William Monk 06 - Cain His Brother

which is very hard.”
    He tried to imagine it, and could not. He had never lived with anyone else except in childhood, at least as far as he knew. To him home was a solitary place, a retreat, but also an isolation. Its freedom had never occurred to him.
    She gave a little shrug. “You think it is foolish of me. Ican see it in your face. Perhaps it is. But I dislike not being able to decide whether to have the window open or closed, what time to rise or retire, at what hour I shall eat. And that is absurd, when the alternative may be not to eat at all, I know that. But the things that matter are how I shall discipline my children, what they shall be permitted to do and what not, whether my girls may learn what they wish, or if it must be music and painting and how to sew. And above all, I care to choose for myself what I shall read. I care very much. This house is mine! Here I am my own mistress.”
    The anger was back in her face, and the spirit he had seen the first day he met her.
    He smiled. “That is not absurd, Mrs. Stonefield. We should be poor creatures if we did not care about such things. Perhaps Lord Ravensbrook may be prevailed upon to make you an allowance. You could remain here, albeit in straitened circumstances, but with autonomy.”
    She smiled patiently and made no reply, but her silence and the tension in her face were eloquent enough.
    Monk continued to eliminate the possibilities other than violence at the hands of Caleb. He began to trace Angus’s actions over the weeks immediately previous to his disappearance. Arbuthnot had a business diary and allowed Monk free access to it, and assisted him with all his own recollections. From Genevieve, Monk learned of Angus’s comings and goings from the home.
    They had dined once with friends, and been to the theater twice. There were also events to which Angus had gone alone, mostly as a matter of improving his professional alliances.
    Monk pieced all his information together carefully, and found one or two periods of time still unaccounted for. Had he indeed gone to see Caleb, as Genevieve believed? Or had he led some alternate existence of which she knewnothing, a vice of which he was so ashamed he kept it an utterly separate life?
    The most obvious thought was another woman, although even the most scrupulous examination of the accounts revealed not a farthing’s discrepancy. Whatever it was, it apparently cost him nothing in terms of money.
    Monk grew more and more puzzled, and unhappier.
    It was while pursuing Angus Stonefield’s path over the previous month that he went to the Geographic Society in Sackville Street. Angus had said he attended, but there was no record of him there. Monk was leaving, somewhat preoccupied with his thoughts, when he bumped into a young woman who was just mounting the steps. Her companions had gone on ahead of her and were already inside.
    He looked up absentmindedly to apologize, then found his attention grasped most firmly. She was quite small and delicately shaped, but there was a fire and charm in her face unlike any other, and she was staring at him intently, searching his features.
    “I’m sorry,” he said with a sincerity which surprised him. “I was not looking where I was going. I beg your pardon, ma’am.”
    She smiled with what seemed genuine amusement.
    “You were a little preoccupied with your thoughts, sir. I hope they were not as gloomy as they seemed.” Her voice was rich and a little husky.
    “I’m afraid they were.” Why on earth had he said that? He should have been cautious instead of so frank. Was it too late to retreat? “I was on an unpleasant errand,” he added, by way of explanation.
    “I’m sorry.” Her face filled with concern. “I hope at least you can now say it is concluded.”
    It was mid-afternoon. He could not abandon the chase for the day, although he was enjoying it less and less. There were certainly gaps in Angus Stonefield’s life, whether he was as blameless as his wife believed or not. Some of themmight have been accounted for by visits to Caleb, but were they all?
    “Not concluded,” he replied unhappily. “Simply come to another blind alley.”
    She did not move. She made a delightful picture standing on the steps in the winter sun. Her hair was the color of warm honey, and thickly coiled. It looked as if it would be soft to the touch and he imagined it would smell sweet, perhaps faintly of flowers, or musk. Her eyes were wide and hazel-brown, her nose