William Monk 05 - The Sins of the Wolf

prefer it to be the rightperson, whether it is my husband or one of my brothers. How do you propose to proceed? You must know a great deal already, and it has not led you to any conclusion, or doubtless you would have said so in Miss Latterly’s interests.”
    Monk felt himself tighten as if he had been slapped. Once again his respect for Oonagh mounted. She was unlike any woman he had known before, and he could think of few men, if any, who could match her cold courage or her monumental composure.
    “I now know a great deal more than I did then, Mrs. McIvor. I think we all do,” he replied dryly.
    “And you believe it!” Eilish could control herself no longer. “You believe everything Quinlan said, just because it was—”
    “Eilish!” Oonagh’s voice cut across her firmly, reducing her to agonized silence, staring at Monk with her brilliant eyes. Oonagh turned back to Monk. “I presume you do not believe the matter is ended, or you would not have bothered to come. I imagine, whatever tactics or courtesy require you to say, it is to clear Miss Latterly’s name that you have really come. No, you do not need to answer that. Please don’t protest, it is unworthy of either of us.”
    “I was not going to protest,” he said tersely. “As I see it, there are at least two avenues to explore on the grounds of evidence, either old or new.”
    “Mother’s property in Ross-shire,” Oonagh said. “What else?”
    “The diamond brooch which apparently you never found.”
    She looked a little surprised. “You think it matters?”
    “I have no idea, but I shall find out. Who is your jeweler?”
    “Arnott and Dunbar, of Frederick Street.”
    “Thank you.” He hesitated only an instant. “Will it be possible to know a little more about the property in …”
    “Ross-shire,” she finished for him, her eyes wide. “Ifyou wish to. Quinlan has naturally given the papers to the police. They took them yesterday evening. But the fact is irrefutable. Mother inherited a small croft in Easter Ross. She gave the leasing of it into Baird’s hands, and there are, it would seem, no receipts of money whatever….”
    “There will be some explanation for it!” Eilish said desperately. “Baird would never simply steal it!”
    “Whatever it is, I doubt it is simple,” Oonagh said dryly. “But of course, dear, we all wish to think it is not as it seems, no one more than I!”
    Eilish blushed, and then went white.
    “Where is Easter Ross?” Monk could not recall the county, if he had ever known anything of it. Presumably it was in the east, but to the east of where?
    “Oh, beyond Inverness, I think,” Oonagh replied absently. “It is really very far north indeed. Saint Colmac, Port of Saint Colmac, or something like that. Really, it is all rather absurd; the amount cannot be more than a few pounds a year. Hardly worth anyone’s life!”
    “People have been killed over a hand of cards,” Monk said bitterly, then as Hester glanced towards him, suddenly wondered how he knew that. He was not conscious of knowing, and yet he had spoken with certainty. It was another of those little jolts of knowledge that returned every so often, utterly without warning and with no surrounding recollection.
    “I suppose so.” Oonagh’s voice was little more than a whisper. She looked towards the window. “I shall find the precise address for you, if that is what you wish. Perhaps you would dine with us this evening, and I shall have it for you then?”
    “Thank you,” Monk replied, then suddenly was uncertain whether Hester had been included or not.
    “Thank you,” Hester accepted, before the question could be answered by anyone else. “That would be most generous of you, especially in the circumstances.”
    Oonagh drew in her breath, then decided against arguing, and smiled instead.
    It was dismissal, and Monk and Hester were in the hall, waiting for the sepulchral McTeer to let them out, when Eilish came hurrying after them, grasping Monk by the arm, hardly seeming to see Hester.
    “Mr. Monk! It wasn’t Baird. He would never have hurt Mother, whatever anyone thinks. He doesn’t even care all that much about money. There has to be another explanation for all this.”
    Monk felt acutely sorry for her. He knew only too well the bitterness of disillusion, the moment when one realizes that the man or the woman that one has loved intensely is after all not merely imperfect but flawed, and in a way that is ugly, shallow and