William Monk 03 - Defend and Betray

know, sir.” His face betrayed that he had realized the possibilities. For the dining room, the morning room, the library or billiard room the footman would have crossed the hall.
    “May I speak with him?” Monk did not say please; the request was only a formality. He had every intention of speaking with the man regardless.
    The butler was not going to put himself in the position of being wrong again.
    “I’ll send him to you.” And before Monk could arguethat he would go to the man, which would give him an opportunity to see the servants’ area, the butler was gone.
    A few minutes later a very nervous young man came in, dressed in ordinary daytime livery of black trousers, shirt and striped waistcoat. He was in his early twenties, fair haired and fair skinned, and at the moment he was extremely ill at ease. Monk guessed the butler had reasserted his authority over the situation by frightening his immediate junior.
    Out of perversity Monk decided to be thoroughly pleasant with the young man.
    “Good morning,” he said with a disarming smile—at least that was how it was intended. “I apologize for taking you from your duties, but I think you may be able to help me.”
    “Me sir?” His surprise was patent. “ ’Ow can I do that, sir?”
    “By telling me, as clearly as you can remember, everything you did the evening General Carlyon died, starting after dinner when the guests went to the withdrawing room.”
    The footman screwed up his face in painfully earnest concentration and recounted his usual routine.
    “Then what?” Monk prompted.
    “The withdrawing room bell rang,” the footman answered. “And since I was passing right by there, I answered it. They wanted the fire stoked, so I did it.”
    “Who was there then?”
    “The master wasn’t there, and the mistress came in just as I was leaving.”
    “And then?”
    “Then I—er …”
    “Had another word with the kitchen maid?” Monk took a guess. He smiled as he said it.
    The footman colored, his eyes downcast. “Yes sir.”
    “Did you fetch the coal buckets for the library?”
    “Yes sir—but I don’t remember how many minutes later it was.” He looked unhappy. Monk guessed it was probably quite some time.
    “And crossed the hall to do it?”
    “Yes sir. The armor was still all right then.”
    So whoever it was, it was not Louisa. Not that he had held any real hope that it might be.
    “Any other rooms you took coal for? What about upstairs?”
    The footman blushed hotly and lowered his eyes.
    “You were supposed to, and didn’t?” Monk guessed.
    The footman looked up quickly. “Yes I did, sir! Mrs. Furnival’s room. The master doesn’t care for a fire at this time o’ the year.”
    “Did you see someone, or something, when you were upstairs?”
    “No sir!”
    What was the man lying about? There was something; it was there in his pink face, his downcast eyes, his awkward hands and feet. He was riddled with guilt.
    “Where did you go upstairs? What rooms did you pass? Did you hear something, an argument?”
    “No sir.” He bit his lip and still avoided Monk’s eyes.
    “Well?” Monk demanded.
    “I went up the front stairs—sir …”
    Suddenly Monk understood. “Oh, I see—with the coal buckets?”
    “Yes sir. Please sir …”
    “I shan’t tell the butler,” Monk promised quickly.
    “Thank you, sir! I—thank you sir.” He swallowed. “The armor was still there, sir; and I didn’t see the general—or anyone else, except the upstairs maid.”
    “I see. Thank you. You have helped me considerably.”
    “Have I sir?” He was doubtful, but relieved to be excused.
    Next Monk went upstairs to find the off-duty housemaids. It was his last hope that one of them had seen Sabella.
    The first maid offered no hope at all. The second was a bright girl of about sixteen with a mass of auburn hair. She seemed to grasp the significance of his questions, and answered readily enough, although with wary eyes, and he caught a sense of eagerness that suggested to him she hadsomething to hide as well as something to reveal. Presumably she was the one the footman had seen.
    “Yes, I saw Mrs. Pole,” she said candidly. “She wasn’t feeling well, so she lay down for a while in the green room.”
    “When was that?”
    “I—I dunno, sir.”
    “Was it long after dinner?”
    “Oh, yes sir. We ’as our dinner at six o’clock!”
    Monk realized his mistake and tried to undo it.
    “Did you see anyone else while you