William Monk 04 - A Sudden Fearful Death

honest.”
    “I commend your integrity,” she said dryly. “Now you have told me, and I have heard what you say, and requested you to continue anyway.”
    He tried one more time. “You will learn nothing!”
    She stood up from her desk and came toward him. “Mr. Monk, have you any idea how appalling a crime it is for a man to force himself upon a woman? Perhaps you imagine it is merely a matter of modesty and a little reluctance, and that really when a woman says no she does not truly mean it?”
    He opened his mouth to argue, but she rushed on. “That is a piece of meretricious simplicity men use to justify to themselves an act of brutality that can never be excused. My sister is very young, and unmarried. It was a violation of the very worst nature. It has introduced her to—to bestiality—instead of to a—a …” She blushed but did not avoid his eyes. “A sacred relationship which she—oh—really.” She lost patience with herself. “No one has a right to behave toward anyone else in such a way, and if your nature is too insensitive to appreciate that, then there is no way for me to tell you.”
    Monk chose his words carefully. “I agree with you that it is a base offense, Mrs. Penrose. My reluctance to continue has no relation to the seriousness of the crime, only to the impossibility of finding the offender now.”
    “I suppose I should have come to you sooner,” she conceded. “Is that what you are saying? Marianne did not tell me the true nature of the event until several days after it had happened, and then it took me some little while to make up my mind what was best to do. After that it took me another three days to locate you and inquire something of your reputation—which is excellent. I am surprised that you have given in so quickly. That is not what people say of you.”
    The anger hardened inside him and only Marianne’s anguish stopped him retaliating.
    “I shall return tomorrow and we shall discuss it further,”he said grimly. “I will not continue to take your money for something I believe cannot be done.”
    “I will be obliged if you will come in the morning,” she replied. “As you have observed, my husband is not aware of the situation, and explanations are becoming increasingly difficult.”
    “Perhaps you should give me a letter to your cousin Mr. Finnister,” he suggested. “In case anything is said, I shall post it, so there will be no unfortunate repercussions in the future.”
    “Thank you. That is most thoughtful of you. I will do so.”
    And still angry, and feeling disturbed and confused, he took his leave, walking briskly back toward Fitzroy Street and his rooms.
    He could come to no satisfactory conclusion himself. He did not understand the events and the emotions profoundly enough to be confident in a decision. His anger toward Audley Penrose was monumental. He could have seen him punished with intense satisfaction; indeed, he longed to see it. And yet he could understand Marianne’s need to protect not only herself but also Julia.
    For once his own reputation as a detective was of secondary importance. Whatever the outcome of his entering the case, he could not even consider improving his professional standing at the expense of ruining either of the women.
    Miserable, and in a very short temper, he went to see Callandra Daviot, and his ill humor was exacerbated immediately on finding Hester Latterly present. It was several weeks since he had last seen her, and their parting had been far from friendly. As so often happened, they had quarreled about something more of manner than of substance. In fact, he could not remember what it was now, only that she had been abrasive as usual and unwilling to listen or consider his view. Now she was sitting in Callandra’s best chair, the one he most preferred, looking tired and far from the gentlyfeminine creature Julia Penrose was. Hester’s hair was thick and nearly straight and she had taken little trouble to dress it with curls or braids. Pulled as it was it showed the fine, strong bones of her face and the passionate features, the intelligence far too dominant to be attractive. Her gown was pale blue and the skirt, without hoops, a trifle crushed.
    He ignored her and smiled at Callandra. “Good evening, Lady Callandra.” He intended it to be warm, but his general unhappiness flavored it more than he wished.
    “Good evening, William,” Callandra replied, the tiniest smile touching the corners of her wide