Rathbone looked temporarily nonplussed. He stared at Monk with acute dislike.

"Do we gather from your remark that you intend to remain, Mr. Monk?" Henry Rathbone asked, his mild face pinched with concern. "Is that because you believe you can accomplish something you have not done so far?"

A faint flush of anger and self-consciousness colored Monk's lean cheeks.

"We have a great deal more to pursue than we did even a day ago. I'm going to remain here until I have seen the end of it." He looked at Hester with a strange, mixed expression in his face. "You don't need to be so frightened. Whether they can prove it or not, they'll charge someone else." His voice still sounded angry.

She felt absurdly, unreasonably hurt. It was unfair. He seemed to be blaming her because the matter was unresolved, and she was frightened, and only with the greatest difficulty prevented herself from bursting into tears. Now that the worst fear was over, the sense of anticlimax, the confusion and relief, and the continued anxiety were almost more than she could bear. She wanted to be alone, where she could allow herself to stop the pretense and not care in the slightest what anyone else thought. And at the same time she wanted company, she wanted someone to put his arms around her and hold her closely, tightly, and not to let her go. She wanted to feel the warmth of someone, the breathing heartbeat, the tenderness. She certainly did not want to quarrel, least of all with Monk.

And yet because she was so vulnerable, she was furious with him. The only defense was attack.

"I don't know what you are so upset about," she said. "No one accused you of anything, except perhaps incompetence! But they don't hang you for that!" She turned to Callandra. "I am going to remain as well. For my own sake, as well as anyone else's, I am going to find out who killed Mary Farraline. I really-"

"Don't be absurd!" Monk cut across her. "There's nothing you can accomplish here, and you may well be a hindrance."

"To whom?" she demanded. Anger was so much easier than the fear and need she really felt. "You? I would have thought, on your showing so far, you would be grateful for any help you could obtain. You don't know whether it was Baird McIvor or Kenneth. You just said as much. At least I knew Mary, you didn't."

Monk's eyebrows rose. "And what help is that? If she said something useful, don't tell me you have waited until now to reveal it."

"Don't be stupid! Of course-"

"This conversation is not furthering our cause," Henry Rathbone interrupted them. "I think, if you will forgive me saying so, it is well time we exercised a little more logical thought and rather less emotion. It is only natural that after such a fearful experience we may all be excused a little self-indulgence, but it really will serve us ill in learning who is responsible for Mrs. Farraline's death. Perhaps we should retire to our beds and resume our discussion in the morning?"

"An excellent idea." Callandra rose to her feet. "We are all too tired to think usefully."

"There is no decision to make," Monk said irritably. "I shall go back to the Farraline house and continue my investigations."

"How will you explain yourself?" Rathbone asked with pursed lips. "They may not find personal curiosity an acceptable excuse."

Monk regarded him with loathing. "They are acutely vulnerable at the moment," he replied slowly and with sarcastic patience. "It is now apparent to everyone that one of the family is guilty. They will each be pointing the finger at the other. It should not be beyond my ability to convince at least one of them that they require my services."

Oliver's eyebrows rose very high. "At least one? Do you plan to work for several of them? That should provoke an interesting situation, to say the least of it!"

"All right...one of them," Monk conceded waspishly. "I'm sure Eilish is not guilty, and she will be very keen to prove that McIvor is not either, since she is in love with him. I think it is not impossible she will prefer him to her brother, if she is driven to choose."

"Which presumably you will do?"

"How perceptive of you!"

"Not particularly. You were rather obvious."

Monk opened his mouth to retort.

"William!" Callandra commanded. "I will be obliged if you will take your leave. Whether you return to your room in the Gra.s.smarket or not is up to you, but it seems more than apparent to me that you need a good night's sleep." She regarded Henry Rathbone with affection. "I am sure you must be ready to retire, and I am. Good night, Mr. Rathbone. You have been of great support to me in this most trying time, and my grat.i.tude to you is immense. I hope we shall remain friends once you have returned to London."

"I am always at your service, ma'am," he said with a smile which warmed his whole face. "Good night. Come, Oliver. We have all but outstayed our welcome."

"Good night, Lady Callandra," Oliver said courteously. He turned to Hester, ignoring Monk. His face was suddenly gentle. The anger fled and a p.r.o.nounced tenderness took its place. "Good night, my dear. Tonight you are free, and we shall find the solution somehow. You shall not be jeopardized again."

"Thank you," she said with a sudden rush of emotion making her voice hoa.r.s.e. "I know how much you have done for me already, and I am profoundly grateful. Nothing I can say-"

"Don't," he interrupted. "Just sleep well. Tomorrow is time enough to think of the next step."

She took a deep breath. "Good night."

He smiled and led the way to the door. Henry Rathbone followed immediately after him, smiling at Hester, and leaving without further speech.

Monk hesitated, frowning, then seemed to think better of what he had been going to say.

"Good night, Hester, Lady Callandra."

