William Monk 11 - Slaves of Obsession

opposite the desk. “She is willing to go and to do all we can to bring Merrit back here.” He saw her relax, almost smile. “But she was concerned that Merrit may be implicated in the crime,” he went on, “even by association, and that it may, after all, not be what you wish to happen. That would be beyond our control.”
    “I know that, Mr. Monk,” she said levelly. “I believe in her innocence. I am prepared to take that risk. And I am perfectly aware that I am taking it for her, as well as for myself.” She bit her lip. Her hands on the desktop were slender, white-knuckled. She wore no jewelry but her wedding ring. “If she were older, perhaps I would not, but she is still a child, in spite of her opinion to the contrary. And I am prepared to live with the fact that she may hate me for it. I have thought about it all night, and I believe absolutely that inspite of the risks of coming back to England, the dangers if she remains in America with Breeland are greater, and there will be no one else to fight for her there.”
    She lowered her eyes from his. “Apart from that, she must face what Breeland has done, and if she had a part in it, however small or unintended, she must face that also. One cannot build happiness upon lies … as terrible as this.”
    There was nothing for him to say. He could not argue, and even to agree seemed somehow impertinent, as if he were qualified to share in her pain. That would belittle it.
    “Then we shall go as soon as arrangements can be made,” he replied. “My wife is already packing cases.”
    “I am very grateful, Mr. Monk.” She smiled at him faintly. “I have the money here, and the name of the steamship company. I am afraid it is in Liverpool. That is where they sail most frequently for New York … every Wednesday, to be precise. It will require haste to catch the next ship, since this is Sunday. But it can be done, and I beg you not to delay. In the hope that you would accept, I telegraphed the steamship company yesterday reserving a cabin for you.” She bit her lip. “I can have it canceled.”
    “We shall go tomorrow morning,” he promised.
    “Thank you. I also have money for your use while in America. I do not know how long it will take you to accomplish your task, but there should be sufficient for a month. It is all I can supply at such short notice. My husband’s affairs are naturally not disposed of yet. I have sold some jewelry of my own.”
    “A month should be more than enough,” he said quickly. “I hope we shall find her long before that. And either she will be eager to come home, if she was not aware of Breeland’s acts or if he is holding her against her will, or, if she is not, then we shall have to take her as soon as possible, in case Breeland finds a way to make it more difficult for us. Whatever the circumstances, these will be adequate funds.”
    “Good.” She passed a large bundle of money across the desk. There was no hesitation in her, as if it had not crossed her mind that he would be anything but honest.
    “I should sign a receipt for this, Mrs. Alberton,” he prompted.
    “Oh! Oh, yes, of course.” She reached for a piece of notepaper and picked up a pen. She dipped it in the inkwell and wrote, then passed the paper to him to sign.
    He did so, then gave it back.
    She blotted it and put it away in the top drawer of the desk without glancing at it. He could have written anything.
    There was a knock on the door, and a moment later it opened.
    “Yes?” she said with a frown.
    “Mr. Trace is here, ma’am,” the butler said anxiously. “He is eager to speak to Mr. Monk.”
    Her brow smoothed out. The mention of Trace’s name seemed not to displease her. “Ask him to come in,” she requested, then turned to Monk. “I trust you are agreeable?”
    “Of course.” He was curious that Trace should still be in touch with the Alberton household, since the guns were now gone and he must be aware of it.
    Trace came in a moment later, noticing Monk, but only just. His attention was entirely upon Judith. The distress in his face was too palpable to be feigned. He did not ask her how she was, or express sympathy, but it was naked to read in his face with its dark eyes and curious, sensitive asymmetry. Monk was startled by it. When Trace spoke, his words were ordinary, no more than the formalities anyone might have offered.
    “Good morning, Mrs. Alberton. I am very sorry to intrude on you, especially now. But I am