William Monk 03 - Defend and Betray

skill for her to negotiate the carriage doors.
    As soon as she was well out of sight, Monk went to the back door and knocked. It was opened by the bootboy, looking expectant. His expression changed utterly when he saw Monk; apparently he had been anticipating someone else.
    “Yes?” he said with a not unfriendly frown. He was a smart lad and stood very straight, but there was a watchfulness in his eyes, a knowledge of hurt.
    “I was here before, speaking to Mrs. Furnival,” Monk began carefully, but already he felt a kind of excitement. “And she was kind enough to help me in enquiring into the tragedy of General Carlyon’s death.”
    The boy’s expression darkened, an almost imperceptible tightening of the skin around his eyes and mouth, a narrowing of the lips.
    “If you want Mrs. Furnival, you should ’ave gone to the front door,” he said warily.
    “I don’t, this time.” Monk smiled at him. “There are just a few details about other people who have called at the house in the past, and perhaps Master Valentine could help me. But I need to speak with one of your footmen, perhaps John.”
    “Well you’d better come in,” the bootboy said cautiously. “An’ I’ll ask Mr. Diggins, ’e’s the butler. I can’t let you do that meself.”
    “Of course not.” Monk followed him in graciously.
    “Wot’s your name, then?” the boy asked.
    “Monk—William Monk. What is yours?”
    “Who, me?” The boy was startled.
    “Yes—what is your name?” Monk made it casual.
    “Robert Andrews, sir. You wait ’ere, an’ I’ll see Mr. Diggins for yer.” And the boy straightened his shoulders again and walked out very uprightly, as if he were a soldier on parade. Monk was left in the scullery, pulse racing, thoughts teeming in his mind, longing to question the boy and knowing how infinitely delicate it was, and that a word or a look that was clumsy might make him keep silence forever.
    “What is it this time, Mr. Monk?” the butler asked when he returned a few minutes later. “I’m sure we’ve all told you all we know about that night. Now we’d just like to forget it and get on with our work. I’ll not ’ave you upsetting all our maids again!”
    “I don’t need to see the maids,” Monk said placatingly. “Just a footman would be quite sufficient, and possibly the bootboy. It is only about who called here frequently.”
    “Robert said something about Master Valentine.” The butler looked at Monk closely. “I can’t let you see him, not without the master’s or the mistress’s permission, and they’re both out at the present.”
    “I understand.” Monk chose not to fight when he knew he could not win. That would have to wait for another time. “I daresay you know everything that goes on in the house anyway. If you can spare the time?”
    The butler considered for a moment. He was not immune to flattery, if it were disguised well enough, and he certainly liked what was his due.
    “What is it you wish to know, in particular, Mr. Monk?” He turned and led the way towards his own sitting room, where they could be private, in case the matter should be in any way delicate. And regardless of that, it created the right impression in front of the other staff. It did not do to stand around discussing presumably private business in full view of everyone.
    “How often did General Carlyon come here to visit, either Mrs. Furnival or Master Valentine?”
    “Well, Mr. Monk, he used to come more often in the past, before he had his accident, sir. After that he came a lot less.”
    “Accident?”
    “Yes sir—when he injured his leg, sir.”
    “That would be when he was hurt with the knife. Cleaning the knife, and it slipped and gashed him in the thigh,” Monk said as levelly as he could.
    “Yes sir.”
    “Where did that happen? In what room?”
    “I’m afraid I don’t know, sir. Somewhere upstairs, I believe.Possibly in the schoolroom. There is an ornamental knife up there. At least there was. I haven’t seen it since then. May I ask why you need to know, sir?”
    “No reason in particular—just that it was a nasty thing to happen. Did anyone else visit Master Valentine regularly? Mr. Pole, for example?”
    “No sir, never that I know of.” The first question remained in the butler’s face.
    “Or Mr. Erskine?”
    “No sir, not as far as I know of. What would that have to do with the general’s death, Mr. Monk?”
    “I’m not sure,” Monk said candidly. “I think it’s