William Monk 13 - Death of a Stranger

should not intrude. We spoke of the values that matter: beauty and intelligence, the exploration of the world, realms of the mind.”
    “It sounds excellent,” Hester said, trying to sound as if she meant it sincerely. She did not want to hurt Livia’s feelings, but she knew that the inclusion of the ugly, and some attempt at the understanding of pain, was necessary for the kind of truth that makes the greatest beauty possible. But this was not the time or place to say so. “You must have been very happy,” she added.
    “Yes,” Livia agreed. “We were.” She hesitated, sipping her tea.
    “Mrs. Monk . . .”
    “Yes?”
    “Do you think it is likely that the police will ever find out who killed my father? Please be honest . . . I do not want a comfortable lie because you think it would be easier for me.”
    “It is possible,” Hester said carefully. “I don’t know about likely. It may depend whether there was a personal reason, or if it was simply mischance, that he passed along the wrong street at the wrong moment. Do you know if he went intending to keep an appointment with anyone?” It was the question to which she most wanted an answer, and yet she was aware that the solution to Baltimore’s death might mean social ruin to his family, particularly to Livia, who was young and as yet unmarried.
    Livia looked startled, then, on the brink of speech, she stopped and considered, setting her cup down again. “I don’t know. Certainly he did not tell us, but then he never discussed business with Mama or me. My brother might know. I could ask him. Do you think it would make a difference?”
    “It might.” How honest should she be? Her whole reason for being there was dishonest to Livia. She was thinking of Monk and his need to know about fraud, and Fanny and Alice and all the other young women like them—in fact, all the women of the whole Coldbath area who were still living on the streets but were unable to earn anything because of the constant police presence. She was not trying to find the murderer of Nolan Baltimore because it would ease the grief of his family, or even in the impersonal cause of justice.
    “I know what people presume,” Livia said quietly, her cheeks very pink. “I simply cannot believe it is true. I won’t.”
    No one could easily believe it of her own father. Hester would not have believed it of hers. It was not rational. The brain said that one’s father was human like any other man, but all the heart and the will denied the very idea that he would lower himself to indulge carnal appetites with a woman paid from the streets. It awoke something inside oneself as to the origin of one’s own existence, the nature of one’s physical creation, and something unbearable about one’s mother as well. It was a betrayal beyond acceptance.
    “No,” Hester said, not really as a reply, simply an understanding. “Of course not. Perhaps your brother may know if he intended to meet someone, or if not, at least what his destination might have been.”
    “I have already tried,” Livia said with both embarrassment and anger. “He simply told me not to worry myself, that the police would find the answer, and not to listen to anyone.”
    “That might be good advice,” Hester conceded. “At least the part about not listening to what people say.”
    There was a knock on the door, and almost before Livia had finished answering, it opened. A dark, lithe man in his thirties came in, hesitating when he saw Hester, but only momentarily. He had an air of confidence about him which was arrogant, even abrasive, and yet had a certain attraction. Perhaps it was the feeling of energy in him which appealed, almost like a fire, at once dangerous and alive. He moved with grace, and he wore his clothes as if elegance were natural to him. He reminded Hester fleetingly of Monk as he would have been in his early thirties. Then the impression was gone. This man lacked a depth of emotion. His fire was of the head, not the heart.
    Livia looked over at him, and her face lit instantly. It was not something she did consciously, but it was impossible to mistake her pleasure.
    “Michael! I was not expecting you.” She turned to Hester. “I should like you to meet Mr. Michael Dalgarno, my brother’s partner. Michael, this is Mrs. Monk, who has been kind enough to call upon me in connection with a charity in which I am interested.” She barely blushed at her lie. She was perfectly used to the accommodation