William Monk 09 - A Breach of Promise

a little self-conscious. He stood up, straightening his jacket. It was nearly midnight. He had not realized how long it had taken him to travel to Primrose Hill and back. “I’m sorry to have kept you so late.”
    Monk stood up also. He hesitated, as if about to offer his hand. It was a peculiarly formal gesture, and at the last moment he changed his mind. “I’ll let you know as soon as I find anything,” he promised instead, and his face was very grave. Rathbone realized with warmth that he too felt angry and hurt and more than a little guilty.
    In the morning Monk abandoned the rather tedious letters in which he had been trying to find evidence of duplicity for a woman who felt her sister-in-law was behaving immorally, and set out for the Old Bailey.
    He passed several paperboys. Keelin Melville’s death was not on the front pages anymore. A fresh political event in France had superseded her, and there were whispers of a financial scandal in the city.
    At the courthouse he went up the steps two at a time and out of a surprisingly sharp wind. The weather had changed and there was a hint of frost in the air. He had been there often enough to know several of the clerks and ushers, too well to deceive them as to his identity or his purpose for being there.
    “Good morning, Mr. Monk,” an elderly usher said to him before he was a dozen yards inside.
    “Good morning, Mr. Pearson,” he replied, coming to a stop. “Just the man I was hoping to see.”
    Pearson looked interested. “Oh, yes sir? Why would that be?” Monk was one of the more colorful people to enter his world, and his arrival heralded a break in routine. Added to which, if Monk was seeking him, then for a little while at least, Pearson would be more important than merely the efficient, almost invisible functionary he usually was.
    “I need to know a good deal more about the last day of the Melville trial. You are very observant of people …”
    “My job, sir,” Pearson answered with suitable gravity, but he stood a little straighter for the compliment. “Times there’s little else to do but notice people. What is it you need to know, Mr. Monk?”
    “Did Melville leave the courtroom at any time before the hearing ended?”
    “No sir.”
    “Are you sure? Not for any reason?”
    “No sir. They’d have had to halt the trial if he’d excused himself. Sir Oliver’ll have told you that.”
    Monk sighed. “I thought not, but he could have forgotten. He is very disturbed at the outcome.”
    Pearson shook his head. “Nobody likes to lose a case, but for the poor soul to have taken her life is truly terrible. I was very sorry to hear about that. He always seemed like a nice gentleman to me—or I suppose I should say lady, now. I never guessed. Never came into my mind.” He looked at Monk curiously, searching his face to see if he felt the same.
    “Nor mine,” Monk admitted. “The surgeon says she took the poison while she was here in the court, some time during that afternoon.”
    Pearson frowned. “I don’t rightly see how that could be, Mr. Monk. Was she supposed to have swallowed it like?”
    “Yes.”
    “I don’t know where. She wouldn’t have eaten nor drunkanything in the courtroom. Judge wouldn’t allow it. And if she had, anyone would have seen. There’s always people looking at the accused, and that’s what it amounted to in this case, poor soul. Mr. Sacheverall went after him something fierce. I mean her. Still can’t get it into my head that she was a woman.”
    A group of junior counsel passed by, glancing at Monk, and one nodded as if he thought for a moment he knew him, then continued on his way.
    “Was there an adjournment for any reason?”
    “Yes! Yes … Sir Oliver tried again with Mr. Sacheverall. I remember that. It must have been then!” Memory quickened Pearson’s face. “Must have! No other time. I’m almost sure when Miss Melville left at the end of the day, she went straight out the back way, before the crowds could get at her. Sir Oliver went with her, then came out the front. If she really did take it here, and not after she left, then it must have been during the adjournment.”
    “Curious,” Monk said slowly.
    “Sir?”
    “Why didn’t she wait until she knew the result of Rathbone’s talk with Sacheverall? There might have been some better resolution.”
    “I don’t know, sir, I really don’t.” Pearson shook his head in agreement. “Don’t make a lot of sense, does it? Poor