He was gone and the door closed before she realized it was the first time she could recall his having used her given name. It was odd to hear it on his tongue, and she was; torn between relief that he had left and a desire for him to stay. That was ridiculous. She was much too tired and overwrought to make any sense even to herself.

"I think I will go to bed if you don't mind," she said to Callandra. "I think I am really ..."

"Exhausted," Callandra finished very gently. "Of course you are, my dear. I shall have the innkeeper send us both up hot milk and a spot of brandy. I think I need it about as much as you do. I can confess to you now, I was deathly afraid I was going to lose one of the dearest friends I have. The relief is rather more than I can comfortably cope with. I am very ready to sleep." She held out her hand, and without an instant's hesitation, Hester took it, and walked into her arms to cling to her as fiercely as she was able, and did not move till the innkeeper knocked on the door.

Early the following morning everyone was a trifle self-conscious over the previous night's high emotion. No one referred to it. Henry Rathbone took his leave back to London, stopping for a moment to speak with Hester and then failing to find words for what he meant. It did not matter in the slightest. She had no need of them.

Callandra also went, apparently satisfied that she could add nothing further to the situation.

Oliver Rathbone said that he was going to council with Argyll once more, and that no doubt he would see Monk and Hester again before he also returned to London. Not unnaturally he had other cases awaiting him. He said nothing to Monk about whatever he had intended to do at Ainslie Place, and took only a moment to speak, rather formally, to Hester. She thanked him yet again for his work on her behalf, and he looked embarra.s.sed, so she pursued it no further.

By nine o'clock she and Monk were alone, everyone else having departed for the morning train south. It was a windy day but not unpleasant, and fitful shafts of sunlight gave it a brightness out of keeping with both their moods. They stood side by side on Princes Street, staring up its handsome length towards the rise of the new town, and Ainslie Place.

"I don't know where you think you are going to stay," Monk said with a frown. "The Gra.s.smarket is most unsuitable, and you cannot afford the hotel where Callandra was."

"What is wrong with the Gra.s.smarket?" she demanded.

"It's not suitable for a woman alone," he replied irritably. "For heaven's sake, I thought your own common sense would have told you that! The neighborhood is rough, and a great deal of it none too clean."

She looked at him witheringly. "Worse than Newgate?" she inquired.

"Acquired a taste for it, have you?" he said, tight-lipped.

"Then leave me to attend to my own accommodation," she said rashly. "And let us proceed to Ainslie Place."

"What do you mean 'us'? I'm not taking you!"

"I do not require you to. I am perfectly capable of taking myself. I believe I shall walk there. It is not an unpleasant day and I should welcome a little exercise. I have not had much of late."

Monk shrugged and set out at a smart pace, so smart she was obliged almost to run to keep up with him. She had no breath to continue the conversation.

They arrived after ten, Hester with sore feet and feeling too heated for comfort, and by now in a very different temper. d.a.m.n Monk!

He, on the contrary, was looking rather pleased with himself.

The door of number seventeen was opened by McTeer. His dismal expression fell even farther when he saw Monk, and approached disastrous proportions when he saw Hester behind him.

"And who will ye be wanting?" he said slowly, rolling the words on his tongue as if he were making a prognostication of doom. "Have ye come for Mr. McIvor?"

"No, of course not," Monk said. "We have no power to come for anybody."

McTeer snorted. "I thought maybe ye were the poliss...."

It still jarred Monk that he was no longer a policeman and had no power whatever. His new status gave him freedom, and at the same time robbed him of half the ability to use it to its uttermost.

"Then ye'll be wanting Mrs. McIvor, no doubt," McTeer finished for himself. "Mr. Alastair is no here at this time o' day."

"Of course not," Monk agreed. "I should be obliged to see whoever I may."

"Aye, aye, I daresay. Well, you'd better come in." And reluctantly McTeer pulled the door wide enough open to allow them to pa.s.s into the hall, with its giant picture of Hamish Farraline dominating the room.

Hester stared at it with curiosity as McTeer withdrew. Monk waited impatiently.

"What are you going to say?" Hester asked him.

"I don't know," he replied tersely. "It can't be prescribed and followed like a dose of medicine."

"Medicine is not prescribed and followed regardless," she contradicted. "You watch the progress of the patient and do whatever you think best according to his response."

"Don't be pedantic."

"Well, if you don't know now, you had better make up your mind very rapidly," she replied. "Oonagh will be here in a moment, unless she sends a message that she will not receive you."

He turned his back, but remained standing close to her. She was right, and it irritated him almost beyond bearing. There had been too much emotion in the last few weeks, and he was profoundly disturbed by it. He hated his feelings to be beyond his control. The anger brought back memories which frightened him, recent memories of confusion and fear. The possibility of failure was another all too recent memory he preferred not to reawaken. The emotion caused by the knowledge that she might very easily die was a profound and deeply confused turmoil he chose to ignore. If he did so for long enough, he could sink into all the other memories he had lost.

She did not interrupt his thoughts again until McTeer returned to say that they would be received in the library. He did not say by whom.

