William Monk 13 - Death of a Stranger

of social exchange.
    “How do you do, Mrs. Monk.” Dalgarno bowed very slightly. “I am delighted to meet you, and I apologize for intruding upon your tea. I had not realized Miss Baltimore had company, or I should not have been so forward.” He turned to look at Livia and smiled; it was deliberate and devastatingly charming. There was a candor to it that was as intimate as a touch.
    The color swept up Livia’s face, and neither Hester nor Dalgarno himself could have doubted her feelings for him.
    He placed his hand on the back of Livia’s chair, gently, as if it were her shoulder. It was oddly possessive. Perhaps so soon after her father’s death, and in such circumstances, the statement of anything further would be inappropriate, but the gesture was unmistakable.
    Hester had a fleeting thought that as the daughter of a wealthy man, about to become vastly wealthier through the sale of the components, Livia Baltimore was a young woman who might expect a great number of suitors, many of them driven by the least noble of motives. She must have known Dalgarno for some time. Was it a genuine love, begun as friendship long before the promise of wealth, or was it a classic piece of opportunism by an ambitious young man? She would never know, nor did she need to, but she hoped profoundly that it was the former.
    Now she had learned all that she was likely to, she did not want to remain longer and risk saying something that would give away the lie to Livia’s explanation for her presence. The only charity with which she was connected was the house in Coldbath Square, and she did not think that Mr. Dalgarno would find it easy to believe that Livia was interested in that.
    She rose to her feet. “Thank you, Miss Baltimore,” she said with a smile. “You have been most gracious, and I shall call upon you again if you wish, or not trouble you further if you feel we have—”
    “Oh, no!” Livia interrupted hastily, rising as well, her black skirts rustling stiffly. “I should very much like us to speak again, if . . . if you would be so kind?”
    “Of course,” Hester agreed. “Thank you again for your graciousness.” She turned to him. “I am delighted to have made your acquaintance, Mr. Dalgarno.” He moved to open the door for her. She went out and was conducted to the entrance by a footman. She passed a tall, fair-haired young man coming in. He was remarkable for his vigor and his large ears. He took no notice of her, but strode toward Dalgarno and started to speak before he reached him. Unfortunately, Hester was obliged to go out into the street before she could overhear anything.

    * * *
    The following evening Hester and Margaret kept their appointment to meet in Margaret’s sister’s home and learn what more they could about Nolan Baltimore.
    Accordingly, Hester dressed carefully in her most sober jacket and skirt, the one which she would have worn were she seeking a position of nursing in a private house. Margaret wore a becoming gown of a dark wine shade and a highly fashionable cut. They took a hansom together and arrived in Weymouth Street, south of Regent’s Park, just after six. It was a very imposing house, and even as they crossed the footpath and mounted the steps up to the front door, Hester felt a subtle change come over Margaret. She moved less briskly, her shoulders were not quite so square, and she pulled the brass knob of the bell almost tentatively.
    The door was answered straightaway by a footman of towering height and excellent legs, the qualities most admired in his calling.
    “Good evening, Miss Ballinger,” he said stiffly. “Mrs. Courtney is expecting you and Mrs. Monk. If you would care to come this way.” He ushered them in, and Hester could not help glancing around the perfectly proportioned hallway with its black-and-white flagged floor leading to a magnificent staircase, and the walls hung with ancient armor, decorated swords, and flintlocks, stocks inlaid with gold wire and mother-of-pearl.
    The footman opened the withdrawing-room door, announced them, and then showed them in. Hester saw Margaret draw in a deep breath and go forward.
    Inside the room, oak-floored with paneled walls, heavy plum-colored curtains framed high windows onto formal gardens beyond. Three people were awaiting them. The woman was obviously Margaret’s sister. She was not quite as tall, and judging by her skin and slightly more ample figure, the elder by four or five years. She was handsome in