William Monk 05 - The Sins of the Wolf

which he believed to be largely pointless.
    Rathbone had a wretched day. There was almost nothinghe could accomplish. He had never cared so much about the outcome of a case, or been so helpless to influence one. A dozen times he almost set out to see Argyll again, and each time he resisted with difficulty, telling himself it would serve no purpose at all. But it was only the sting to his pride of running around after another barrister, particularly when it was the one taking his place, and the certainty that Argyll would read his nervousness like a billboard, that finally stayed him.
    He knew that Callandra Daviot would be in Edinburgh for the trial, which began on the next morning, so she would have to come up on that day’s train, unless she had already traveled and was here before him. By midafternoon he was at his wit’s end and had paced the floor uselessly ever since picking without appetite over what should have been an excellent luncheon.
    Late in the evening he was tired, but unable to relax sufficiently to retire. There was a knock on the door of the room he had taken. He whirled around.
    “Come in!” he shouted, striding towards the doorway and almost being struck as the door opened and Callandra appeared in the entrance, followed immediately by Henry Rathbone, Rathbone’s father. Of course he had told his father of the whole affair before he could read of it in the newspapers. The elder Rathbone had met Hester on several occasions and had formed a fondness for her. The sight of his tall, slightly stooped figure now, with his ascetic face and benign expression, was ridiculously comforting. And at the same time it awoke in the younger man emotions of both dependence and fierce protection he would rather not have been burdened with in the circumstances.
    “Please excuse me, Oliver,” Callandra said briskly. “I realize it is late, and I am possibly interrupting you, but I could not contain myself until morning.” She came in as he stepped back, smiling in spite of himself. Henry Rathbone followed immediately after, searching Oliver’s face.
    “Come in,” Rathbone invited, closing the door behindhim. He very nearly said that they were not interrupting anything at all, then pride prevented him from such an admission. “Father! I had not expected you. It is good of you to have come.”
    “Don’t be absurd.” Henry Rathbone dismissed it with a shake of his head. “Of course I came. How is she?”
    “I have not seen her since the night before she left London,” Rathbone replied. “I am not her barrister here in Edinburgh. They will only allow Argyll in now.”
    “So what are you doing?” Callandra demanded, too restless to sit in either of the large armchairs available.
    “Waiting,” Rathbone answered bitterly. “Worrying. Racking my brain to think of anything we have left undone, any possibilities we could still pursue.”
    Callandra drew in her breath, then said nothing.
    Henry Rathbone sat down and crossed his legs. “Well, pacing the floor is not going to help. We had better approach the matter logically. I presume there is no possibility this poison was administered accidentally, or intentionally by Mrs. Farraline herself? All right, there is no need to lose your temper, Oliver. It is necessary to establish the facts.”
    Rathbone glanced at him, smothering his impatience with difficulty. He knew perfectly well that his father did not lack emotion or care, indeed he felt painfully; but his ability to suppress his feelings and concentrate his brain irritated him, because he was so far from that kind of control himself.
    Callandra sat down on the other chair, staring at Henry hopefully.
    “And the servants?” Henry continued.
    “Ruled out by Monk,” Rathbone replied. “It was one of the family.”
    “Remind me again who they are,” Henry directed.
    “Alastair, the eldest son, the Procurator Fiscal; his wife, Deirdra, who is building a flying machine …”
    Henry looked up, awaiting an explanation, his blue eyes mild and puzzled.
    “Eccentric,” Rathbone agreed. “But Monk is convinced she is otherwise harmless.”
    Henry pulled a face.
    “Eldest daughter Oonagh McIvor; her husband, Baird, who is apparently in love with his sister-in-law, Eilish, and is taking books from the company for her to use in her midnight occupation of teaching a ragged school. Eilish’s husband, Quinlan Fyffe, married into the family and into the business. Clever and unappealing, but Monk knows