"The difference seems academic." Quinlan for once sided with Baird. "And what is interesting about it? Did they tell you I married the beautiful Eilish Farraline almost out of the arms of her previous suitor? A young man of good breeding and no money, of whom her family disapproved."

Baird's face darkened, but he bit his tongue rather than respond.

Eilish looked momentarily unhappy, glanced at Baird, but he was looking away from her, then at Quinlan with dislike.

"How fortunate that they approved of you," Monk said expressionlessly. "Was that personal charm, an influential family, or merely wealth?"

Oonagh drew her breath in sharply, but there was amus.e.m.e.nt glittering in her eyes, and an appreciation of Monk which he could not fail to see was growing increasingly personal. He felt an acute satisfaction in it; in fact, were he honest he would have acknowledged it as pleasure.

"You would have to have asked Mother-in-law," Deirdra said at last. "I imagine she was the person whose approval mattered. Of course in many ways Alastair...but he would be guided in such things. I don't know why he did not care for the other young man. He seemed perfectly agreeable to me."

"'Perfectly agreeable' is neither here nor there," Kenneth said with a touch of bitterness. "Not even money is everything, unless it is thousands. It is all respectability-isn't it, Oonagh?"

Oonagh looked at him with patience and acute perception.

"Well, it certainly isn't beauty, wit or the ability to enjoy yourself-still less to give enjoyment to others, my dear. Women like that have their place, but it is not at the altar."

"For heaven's sake, please don't tell us where it is," Quinlan said quickly, looking at Kenneth. "The answer is only too obvious."

"Well, I am still none the wiser," Baird said, staring at Quinlan. "You have no fortune, your family has never been mentioned, and personal charm is not even worth considering."

Oonagh looked at him with an unreadable expression. "We Farralines do not need money or family allegiances. We marry where we wish to. Quinlan has his qualities, and as long as they please Eilish, and we gave our approval, that is all that matters." She smiled at Eilish. "Isn't it, dear?"

Eilish hesitated; a curious play of emotions fought in her expression, then finally it softened with something like apology and she smiled back. "Yes, of course it is. I loathed you at the time for agreeing with Mother. In fact, I thought you were largely to blame. But now I can see I would never have been happy with Robert Crawford." She glanced at Baird, and away again. "He was certainly not the right person for me."

A flush of color spread up Baird's cheeks, and he looked away.

"Romantic love," Hector said, more to himself than apparently to anyone else. "What a dream...what a beautiful dream." There was reminiscence in his tone and his eyes were not focused on anything.

They all studiously ignored him.

"Does anyone know what time we may expect Alastair?" Kenneth asked, looking from Deirdra to Oonagh. "Are we going to have to wait dinner for him...again?"

"If he is late," Oonagh replied coolly, "it will be for an excellent reason, not because he is inconsiderate or has some social entertainment he prefers."

Like a small boy Kenneth pulled a face, but he said nothing. Monk formed the distinct impression he did not dare to, dearly as he would have liked.

Conversation struggled on for another ten or fifteen minutes. Monk found himself talking with Deirdra, mostly by design, not to obtain Oonagh's information but because he enjoyed her company. She was an intelligent woman, and seemed to be devoid of the sort of artifice he disliked. He watched Eilish out of the comer of his eye, but her luminous beauty did not appeal to him. He preferred character and wit. Sheer beauty lent an aura of invulnerability, and was peculiarly unattractive to him.

"Have you really found out anything about poor Mother-in-law's death, Mr. Monk?" Deirdra asked gravely. "I do hope the affair is not going to drag on and cause more and more distress?" The lift in her voice made it a question and her dark eyes were full of anxiety.

She deserved the truth-although he would not have hesitated to lie even to her, had he thought it would serve its purpose.

"I am afraid I can think of no way in which it will be resolved easily," he replied. "Criminal trials are always unpleasant. No one is going"-he forced himself to say it-"to be hanged without doing everything they know how to avoid it."

