William Monk 06 - Cain His Brother

“And you will ask to represent the Crown, since you are the prosecutor?” He turned lastly to Hester, assuming her agreement without it crossing his mind to ask her. “You and I will begin to delve into Angus’s past. We shall have to do it separately, because there is no time to do it together. You already know far more about Genevieve than I do.” Humor and self-mockery flickered across his face. “And you seem to be a far better judge of her character. Find out all you can of Angus from her, including where, when and how they first met, and all she knows of his relationship with Caleb, and Ravensbrook. This time, the truth. I shall go to Ravensbrook’s country home and see what I can learn there. That is apparently where the brothers grew up.”
    “What about the Isle of Dogs, and Limehouse?” Rathbone asked.
    “I’ll go there,” Hester said immediately. “After I have seen Genevieve, and perhaps Titus Niven.”
    Goode was aghast. “You cannot go to Limehouse, Miss Latterly! You have not the faintest idea what it is like, or you would not entertain such a thought. A gentlewoman like yourself would be—”
    “I have been nursing the typhoid victims there for more than a month, Mr. Goode,” she said patiently. “I am in an excellent position to investigate in that quarter. I daresay I know more of the individual residents than anyone else. I could name you at least two hundred, and tell you their families and their ancestors. And I could tell you who they have lost recently. They will talk to me as they would not to any of you. That I can swear.”
    Goode looked taken aback, and considerably impressed.
    “I see. Perhaps I had better stick to my own last. Would I be presumptuous to be concerned for your safety?”
    “Not at all, but probably unnecessarily worried,” she replied with a generous smile. “Since Caleb is dead, no oneis going to feel the same urgency to defend him now, or fear the reprisals for betraying him by the truth.”
    Rathbone rose to his feet. “I think a good night’s sleep is called for, before we begin. Let us meet here again in three days’ time and discuss what we have learned.”
    “Agreed.” Goode rose also. “Miss Latterly, may I find you a hansom and escort you as far as your home?”
    “Thank you,” she accepted graciously. “That would be most agreeable. It has been a somewhat exhausting day.”

  12  
    E
BENEZER GOODE WOKE
very early the following morning, unable to sleep any longer because his mind was churning over the extraordinary events of the preceding day. He had not liked Caleb Stone; indeed, privately he had had little doubt that Stone was guilty of the murder of his brother exactly as he was charged. But there had been an extraordinary vitality in the man, a core of passion which made his death unexpectedly hard to accept.
    He lay with the blankets up to his chin, turning over and over in his mind what Rathbone had said, and that odd fellow Monk. Did the nurse really know what she was talking about? Was it conceivable that Milo Ravensbrook could either have willed Caleb’s death, or worse still, have brought it about?
    The thought was especially hideous when he remembered the remarkable face of Lady Ravensbrook, the strength in it, the power of feeling and imagination, even ravaged by recent disease as it was. There was something in her which awoke an extraordinary interest in him. He found even while he was thinking of ways and means of discerning the truth, and the near impossibility of proving it, it was her features impressed on his closed eyelids, her expression, her mouth, even her voice in his ears. She had said barely a dozen words to him, and every inflection remained.
    He rose at half past six, while it was still dark, sent for water from a very surprised housemaid, then shaved, washed, dressed and requested breakfast by quarter past seven. His cook was not in the least amused, and allowed it to be known. He did not care in the slightest, although good cooks were not easy to obtain.
    He left the house at eight and walked briskly, swinging his rather handsome stick, and so deep in thought he passed a dozen acquaintances without seeing them, and addressed two more by their fathers’ names.
    By five minutes past nine he was outside Ravensbrook House, and saw his lordship leave in his own carriage. Goode mounted the steps and pulled the brass bell knob.
    “Good morning, sir,” the footman said with only the merest