William Monk 06 - Cain His Brother

sneezed, he remembered Drusilla, and the joy drained out of him as if he had slit a vein.
    He washed, shaved and dressed before bothering to look at the clothes he had acquired the previous night. His landlady brought breakfast and he ate it without tasting it. Five minutes afterwards he could not even remember what it had been.
    Finally he picked up the clothes, jacket first, and examined it in the cold daylight near the window. It was madeof a fine woolen cloth with a distinctive weave, beautifully cut in a conservative manner, with no concessions to fashion, simply quality. The tailor’s name was stitched in the seam. More importantly as evidence, the sides were ripped as if someone had slashed it with a knife. There was a bloodstain about four inches across and some ten inches down on the left shoulder, roughly over where a man’s heart would be, except it was at the back. There was also a small tear in the right elbow, no more than an inch long, and a scraping on the right forearm where several threads had been caught and pulled. Whoever had been wearing it had been involved in a serious fight, possibly even a fatal one.
    And as he had observed the night before, the trousers matched the jacket. One knee was torn out, threads were pulled on both legs and there were stains of mud. The waist at the back was heavily soaked in blood.
    He had only one choice. He must show them to Genevieve Stonefield. Without her identification of them, they were useless as evidence. The thought of subjecting her to such an ordeal was repellant, but there was no alternative. He could not protect her from it. And if anyone found the body, he would not be able to protect her from that either.
    No one should face such an ordeal alone. There should be someone to offer her support, at least to care for her physically. There could be no comfort that would temper the cruelty of the truth.
    But who? Hester was too busy with the typhoid outbreak, similarly Callandra. Enid Ravensbrook was still far too ill. Lord Ravensbrook she did not care for, or perhaps she was simply afraid of him. Arbuthnot was an employee, and one whom she would in due course have to instruct in what remained of the business.
    There was only Titus Niven. Monk had suspected ill of him at one time, but he knew nothing to his discredit. The man was gentle, discreet, and too familiar with pain himselfto treat it unkindly. Titus Niven it must be. And if he were party to Angus’s death, then the fine irony of this was only one more element to compound the tragedy.
    Monk wrapped the clothes in a bundle, put them in a soft-sided traveling bag and set out.
    Niven was at home and received him with courtesy, but did not conceal his surprise. He was dressed in the same elegantly cut but slightly shabby clothes, and there was no fire in the grate. The room was bitterly cold. He looked embarrassed, but did not apologize for the temperature. He offered hot coffee, which Monk knew he could ill afford—either the coffee itself or the gas to heat it.
    “Thank you, but I have only lately finished breakfast,” Monk declined. “Besides, I have come on some business which would rob the pleasure of any refreshment at all. I would be most obliged if you could help me to break it to Mrs. Stonefield with as much gentleness as possible, and to be with her to offer any comfort you may.”
    Niven’s face paled. “You have found Angus’s body?”
    “No, but I have found what I think may well be his clothes. I need her to identify them.”
    “Is that necessary?” Niven’s voice was choked in his throat and his eyes pleaded with Monk.
    “I wouldn’t ask it if it were not,” Monk said gently. “I think they are his, but I cannot pursue the matter with the police until I am certain beyond doubt. She is the only one whose word they would accept.”
    “The valet?” Niven asked thinly, then bit his lip. Perhaps he already knew Genevieve had dismissed all the servants but the children’s nurse and the housemaid, so sure was she in her heart that Angus would never return. “Yes … yes, I suppose you are right,” he agreed. “Do you wish me to come with you now?”
    “If you please. She should not be told when she is alone.”
    “May I see them? I knew Angus well. Unless they arevery new, I may be familiar with them. I do at least know his taste and style.”
    “And the name of his tailor?” Monk asked.
    “Yes. Mr. Wicklow, of Wicklow and Harper.”
    It was the name in the suit