William Monk 07 - Weighed in the Balance

awareness of Rathbone’s vulnerability and her willingness to defend him, her admiration for him, and how much she cared. And she had thanked Monk so earnestly it twisted like a knife inside him as, startlingly, he perceived in her a beauty far brighter and stronger than the charm of Evelyn which had faded so easily.
    “I must go,” he said stiffly, feeling as if his protective mask had been stripped from him and she had seen him as nakedly as he had seen himself. “I have a train to catch this evening if I am to be in Wellborough in time to find lodgings. Good night.” And almost before she had time to answer, he turned on his heel and marched to the door, flinging it open and walking out.
    In the morning, after a poor night spent at the village inn during which he tossed and turned in an unfamiliar bed, he hired a local coachman to take him out to Wellborough Hall and alighted with his case. He had no intention of lying about himself or his purpose this time, whatever Lord Wellborough should say.
    “You are what?” his lordship demanded, his face icy, when Monk stood in the morning room in the center of the carpet.Wellborough straightened up from where he had been leaning against the mantel, taking the largest share of the fire.
    “An agent of inquiry,” Monk repeated with almost equal chill.
    “I had no idea such a thing existed.” Wellborough’s broad nose flared as if he had swallowed something distasteful. “If one of my guests has committed an indiscretion, I do not wish to know. If it was in my house, I consider it my duty as host to deal with the matter without the like of a … whatever it is you call yourself. The footman will show you out, sir.”
    “The only indiscretion I am interested in is murder!” Monk did not move even his eyes, let alone his feet.
    “I cannot help you,” Wellborough replied. “I know of no one who has been murdered. There is no one dead to my knowledge. As I have said, sir, the footman will show you to the door. Please do not return. You came here under false pretenses. You abused my hospitality and imposed upon my other guests, which is inexcusable. Good day, Mr. Monk. I presume that is your real name? Not that it matters.”
    Monk did not look away, let alone move.
    “Prince Friedrich died in this house, Lord Wellborough. There has already been a very public accusation that it was murder—”
    “Which has been vigorously denied,” Wellborough cut across him. “Not that anyone worth anything at all gave it a moment’s credence. And as you are no doubt aware, the wretched woman, who must be quite mad, is to stand trial for her slander. I believe in a week or so’s time.”
    “She is not standing trial, sir,” Monk corrected. “It is a civil suit, at least technically. Though the matter of murder will be exhaustively explored, naturally. The medical evidence will be examined in the closest detail—”
    “Medical evidence?” Wellborough’s face dropped. He was at once appalled and derisive. “There isn’t any, for God’s sake! The poor man was dead and buried half a year ago.”
    “It would be most unfortunate to have to have the body exhumed,” Monk agreed. He ignored the expression of disbelief and then horror on Wellborough’s face. “But if suspicion leaves no other alternative possible, then it will have to be done, and an autopsy performed. Very distressing for the family, but one cannot allow an accusation of murder to fly around unanswered …”
    Wellborough’s skin was mottled dark with blood, his body rigid.
    “It has been answered, man! Nobody in their right mind believes for an instant that poor Gisela would have harmed him in any way whatever, let alone killed him in cold blood. It’s monstrous … and totally absurd.”
    “Yes, I agree, it probably is,” Monk said levelly. “But it is not so absurd to believe that Klaus von Seidlitz might have killed him to prevent him from returning home and leading the resistance against unification. He has large holdings of land in the borders, which might be laid waste were there fighting. A powerful motive, and not in the least difficult to credit … even if it is, as you say, monstrous.”
    Wellborough stared at him as if he had risen out of the ground in a cloud of sulfur.
    Monk continued with some satisfaction. “And the other very plausible possibility is that actually it was not Friedrich who was intended as the victim but Gisela. He may have died by mischance. In which