was not used to being defied, and he had no ready reaction. “Well pursue your investigation for the moment, but I will know in the end, I promise you.”
    Monk did not force his victory; it was too tenuous and the temper between them too volatile.
    “Yes sir, very possibly. Since she is the only other person you are aware of having known of this, may I speak with Lady Moidore, please?”
    “I doubt she can tell you anything. I dealt with the affair.”
    “I’m sure you did, sir. But she knew of it, and may have observed emotions in people that you did not. She would have opportunities not afforded you, domestic occasions; and women are more sensitive to such things, on the whole.”
    Basil hesitated.
    Monk thought of several arguments: the quick ending of the case, some justice for Octavia—and then caution argued that Octavia was dead and Basil might well think that saving the reputations of those alive was more important. He could do nothing for Octavia now, but he could still protect Araminta from deep shame and hurt. Monk ended by saying nothing.
    “Very well,” Basil agreed reluctantly. “But have the nurse present, and if Lady Moidore is distressed, you will cease immediately. Is that understood?”
    “Yes sir,” Monk said instantly. To have Hester’s impressionsalso was an advantage he had not thought to look for. “Thank you.”
    Again he was required to wait while Beatrice dressed appropriately for receiving the police, and some half an hour later it was Hester herself who came to the morning room to collect him and take him to the withdrawing room.
    “Shut the door,” he ordered as soon as she was inside.
    She obeyed, watching him curiously. “Do you know something?” she asked, her tone guarded, as though whatever it was she would find it only partly welcome.
    He waited until the latch was fast and she had returned to the center of the floor.
    “There was a maid here about two years ago who charged that Myles Kellard raped her, and she was promptly dismissed without a character.”
    “Oh—” She looked startled. Obviously she had heard nothing of it from the servants. Then, as amazement dissolved, she was furiously angry, the hot color in her cheeks. “You mean they threw her out? What happened to Myles?”
    “Nothing,” he said dryly. “What did you expect?”
    She stood stiffly, shoulders back, chin high, and stared at him. Then gradually she realized the inevitability of what he had said and that her first thought of justice and open judgment was never a reality.
    “Who knows about it?” she asked instead.
    “Only Sir Basil and Lady Moidore, so far as I am aware,” he replied. “That is what Sir Basil believes, anyway.”
    “Who told you? Not Sir Basil, surely?”
    He smiled with a hard, twisted grimace. “Percival, when he thought I was closing in on him. He certainly won’t go docilely into the darkness for them, whatever poor Martha Rivett did. If Percival goes down, he’ll do his best to take as many of the rest of them with him as he can.”
    “I don’t like him,” she said quietly, looking down. “But I can’t blame him for fighting. I think I would. I might suffer injustice for someone I loved—but not for these people, who are only too willing to see him take the blame to get it away from them. What are you going to ask Lady Moidore? You know it’s true—”
    “I don’t,” he contradicted. “Myles Kellard says she was a trollop who invited it—Basil doesn’t care whether that is trueor not. She couldn’t stay here after she’d accused Kellard—apart from the fact she was with child. All Basil cared about was clearing up the mess here and protecting Araminta.”
    The surprise was evident in her face. “She doesn’t know?”
    “You think she does?” he said quickly.
    “She hates him for something. It may not be that—”
    “Could be anything,” he agreed. “Even so, I can’t see how knowing that would be a reason for anyone to murder Octavia—even if the rape was what Octavia found out the day before she was killed.”
    “Neither do I,” she admitted. “There’s something very important we don’t know yet.”
    “And I don’t suppose I’ll learn it from Lady Moidore. Still, I had better go and see her now. I don’t want them to suspect we discuss them or they