William Monk 05 - The Sins of the Wolf

uncommonly difficult for you to obtain another nursing post. Unless of course it is with someone who wishes the patient’s decease?”
    “Of course I should like it resolved,” Hester answered him, while the rest of the company looked on in horrified silence. “But I do not wish anyone to stand in the dock in my place simply to accomplish that, if they are no more guilty than I am. There is a certain case against Mr. McIvor, but I do not find it compelling.” She turned to Alastair. “Is it compelling, Procurator Fiscal? Would you prosecute with the evidence you have so far?”
    Alastair blushed, and then paled. He swallowed hard. “They would not expect me to handle the case, Miss Latterly. I am too close to it.”
    “That was not what she meant,” Quinlan said contemptuously. “But Alastair is famous for not prosecuting. Aren’t you, Fiscal?”
    Alastair ignored him, turning instead to Baird.
    “I presume you will be going in to the printing shop as usual tomorrow?”
    “It’s closed tomorrow,” Baird replied, blinking at him as if he had barely understood what he had said.
    Hector reached for more wine. “Why?” he asked, frowning. “What’s wrong with it? Tomorrow is Monday, isn’t it? Why aren’t you working on a Monday?” He hiccupped gently.
    “There are building alterations being done outside. There will be no gas. We cannot work in the dark.”
    “Should have built more windows,” Hector said irritably.“It’s that damn secret room of Hamish’s. Always said it was a stupid idea.”
    Deirdra looked confused. “What are you talking about, Uncle Hector? You can’t have windows, except at the front. The other three sides are the back with the doors and the yard, and where it joins to the other warehouses at both sides.”
    “I don’t know what he wanted a secret room for.” Hector was not listening to her. “Quite unnecessary. Told Mary that.”
    “Secret room?” Deirdra smiled wryly.
    Oonagh offered Hector the decanter, and when he had fumbled for it ineffectually, filled his glass for him.
    “There is no secret room in the printworks, Uncle Hector. You must be remembering something from the old house, when you were boys.”
    “Don’t …” he started angrily, then looked into her steady blue eyes, clear and level as his own must have been thirty years earlier, and his words died away.
    Oonagh smiled at him, then turned to Monk.
    “I apologize, Mr. Monk. We have placed you in an invidious position, and probably embarrassed you as well, with our family quarrels. Of course we cannot expect you to keep silent over your discoveries regarding the very objectionable Mr. Arkwright and his occupancy of Mother’s croft. He claims that he has paid rent for it, and my husband claims that he has not, but that my mother allowed him to live there freely in return for his silence. Whether these arrangements were made with my mother’s knowledge and consent we shall never know beyond question. Quinlan, for his own reasons, believes they were not. I choose to believe they were. You must do whatever you feel to be right.”
    She turned to Hester. “And you also, Miss Latterly. I can only apologize to you for involving you in our family’s tragedy. I hope that word of it has not reached London in the detail it has been reported here, and it will not affectyour life or your livelihood, as Quinlan supposes. If I could undo it for you, I would, but it is beyond my power. I am sorry.”
    “We all regret it,” Hester said quietly. “You should feel no need to apologize, but I thank you for your graciousness. I knew Mrs. Farraline for only a very brief time, but from her conversation that evening on the train, I choose to believe as you do, and do not find it in the least difficult.”
    Oonagh smiled, but there was no answer in her eyes, no relief from the tension there.
    As soon as the meal was over Monk seemed in some haste to depart.
    “I shall leave the matter in your hands,” he said to Alastair. “You are aware of your mother’s property, and of the disposition of it, and of Arkwright’s tenancy. You must inform the police of whatever you think appropriate. As Procurator Fiscal, you are far better placed than I to judge what is evidence and what is not.”
    “Thank you,” Alastair accepted gravely, but also apparently without relief. “Good-bye, Mr. Monk, Miss Latterly. I hope your journey back to London is agreeable.”
    As soon as they were out of the door and on the