When he opened the library door and announced them, all three of the women were there: Eilish, pale as a ghost, her eyes dark with fear; Deirdra, tense and unhappy, glancing all the time at Eilish; and Oonagh, composed and grave, and somewhat apologetic. It was she who came forward to greet first Hester, then Monk. As always, she was not lost for words.

"Miss Latterly, no expression of regret can suffice for what you have endured, but please believe that we are truly sorry, and as far as we have any part in it, we apologize profoundly."

It was a n.o.ble speech, most especially considering that it was her own husband who now stood so openly accused.

Eilish looked wretched, and Monk felt an unaccustomed wave of pity for her. Quinlan's behavior could only be acutely embarra.s.sing to her.

Hester was generous about it, whatever her underlying feelings.

"You have no call to apologize, Mrs. McIvor. You were newly bereaved in most fearful circ.u.mstances. I think you acted with dignity and restraint. I would be pleased to have done as well."

A slight smile touched Oonagh's lips.

"You are very gracious, Miss Latterly, more generous than I think I should be"-the smile broadened for a moment-"were we to change places."

Eilish made a strangled sound in her throat.

Deirdra turned to her, but Oonagh ignored the interruption, and looked at Monk.

"Good morning, Mr. Monk. McTeer gave no indication as to why you have come. Was it simply to accompany Miss Latterly, that we might apologize to her?"

"I did not come for apologies," Hester cut across him before he could speak. "I came to say how highly I regarded your mother, and in spite of all that has happened since we last met, I regard her loss as the worst of it."

"That is generous of you," Oonagh accepted. "Yes, she was a remarkable person. She will be greatly missed, outside the family as well as within it."

They seemed to be on the point of being shown out again, and Monk had asked nothing at all.

"I have already expressed my regrets, long ago," he said somewhat abruptly. "I came to ask if you wished my a.s.sistance in the matter. It is far from resolved, and the police will not allow it to rest. They cannot."

"As an agent of inquiry?" Oonagh's fair eyebrows rose curiously. "To help us obtain another verdict of 'not proven'?"

"Do you think Mr. McIvor is guilty?"

It was an appalling thing to ask. There was a shocked, breathless silence. Even Hester gasped and bit her lip. A coal settled in the grate and outside beyond the windows a dog barked.

"No!" Eilish said at last, her voice a sob in her throat. "No, of course not!"

Monk was ruthless. "Then you will need to prove that it was someone else, or he will take Miss Latterly's place at the rope's end."

"Monk!" Hester exploded. "For heaven's sake!"

"You find the truth ugly?" he said. "I would have thought you, of all people, would not now balk at the reality."

She said nothing. He could feel her disgust as if it were a palpable thing radiating from her. It did not disturb him in the slightest.

A bar of pale sunlight came through the clouds and shone on one of the bookcases.

"I fear you are right, Mr. Monk," Oonagh said with distaste, "no matter how bluntly you phrase it. The authorities cannot afford to allow the matter to remain unresolved. They have not yet been here, but no doubt it is merely a matter of time. If not today, then tomorrow. I know of no one else we could call to our a.s.sistance in the matter of learning the truth. Of course we do have lawyers, should that be necessary. What would you propose to do?" She did not mention money; it was vulgar, and she had more than sufficient means to meet anything he might charge, probably out of petty housekeeping.

It was an impossible question to answer. He was seeking the truth only to prove once and for all that it was not Hester. The only imaginable alternatives were members of the Farraline family. Looking at Oonagh's face, he saw the depths of her eyes, the black laughter in there, and knew that she understood it as perfectly as he did.

Eilish moved uncomfortably. Deirdra glanced at her.

"Discover which of you it was, Mrs. McIvor," Monk said quietly. "At least let us hang the right man-or woman. Or would you prefer simply to hang the most convenient?"

Hester let out a suppressed groan of anguish.

Oonagh remained entirely composed.

"No one could accuse you of mincing your words, Mr. Monk. But you are correct. I should prefer it to be the right person, whether it is my husband or one of my brothers. How do you propose to proceed? You must know a great deal already, and it has not led you to any conclusion, or doubtless you would have said so in Miss Latterly's interests."

Monk felt himself tighten as if he had been slapped. Once again his respect for Oonagh mounted. She was unlike any woman he had known before, and he could think of few men, if any, who could match her cold courage or her monumental composure.

"I now know a great deal more than I did then, Mrs. McIvor. I think we all do," he replied dryly.

"And you believe it!" Eilish could control herself no longer. "You believe everything Quinlan said, just because it was-"

"Eilish!" Oonagh's voice cut across her firmly, reducing her to agonized silence, staring at Monk with her brilliant eyes. Oonagh turned back to Monk. "I presume you do not believe the matter is ended, or you would not have bothered to come. I imagine, whatever tactics or courtesy require you to say, it is to clear Miss Latterly's name that you have really come. No, you do not need to answer that. Please don't protest, it is unworthy of either of us."