Suddenly and ridiculously he was overwhelmed with a blinding hatred for them all, standing in this warm room waiting to be called in to dinner. One of them had murdered Mary Farraline and was going to allow the law to murder Hester in his or her place. "And no doubt a good defense lawyer will try to spread blame and suspicion somewhere else," he added between his clenched teeth. "Of course it will be unpleasant. She is fighting for her life. She is a brave woman who has faced loneliness, privation and physical danger before. She won't surrender. She will have to be beaten."

Deirdra was staring at him, her face drawn, her eyes wide.

"You speak as if you knew her well," she said in little more than a whisper.

Monk checked himself instantly, like a runner tripping and regaining his balance.

"It is my business to, Mrs. Farraline. I can hardly defend the prosecution's interest if I am unfamiliar with the enemy."

"Oh...no, I suppose not. I had not thought of that." She frowned. "I had not thought very much about it at all. Alastair would have known better. I expect you have talked with him." It was an a.s.sumption rather than a question. She looked a trifle crestfallen. "You should really speak with Oonagh. She is most observant of people. She always seems to know what a person really means, rather than what they say. I have noticed it often. She is most gifted at reading character." She smiled. "It is really rather a comforting quality, to feel someone understands you so well."

"Except in Miss Latterly's case," Monk said with more sarcasm than he had meant to show.

She caught his tone and looked at him with a mixture of perception and defense.

He found himself annoyed, both for having been rude to her and for having betrayed himself.

"You must not blame her for that," she said quickly. "She was so busy caring for poor Mother-in-law. It was she whom Mother confided in. She seemed to be most concerned about Griselda." A slight frown puckered her brows. "I had not thought there was anything really wrong. She always was rather a worrier. But perhaps it was something more serious? A first confinement can be difficult. So can any, for that matter, of course. But I know Griselda wrote several times a week, until eventually even Oonagh agreed that it really was necessary that Mother should travel down to London to rea.s.sure her. Now, poor soul, she will never know what Mother would have told her."

"Can Mrs. McIvor not write to her in such a way as to help?" he suggested.

"Oh I am sure she has done," Deirdra said with certainty. "I wish I could help myself, but I have no idea what was the subject of her anxiety. I think it was some family medical history over which Mother-in-law could have set her mind at ease."

"Then I am sure Mrs. McIvor will have done so."

"Of course." She smiled a sudden warmth.

"Oonagh will help if anyone can. I daresay Mother confided in her anyway. She will know precisely what to say to make Griselda feel better."

Further conversation was cut off by the arrival of Alastair, looking tired and a trifle hara.s.sed. He spoke first to Oonagh, exchanging only a word or two, but then he acknowledged his wife and apologized to Monk for being late. The moment after, the gong sounded and they went into the dining room.

They were into the second course when the embarra.s.sment began. Hector had been sitting in relative silence, only making the occasional monosyllabic reply, until suddenly he looked across at Alastair, frowning at him and focusing his eyes with difficulty.

"I suppose it's that case again," he said with disgust. "You should leave it alone. You lost. That's the end of it."

"No, Uncle Hector," Alastair said wearily. "I was meeting with the sheriff over something quite new."

Hector grunted and looked unconvinced, but it might have been that he was too drunk to have understood.

"It was a bad case, that. You ought to have won. I'm not surprised you still think about it."

Oonagh filled her gla.s.s with wine from the decanter on the table and pa.s.sed it across to Hector. He took it with a glance at her but he did not drink it straightaway.

"Alastair does not win or lose cases, Uncle Hector," she said gently. "He decides whether there is sufficient evidence to prosecute or not. If there isn't, there would be no point in bringing it to court. It would only waste public money."

"And subject the person, most probably innocent, to a harrowing ordeal and public shame," Monk added rather abruptly.

Oonagh flashed him a look of quick surprise. "Certainly, and that also."

