William Monk 04 - A Sudden Fearful Death

some art or gift to soften what must be said, but he knew of none. Perhaps simple truth was the best. Prevarication would lengthen it to no purpose.
    “No, Mr. Barrymore, I used to be in the police, but I left the force. Now I work privately.” He loathed saying that. It sounded grubby, as if he chased sneak thieves and errant wives. “Lady Callandra Daviot”—that sounded better—“isa member of the Board of Governors of the hospital, and had a deep regard for Miss Barrymore. She is concerned in case the police do not learn all the facts of the case, or do not pursue it thoroughly, should it lead to troubling any authorities or persons of consequence. Therefore she asked me, as a personal favor to her, if I would pursue the matter myself.”
    A wan smile flickered over Barrymore’s face and vanished again.
    “Does it not concern you to disturb important people, Mr. Monk? I would have thought you more vulnerable to disfavor than the police. One assumes they have the force of government to back them.”
    “That rather depends on who the important people are,” Monk pointed out.
    Barrymore frowned. They were still standing in the middle of the charming room with the garden beyond. It did not seem an occasion to sit.
    “Surely you cannot suspect anyone of that nature to be involved in Prudence’s death.” Barrymore said the last word as if he still found it difficult to grasp, and none of the first agonizing pain had yet dulled.
    “I have no idea,” Monk replied. “But it is very usual for a murder investigation to uncover a great many other events and relationships which people would prefer to have kept secret. Sometimes they will go to considerable lengths to see that they remain so, even if it means concealing the real crime.”
    “And you imagine you will be able to learn something that the police will not?” Barrymore asked. He was still courteous but his disbelief was undeniable.
    “I don’t know, but I shall try. I have in the past succeeded where they have failed.”
    “Have you?” It was not a challenge, not even a question, merely a noting of fact. “What can we tell you? I know nothing of the hospital at all.” He stared out of the window at the sunlight on the leaves. “Indeed, I know very little of the practice of medicine. I am a collector of rare butterflies,myself. Something of an authority on the subject.” He smiled sadly, looking back at Monk. “It all seems rather pointless now, doesn’t it?”
    “No,” Monk said quietly. “The study of what is beautiful can never be wasted, especially if you are seeking to understand and preserve it.”
    “Thank you,” Barrymore said with a flash of gratitude. It was a minor thing, but at such times of numb tragedy the mind remembers the smallest kindness and clings to it amid the confusion and despair of events. Barrymore looked up at Monk and suddenly realized they were both standing and he had offered no hospitality of any sort. “Please sit down, Mr. Monk,” he asked, sitting himself. “And tell me what I can do that will help. I really don’t understand….”
    “You could tell me something about her.”
    Barrymore blinked. “How can that help? Surely it was some madman? What sane person would do that to …” He was obliged to struggle to retain command of himself.
    “That may be so,” Monk interposed, to save Barrymore embarrassment. “But it is also possible that it was someone she knew. Even madmen have to have some sort of reason, unless they are simply lunatics, and there is no reason so far to suppose that there was a lunatic loose in the hospital. It is a place for the treatment of illnesses of the body, not of the mind. But of course, the police will make extensive inquiries to see if there were any strangers observed at all. You may be quite sure of that.”
    Barrymore was still confused. He looked at Monk without comprehension.
    “What do you want to know about Prudence? I cannot conceive of any reason at all why anyone who knew her would wish her harm.”
    “I heard she served in the Crimea?”
    Unconsciously Barrymore straightened his shoulders. “Yes, indeed she did.” There was pride in his voice. “She was one of the first to go out there. I remember the day she left home. She looked so terribly young.” His eyes looked far beyond Monk into some place in his own inner vision.“Only the young are so very confident. They have no idea what the world may bring them.” He smiled with intense