William Monk 15 - Dark Assassin

part.
    “Yes, of course,” she said, hoping it was a reasonably appropriate response.
    Argyll was looking at her, his eyes cold and guarded.
    Jenny’s voice sounded strained, too sharp and too high. The conversation was all trivial: a remembrance of the dead man and the causes he had supported. A footman passed by with a tray of glasses filled with mulled wine and lemonade.
    They were a little crowded. There was no room for the footman to pass between them. Argyll took the tray from him and offered it to Hester. Considering the potency of the mulled wine she had drunk on entering, she decided that lemonade might be wiser this time.
    “Thank you,” she said, accepting a glass.
    Because of the way they were standing, Jenny next to her husband, it was natural to pass the tray to her next. Jenny hesitated a moment over the lemonade, then chose the wine.
    Rose took the lemonade, as before. She lifted her glass. “To the brave men who pioneer social reform!” she said, and drank deeply.
    The rest of them echoed the sentiment. More food was offered. This time it was sweet pastries filled with crushed dried fruit, or delicate custards with unusual flavors.
    A portly man with heavy side whiskers took Argyll’s attention.
    A three-piece musical ensemble began playing a slow, solemn tune.
    Rose turned to Jenny. “Isn’t it awful?” she said confidentially, pulling her mouth down at the corners.
    Jenny appeared startled. So far they had shared the artificial conversation of acquaintances who did not care for each other but were civil in their mutual interest.
    Suddenly Rose giggled. It was a rich, absurdly happy sound. “Not the food! The music, if you can call it that. Why on earth can’t we be honest? Nobody feels like playing a dirge because the old fool is dead. Most of them couldn’t wait for him to go. Death is about the only thing that finally made him hold his tongue.”
    Jenny pretended she was not taken aback. She took a deep breath and answered with a slightly shaky voice. “That may be true, but we would be wiser not to say so, Mrs. Applegate.”
    Hester realized she had been holding her breath, almost till it hurt. What on earth was the matter with Rose? This was not part of their plan.
    “To be wise all the time is the utmost foolishness!” Rose said rather loudly. “We are so careful being wise, we never commit any indiscretions, unless they are colossal and catastrophic!” She swung her arms wide to show how very huge the indiscretions were, nearly knocking Jenny’s glass out of her hand. “Look what you’re doing!” she reproached her. “Bad wine stains, you know.”
    Jenny looked embarrassed. Several other people turned to look at Rose, then away again quickly.
    A waiter passed, and Rose took another glass from his tray, but this time she took the wine. She drank it down in one long draught, then tossed the glass over her shoulder. It fell on the floor with a tinkle as it broke. She ignored it entirely and strode over towards the musicians. She made a magnificent figure, head high, skirts swaying, her handsome face bristling with life. She stood in front of the dais.
    “For heaven’s sake, stop that awful screeching!” she commanded fiercely. “You on the violin, you sound like a cat wailing for a fish head. Unless you think the poor old sod went to dismal torment, which I admit is likely, try to sound as if you believed in the forgiveness of God, and some chance of heaven for him!”
    The violinist clasped her hands to her bosom and let the violin slither down her dress and fall onto the floor.
    Rose stooped and picked it up. She put it under her chin, seized the bow, and began to play astonishingly well. She began with the same music they had been playing, but she altered the tempo to that of the music hall, and then slid into one of the concert songs, swift and bawdy.
    The pianist gave a little squawk of horror and sat stark still with her mouth open. The cellist burst into tears.
    “Oh, stop it!” Rose commanded her. “Pull yourself together! And hold that thing properly!” She pointed to the cello. “Like a lover, not as if it just made you an indecent proposal!”
    The cellist flung the instrument on the ground and fled, the bow trailing behind her.
    Someone in the audience fainted, or pretended to. Another began to laugh hysterically. A man started to sing the words to the song. He had a rich baritone voice and—most unfortunately—knew all the words.
    Hester stood