William Monk 03 - Defend and Betray

bedrooms by a guest suite, presently unused.
    She knocked briefly but opened the door without waiting for a reply. Inside the large airy room was furnished as a schoolroom with tables, a large blackboard and several bookcases and a schoolteacher’s desk. The windows opened onto other roofs, and the green boughs of a great tree. Inside, sitting on the bench by the window, was a slender dark boy of perhaps thirteen or fourteen years of age. His features were regular, with a long nose, heavy eyelids and clear blue eyes. He stood up as soon as he saw Monk. He was far taller than Monk expected, very close to six feet, and his shoulders were already broadening, foreshadowing the man he would become. He towered over his mother. Presumably Maxim Furnival was a tall man.
    “Valentine, this is Mr. Monk. He works for Mrs. Carlyon’s lawyer. He would like to ask you some questions about the evening the general died.” Louisa was as direct as Monk would have expected. There was no attempt at evasion in her, no protection of him from reality.
    The boy was tense, his face wary, and even as Louisaspoke Monk saw a tension in his body, an anxiety narrowing his eyes, but he did not look away.
    “Yes sir?” he said slowly. “I didn’t see anything, or I would have told the police. They asked me.”
    “I’m sure.” Monk made a conscious effort to be gentler than he would with an adult. The boy’s face was pale and there were marks of tiredness around his eyes. If he had been fond of the general, admired him as both a friend and a hero, then this must have been a brutal shock as well as a bereavement. “Your mother brought the general up to see you?”
    Valentine’s body tightened and there was a bleakness in his face as if he had been dealt a blow deep inside him where the pain was hidden, only betraying itself as a change in his muscles, a dulling in his eyes.
    “Yes.”
    “You were friends?”
    Again the look was guarded. “Yes.”
    “So it was not unusual that he should call on you?”
    “No, I’ve—I’ve known him a long time. In fact, all my life.”
    Monk wished to express some sympathy, but was uncertain what words to use. The relationship between a boy and his hero is a delicate thing, and at times very private, composed in part of dreams.
    “His death must be a great blow to you. I’m sorry.” He was uncharacteristically awkward. “Did you see your mother or your father at that time?”
    “No. I—the general was—alone here. We were talking …” He glanced at his mother for an instant so brief Monk almost missed it.
    “About what?” he asked.
    “Er …” Valentine shrugged. “I don’t remember now. Army—army life …”
    “Did you see Mrs. Carlyon?”
    Valentine looked very white. “Yes—yes, she came in.”
    “She came into your rooms here?”
    “Yes.” He swallowed hard. “Yes she did.”
    Monk was not surprised he was pale. He had seen a murdererand her victim a few minutes before the crime. He had almost certainly been the last one to see General Carlyon alive, except for Alexandra. It was a thought sufficient to chill anyone.
    “How was she?” he asked very quietly. “Tell me what you can remember—and please be careful not to let your knowledge of what happened afterwards color what you say, if you can help it.”
    “No sir.” Valentine looked squarely at him; his eyes were wide and vividly blue. “Mrs. Carlyon seemed very upset indeed, very angry. In fact she was shaking and she seemed to find it difficult to speak. I’ve seen someone drunk once, and it was rather like that, as if her tongue and her lips would not do what she wished.”
    “Can you remember what she said?”
    Valentine frowned. “Not exactly. It was more or less that he should come downstairs, and that she had to speak to him—or that she had spoken, I don’t remember which. I thought they had had a quarrel over something and it looked as if she wanted to start it up again. Sir?”
    “Yes?”
    This time he avoided his mother’s eyes deliberately. “Can you do anything to help Mrs. Carlyon?”
    Monk was startled. He had expected the opposite.
    “I don’t know yet. I have only just begun.” He wanted to ask why Valentine should wish her helped, but he knew it would be clumsy in front of Louisa.
    Valentine turned to the window. “Of course. I’m sorry.”
    “Not at all,” Monk said quietly. “It is very decent of you to ask.”
    Valentine looked at him quickly, then away again, but in