William Monk 05 - The Sins of the Wolf

it, but what if someone like her had? “A little taller than average, thin, square shoulders, brown hair, intelligent face, rather strong, pronounced features, but a very good mouth.”
    “No,” Landis said with certainty.
    “You are quite sure? You could swear to it?”
    “With no trouble at all. Didn’t sell any that day to anyone.”
    “What about that week, to anyone else in the Farraline household?”
    “No, not to anyone except Dr. Mangold and to old Mr. Watkins. Known them both for years. Nothing to do with the Farralines.”
    “Thank you,” Monk said with sudden enthusiasm. “Thank you very much. Now, sir, can you tell me the names and whereabouts of all the other apothecaries within reasonable radius of Ainslie Place?”
    “Of course I can,” Landis agreed with a frown of puzzlement. He reached for a paper and wrote down several lines of information, then gave them to Monk, wishing him luck.
    Monk thanked him profusely and strode out, leaving the door swinging on its hinges.
    He received in essence the same answer from every other shop he tried. No one recognized his description of Hester, and none of them had sold digitalis to any member of the Farraline household, or indeed to anyone not known to them personally.
    He pursued the other sources of information, the public house, the street peddlers and crossing sweepers, the errand and delivery boys and the news vendors, but all he learned was very general gossip that seemed to serve no purpose. The Farralines were extremely well thought of, and hadlong been generous to the city and the various worthy causes. Hamish had been ill for some time before his death eight years before, but his reputation was high without being unnatural. Hector was spoken of with tolerance and a pity for Mary, while respecting her that she gave him a home. Indeed, she seemed to be respected for just about everything she did, and more essentially for what she was, a lady of dignity, character and judgment.
    Alastair also was held in both respect and something amounting to awe. He held high office and wielded considerable power. That he did it discreetly was to his credit. He had conducted himself with dignity during the recent case involving a Mr. John Galbraith, who had been accused of defrauding investors out of a very great deal of money, but the issue was very clouded. Those bringing the charge were of a very dubious honor. The evidence was tainted. The Fiscal had had the courage to throw the case out.
    The rest was just gossip of the most ordinary sort. Quinlan Fyffe was very clever, an incomer from Stirling, or perhaps it was Dundee. Not yet a popular man. McIvor, for all his name, was English. Pity Miss Oonagh had not seen fit to marry an Edinburgh man. Miss Deirdra was very extravagant, so it was said, always getting new dresses, but absolutely no taste at all. Miss Eilish stayed in bed till all hours of the day. She might be the most beautiful woman in Scotland; she was also the laziest.
    It was all quite useless, and not even very interesting. Monk thanked the various sources and gave up.
    Sunday luncheon at Ainslie Place was a less formal affair than dinner had been. Monk arrived just as the family was returning from the high kirk, all dressed in black. The women were in huge skirts like upturned bells, fur-trimmed capes hugged about them and black-ribboned bonnets narrowing vision and protecting the face from the splattering rain. The men wore tall hats and black overcoats, Alastair’s with an astrakhan collar. They walked in pairs, side by side,unspeaking until they were in the hall, Monk immediately behind them. The funereal McTeer took their coats and welcomed them. He also took Alastair’s hat and stick, leaving Baird, Quinlan and Kenneth to place their own in the stand or the rack appropriately.
    “Good day, Mr. Monk,” he said grimly, taking Monk’s hat and coat. Monk had never carried a stick since the Grey case. “A verra cold day, sir, and bound to get worse. It’ll be a hard winter, I’m thinking.”
    “Thank you,” Monk acknowledged. “Good afternoon,” he said, inclining his head to each member of the family. Alastair looked pinched with cold, but Deirdra’s warm coloring made her vividly alive, and if she were grieving, it did not mar her vitality. Oonagh was pale, but as previously, her resolve of character more than compensated for any turmoil or misgivings within.
    Eilish had obviously made the effort to get up in time to