William Monk 15 - Dark Assassin

terrible that Sixsmith could be guilty of killing your father, but not that your husband is? I think that judgment betrays your loyalties rather clearly, Mrs. Argyll!”
    “You accuse me!” Jenny shot back.
    “Of course I do. It was you who swore on oath that it was your husband who made you write the letter that lured your father to his death. You could not mistake such a thing. It had to be a deliberate betrayal of both your husband and your father! What does Sixsmith offer you that is worth that?”
    Jenny gasped. “Get out of my house…you…” She could not find words to protect herself.
    “Is he such a lover?” Hester went on, allowing her own past helplessness to drive her anger.
    “How dare you!” Jenny shouted. “You ignorant, complacent, stupid woman with your good works and your petty little ideas! What on earth do you know of passion?”
    “I know love and hate, and the price you pay for each,” Hester replied.
    “I know death, and I’ve seen better men than you’ve ever known give their lives for what they believed in. I’ve seen grief and war and murder. I’ve made more terrible mistakes, and I’ve loved till I thought I’d die of it. I’ve let people down because I’ve been weak or shortsighted, but I’ve never deliberately betrayed anyone. You betrayed your father, your sister, your husband, and Rose Applegate as well. Was that really worth it just to lie with Aston Sixsmith?”
    Jenny swung her arm around and slapped Hester across the face as hard as she could, sending her staggering backwards until she fell onto the armchair several steps behind her.
    Hester climbed to her feet slowly, hand to her burning cheek. “I see that it wasn’t,” she observed.
    Jenny took a step towards her, face scarlet, eyes bright with rage.
    Hester was prepared this time, her own hand ready, fist closed. “Sixsmith murdered the assassin,” she said. “Shot him and left him to be crushed and buried under the cave-in. And don’t bother to argue that. It was what gave him away. He described the man as he was when he was killed, not when Sixsmith said he paid him. It was his only mistake, but it was enough. It’ll save your husband from the rope. Or is that not what you want to hear?” That was an accusation with the bitterest contempt.
    “I don’t want any of it!” Jenny said desperately. “And you’re lying. It can’t be true!”
    Hester did not bother to argue. “He murdered your father and your sister, and he’s going to murder your husband. Is that the sort of man you trust to look after you, not to mention your children? If you’ve got any wits left at all, you’ll save yourself while you can. Your husband’s going to be freed, whatever you do, and Sixsmith will hang.”
    Jenny looked at her with loathing. “And what does it profit you, Mrs. Monk? Why do you care if I survive or not? I think you’re lying, and you need me to betray Aston, or he’ll still beat you and Alan.”
    Hester forced herself to smile, but she knew it was a cold, uncertain gesture. “Are you prepared to wager your life on no one finding evidence, now that they know where to look? More than that, are you sure your own future is safe with a man who will kill when it suits him, who betrayed the man who employed him and trusted him by taking his wife and who set him up to hang for a murder he didn’t commit? Look who is dead! Are you sure you are not the next, when your usefulness to him is over, or he finds a younger, prettier woman who isn’t weighed down with another man’s children? Or could it be that your children are heirs to the whole Argyll inheritance? Could that be your value to him? And if you marry him, whose will it be then? Toby’s, dead, too! And Mary.”
    Jenny’s face collapsed. Hester imagined the memories that might be racing through her mind, moments of intimacy, of passion. Hester would have pitied her had not so many others paid the price.
    “Go to the police and confess perjury,” she said more gently. “While you still have time. Make up some story that you were deceived and now you realize the truth. You might at least survive. You have a choice, today anyway. Live with Argyll, who may be a bore and a bully—or hang with Sixsmith, who is far worse.” She gave a very slight shrug. “There’s no profit in it for me, Mrs. Argyll, but there is for your children. I suppose I care about them.” And she turned on her heel and walked out. She would go back home and have