Hector looked at Monk as if he had only just remembered his presence.

"Oh yes...you're the detective, aren't you. Come to make sure of the case against that nurse. Pity." He looked at Monk with acute disfavor. "I liked her. Nice girl. Courage. Takes a lot of courage for a woman to go out to a place like the Crimea, you know, and look after the wounded." There was distinct hostility in his face. "You'd better be sure, young man. You'd better be d.a.m.ned sure you've got the right person."

"I shall be," Monk said grimly. "I am more dedicated to that than you can possibly know."

Hector stared at him, then at last almost reluctantly began to drink Oonagh's wine.

"There isn't any doubt, Uncle Hector," Quinlan said irritably. "If you were a little closer to sober you'd know that."

"Would I!" Hector was annoyed. He put down the gla.s.s, very nearly spilling it. It was only saved by Eilish, on the other side, reaching forward and pulling a spoon handle out of the way. "Why would I?" Hector demanded, ignoring Eilish. "Why would I know that, Quinlan?"

"Well, apart from the fact that if it was not her then it was one of us," Quinlan said, baring his teeth in a mockery of a smile, "she was the only one who had any reason. The brooch was found in her case."

"Books," Hector said with satisfaction.

"Books?" Quinlan was derisive. "What are you talking about? What books?"

A flash of temper crossed Hector's face, but he changed his mind about letting go of it. "Company books," he said with a smile. "Ledgers."

There was a moment's silence. Kenneth put down his knife and fork.

"Miss Latterly didn't know anything about our company books, Uncle Hector," Oonagh said quietly. "She only arrived in Edinburgh that morning."

"Of course she didn't," Hector agreed crossly. "But we do."

"Naturally we do," Quinlan agreed. Monk thought he only just avoided adding "you fool."

"And one of us knows whether they are right or wrong," Hector went on doggedly.

Kenneth's face was pink. "I do, Uncle Hector. It is my job to keep them. And they are right...to the farthing."

"Of course they are," Oonagh said frankly, looking first at Kenneth, then at Hector. "We all know you are distressed over Mother's death, but you are beginning to speak irresponsibly, Uncle Hector. That does not do any of us justice. It would be a good idea if you were to stop discussing that subject before you say something we shall all regret." Her eyes were very steady on his. "Mother would not have wished us to quarrel with each other, or make hurtful remarks like that."

Hector looked numbed, as if for a moment he had forgotten Mary's death, and then suddenly the whole weight of grief struck him again. The color fled from his face and he seemed about to collapse.

Eilish leaned towards him to give him physical support, which seemed necessary to keep him upright in his chair, and immediately Baird rose and came around to him, half lifting him up.

"Come on, Uncle Hector. Let me take you to your room. I think you had better he down for a while."

A look of fury crossed over Quinlan's face as Eilish and Baird between them helped Hector to his feet and led him, shambling erratically, out of the room. They could hear their footsteps lurching across the hall, and Eilish's voice in encouragement, and then Baird's deeper tones.

"I'm so sorry," Oonagh apologized, looking at Monk. "I am afraid poor Uncle Hector is not as well as we would wish. This has all struck him very hard." She smiled gently, tacitly seeking Monk's understanding. "I am afraid he sometimes gets confused."

"'Not as well,'" Quinlan said viciously. "He's blind drunk, the old a.s.s!"

Alastair shot him a look of warning, but refrained from saying anything.

Deirdra rang the bell for the servants to clear away the dishes and bring the next course.

They were finished with dinner and back in the withdrawing room before Oonagh found her opportunity to speak privately with Monk. They were all in the room, but so discreetly that it seemed unnoticed by anyone else, she led him farther and farther from the others until they were standing in front of the large window, now closed against the rapidly chilling night, and out of earshot of anyone. He was suddenly aware of the perfume of her.

"How is your errand progressing, Mr. Monk?" she said softly.

"I have learned little that might not have been expected," he replied guardedly.

