William Monk 04 - A Sudden Fearful Death

to speak.
    Mrs. Barrymore looked at Monk with faint surprise, as if his praise for Prudence puzzled her.
    “You speak of Mr. Taunton in the past tense, Mrs. Barrymore,” he continued. “Is he no longer alive?”
    Now she looked thoroughly startled. “Oh yes. Yes indeed, Mr. Monk. Poor Geoffrey is very much alive. But it is too late for Prudence, poor girl. Now, no doubt, Geoffrey will marry that Nanette Cuthbertson. She has certainly been pursuing him for long enough.” For a moment her face changed and an expression came on it not unlike spite. “But as long as Prudence was alive, Geoffrey would never look at her. He was ’round here only last weekend, asking after Prudence, how she was doing in London and when we expected her home again.”
    “He never understood her,” Mr. Barrymore said sadly. “He always believed it was only a matter of waiting and she would come ’round to his way of thinking, that she’d forget nursing and come home and settle down.”
    “And so she would,” Mrs. Barrymore said hastily. “Only she might have left it too late. There are only so many years when a young woman is attractive to a man who wishes to marry and have a family.” Her voice rose in exasperation. “Prudence did not seem to appreciate that, though goodness knows how often I told her. Time will not wait for you, I said. One day you will realize that.” Again her eyes filled with tears and she turned away.
    Mr. Barrymore was embarrassed. He had already argued with his wife once on this issue in front of Monk, and there seemed nothing more to say.
    “Where would I find Mr. Taunton?” Monk asked. “If he saw Miss Barrymore quite often, he may even know of someone who was causing her anxiety or distress.”
    Mrs. Barrymore looked back at him, jerked out of her grief momentarily by a question which she found extraordinary.
    “Geoffrey? Geoffrey would not know anyone likely to—to commit murder, Mr. Monk! He is a most excellent young man, as respectable as one could wish. His father was a professor of mathematics.” She invested the last word with great importance. “Mr. Barrymore knew him, before he died about four years ago. He left Geoffrey very well provided for.” She nodded. “I am only surprised he has not married before now. Usually it is a financial restriction that prevents young men from marrying. Prudence did not know how fortunate she was that he was prepared to wait for her to change her mind.”
    Monk could offer no opinion on that.
    “Where does he live, ma’am?” he asked.
    “Geoffrey?” Her eyebrows rose. “Little Ealing. If you go down Boston Lane and turn right, then follow the road about a mile and a quarter or so, then on your left you will find the Ride. Geoffrey lives along there. After that, you will have to ask. I think that is simpler than my trying to describe the house, although it is most attractive; but then they all are along there. It is a most desirable area.”
    “Thank you, Mrs. Barrymore, that is very clear. Andhow about Miss Cuthbertson, who apparently fancied herself Miss Barrymore’s rival? Where might I find her?”
    “Nanette Cuthbertson?” Again the look of dislike marred her expression. “Oh, she lives on Wyke Farm, right at the other side of the railway line, on the edge of Osterley Park.” She smiled again, but with her lips only.
    “Very agreeable really, especially for a girl who is fond of horses and that type of thing. I don’t know how you will get there. It is a long way ’round, by Boston Lane. Unless you can hire a vehicle of some sort, you will have to walk over the fields.” She waved her mittened hand in the air in a curiously graceful gesture. “If you begin westwards as you are level with Boston Farm, that should bring you to about the right place. Of course I always go by pony cart, but I think my judgment is correct.”
    “Thank you, Mrs. Barrymore.” He rose to his feet, inclining his head courteously. “I apologize for intruding, and am most grateful for your help.”
    Barrymore looked at him quickly. “If you learn anything, would it be within the ethics of your profession to let us know?”
    “I shall report to Lady Callandra, but I have no doubt she will tell you,” Monk answered. He would have no compunction whatever in telling this quiet, grieving man anything that would help him, but he thought Barrymore would find it easier from Callandra, and it would be a way to avoid telling him anything that might be true but