William Monk 04 - A Sudden Fearful Death

then let go.
    It was only then that Monk noticed the young woman standing half behind him and a little to his left. She was of average height with a finely chiseled, intelligent face, which in different circumstances would have been filled with humor and made charming by vivacity. Even as somber as this, the lines of her normal character were plain. The resemblance to Mrs. Barrymore was marked. She must be Faith Barker, Prudence’s sister. Since Barrymore had saidshe lived in Yorkshire and was presumably down only for the service, he would have no other opportunity to speak with her. However unsuitable or insensitive it seemed, he must force the issue now.
    “Mrs. Barker?” he inquired.
    Her expression sharpened with interest immediately. She regarded him up and down in an unusually candid manner.
    “Are you Mr. Monk?” she inquired with a courtesy which robbed it of the bluntness it would otherwise have had. Her face was remarkably pleasing, now that she had temporarily cast aside the complete solemnity of mourning. He could see in her the girl who danced and flirted that her mother had described.
    “Yes,” he acknowledged, wondering what had been said of him to her.
    Her look was confidential, and she placed a black-gloved hand on his arm.
    “May we speak alone for a few moments? I realize I am taking up your time, but I should appreciate it more than you can know.”
    “Of course,” he said quickly. “If you don’t mind coming back toward the house?”
    “Thank you so much.” She took his arm and they went together through the mourners out of the shadow of the church and into the sunlight, picking their way between the gravestones into a quiet corner in the long grass close to the wall.
    She stopped and faced him.
    “Papa said you were inquiring into Prudence’s death, independently from the police. Is that correct?”
    “Yes.”
    “But you will take to the police anything you find which may be of importance, and force them to act upon it?”
    “Do you know something Mrs. Barker?”
    “Yes—yes I do. Prudence wrote to me every two or three days, regardless of how busy she was. They were not merely letters, they were more in the nature of diaries, and notes upon the cases she worked on that she felt to be interestingor medically instructive.” She was watching his face keenly. “I have them all here—at least all those from the last three months. I think that will be sufficient.”
    “Sufficient for what, ma’am?” He could feel excitement bubbling up inside him, but he dared not be precipitate, in case it should prove to be an ill-founded suspicion, a matter of guesses rather than fact, a sister’s natural desire for revenge—or as she would see it, justice.
    “To hang him,” she said unequivocally. Suddenly the charm fled from her eyes and left them bleak, angry, and full of grief.
    He held out his hand. “I cannot say until I have read them. But if they are, I give you my word I shall not rest until it is done.”
    “That is what I thought.” A smile flashed across her mouth and vanished. “You have a ruthless face, Mr. Monk. I should not care to have you pursuing me.” She fished in an unusually large black reticule and brought out a bundle of envelopes. “Here.” She offered them to him. “I hoped you would come to the service. Please take these and do what you must. Perhaps one day I may have them back—after they have served their purpose in evidence?”
    “If it lies within my power,” he promised.
    “Good.
Now I must return to my father and be what comfort I can to him. Remember, you have given me your word! Good day, Mr. Monk.” And without adding anything further, she walked away, very upright, head held stiff and straight, until she mingled with a group of soldiers, some one-armed or one-legged, who parted awkwardly to allow her through.
    He did not open the letters to read until he reached his home and could do so in comfort and without haste.
    The first had been written some three months earlier, as Faith Barker had said. The handwriting was small, untidy, and obviously written at speed, but there was nothing cramped or mean about it, and it was easily legible.
    Dear Faith,
    Another long and most interesting case today. A woman came in with a tumor of the breast. The poor creature had been in pain for some considerable time, but too frightened to consult anyone in the matter. Sir Herbert examined her, and told her it must be removed as soon as possible, and