"About us?"

There was no point in prevaricating, and she was not a woman to whom he would lie, or wished to over this.

"Naturally."

"Have you discovered where Deirdra spends so much money, Mr. Monk?"

"Not yet."

She pulled a small, rueful face, full of apology, and something else beyond it, deep within her which he could not not read. read.

"She manages to go through enormous amounts, quite unexplained by the running of this house, which has been largely in my mother's hands until her death, and of course mine." She frowned. "Deirdra says she spends it on clothes, but she is exceptionally extravagant, even for a woman of fashion and some social position to maintain." She took a deep breath and looked at Monk very squarely. "It is causing my brother Alastair some concern. If...if you should find out, in the course of your investigations, we would be most grateful to learn." The ghost of a smile curved her lips. "We would express that grat.i.tude in whatever manner was appropriate. I do not wish to insult you."

"Thank you," he said frankly. He was obliged to admit, his pride could be quite easily offended. "If I should learn the answer to that, which I may do, I will inform you directly I am certain."

She smiled, in a moment's candid understanding, and a moment later fell back into ordinary, meaningless chatter.

He took his leave shortly before a quarter to eleven, and was in the hall waiting for McTeer to emerge through the green baize door when Hector Farraline came lurching down the stairs and slid the last half dozen steps to land clinging to the newel post, his face wearing an expression of intense concentration.

"Are you going to find out who killed Mary?" he said in a whisper, surprisingly quiet for one so inebriated.

"Yes," Monk replied simply. He did not think rational argument or explanation would serve any purpose, only prolong an encounter which was going to be at least trying.

"She was the best woman I ever knew." Hector blinked and his eyes filled with a terrible sadness. "You should have seen her when she was young. She was never beautiful, like Eilish, but she had the same sort of quality about her, a light inside, a sort of fire." He gazed across the hall past Monk, and for a moment his glance caught the huge portrait of his brother, which until now Monk had noticed only vaguely. The old man's hp curled and his face filled with a vortex of emotions, love, hate, envy, loathing, regret, longing for things past, even pity.

"He was a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, you know-at times," he said in little more than a whisper, but his voice shook with intensity. "The handsome Hamish, my elder brother, the colonel. I was only a major, you know? But I was a better soldier than he ever was! Cut a fine figure. Knew how to speak to the ladies. They adored him."

He slid down to sit on the lowest step. "But Mary was always the best. She used to walk with her back so straight, and her head so high. She had wit, Mary. Make you laugh till you wept...at the d.a.m.nedest things." He looked regrettably close to weeping now, and impatient as he was, Monk felt a twinge of pity for him. He was an old man, living on the bounty of a younger generation who had nothing but contempt for him, and a sense of duty. The fact that he probably deserved nothing more would be no comfort at all.

"He was wrong," Hector said suddenly, swiveling around to look straight at the portrait again. "Very wrong. He shouldn't have done that to her, of all people."

Monk was not interested. Hamish Farraline had been dead over eight years. There could be no connection with Mary's death, and that was all that mattered now. Impatience was gnawing inside him. He moved away.

"Watch for McIvor," Hector called after him.

Monk turned back.

"Why?"

"She liked him," Hector said simply, his eyes wide. "You could always tell when Mary liked someone."

"Indeed."

He could not be bothered to wait for McTeer. The old fool was probably asleep in his pantry. He took his own coat off the hall stand and made for the front door just as Alastair came out of the withdrawing room, apologizing for McTeer's absence.

Monk said good-night again, nodded towards Hector on the stairs, and went out of the front door. He had refused the offer of a.s.sistance to call a cab, and had set out to walk southwards when he saw an unmistakable figure pa.s.s beneath the lamplight so rapidly he almost missed her. But no one else could have quite that ethereal grace, or that flame of hair. Most of her head was covered by the hood of her cape, but as she turned towards the light her brow was pale and the copper red clear above it.