William Monk 07 - Weighed in the Balance

other in ramifications too complex to disentangle. He felt more and more excluded as the evening wore on. Perhaps he should have taken Rathbone’s suggestion, repugnant as it was, and come as Stephan’s valet. It would have galled his pride, but it might in the long run have been less painful than being shown to be a social inferior, pretending to be something he was not, as if being accepted mattered to him so much he would lie! He could feel the rage atsuch a thought tightening his stomach till he was sitting so rigidly in his carved, silk-covered chair that his back ached.
    “I doubt we shall be invited,” Brigitte was saying ruefully to some suggestion Klaus had made.
    “Why ever not?” He looked annoyed. “I always go. Been every year since, oh, ’53!”
    Evelyn put her fingers up to cover her smile, her eyes wide.
    “Oh, dear! Do you really think it makes that much difference? Shall we all be personae non grata now? How perfectly ridiculous. It’s nothing to do with us.”
    “It has everything to do with us,” Rolf said flatly. “It’s our royal family, and we specifically were all here when it happened.”
    “Nobody believes the damn woman!” Klaus said, his heavy face set in lines of anger. “As usual, she has only spoken out of a desire to draw attention to herself at any price, and possibly from revenge because Friedrich threw her over twelve years ago. The woman’s mad … always was.”
    Monk realized with sharpened interest that they were speaking of Zorah and the effect her accusation was having upon their social lives. It was an aspect that had not occurred to him, and it was peculiarly repugnant. But he should not lose the opportunity to make something of it.
    “Surely it will all be forgotten as soon as the case is heard?” he asked, trying to affect innocence.
    “That depends on what the wretched woman says,” Klaus replied sourly. “There’s always someone fool enough to repeat a piece of gossip, however fatuous.”
    Monk wondered why Klaus should care what anyone whom he held in such contempt thought, but there were more profitable questions to ask.
    “What could she say that any sane person could credit?” he asked, with the same air of sympathy.
    “You must have heard the gossip.” Evelyn stared at him, wide-eyed. “Simply everyone is talking about it. She hasvirtually accused Princess Gisela of having killed poor Friedrich … I mean intentionally! As if she would! They adored each other. All the world knows that.”
    “It would have made more sense if someone had killed Gisela,” Rolf said with a grimace. “That I could believe.”
    Monk did not have to feign interest. “Why?”
    Everyone at the table turned to look at him, and he realized with anger at himself that he had been naive and too abrupt. But it was too late to retreat. If he added anything he would only make it worse.
    It was not Rolf who answered but Evelyn.
    “Well, she is very quick-witted, very glamorous. She does overshadow people a bit. It wouldn’t be hard to imagine someone being the butt of her wit and feeling so angry, and perhaps humiliated, they could”—she shrugged her beautiful shoulders—“lose their temper and wish her ill.” She smiled as she said it, robbing it of any viciousness.
    It was a picture of Gisela that Monk had not seen before; not merely funny, but a cruel wit. Perhaps he should not be surprised. These people had little to fear, little need to guard what they said or whether they offended, unlike most of the people he knew. He wondered fleetingly how much of anyone’s good manners was a matter of self-preservation, how much genuine desire for the comfort of mind of others. Only in those with nothing at all to fear would he know.
    He looked from Evelyn’s charming face to Lady Wellborough, then Klaus, and then Rolf.
    “Surely, if it actually comes to a trial, it will be easy enough to prove what happened?” he asked mildly. “Everyone who was here can testify, and with you all of one accord, she will be shown up for a liar, or worse.”
    “We shall have to see that we do agree first,” Stephan said with a twisted smile and serious eyes. “After all, we do know more or less what happened. We shall have to be clear about what we don’t know so we don’t contradict each other.”
    “What the devil do you mean?” Lord Wellborough demanded, his face pinched till his already thin lips all but disappeared. “Of course we know what happened. Prince