The Sins of the Wolf

chapter 3
Hester's first feeling was one of profound loss. Long ago she might have had an initial moment of rejecting the fact altogether, refusing to believe Mary was dead, but she had seen too much death not to recognize it, even when it was completely without warning. Last night Mary had seemed in excellent health and buoyant spirits, and yet she must have died quite early in the night. Her body was cold to the touch, and such stiffness took from four to six hours to achieve.

Hester pulled the blanket up over her, gently covering her face, and then stood back. The train was moving more slowly now, and there were houses in the gray, early morning beyond the rain-streaked windows.

Then the next emotion came: guilt. Mary had been her patient, entrusted to her care, and after only a few hours she was dead. Why? What had she done so badly? What had she bungled, or forgotten, that Mary had died without even a sound, no cry, no gasp, no struggle for breath? Or perhaps there had been, only Hester had been too soundly asleep to hear, and the clatter of the train had masked it.

She could not just continue to stand there, staring at the motionless form under the rug. She must tell the authorities, beginning with the conductor and the guard. Then of course when they reached the station there would be the station-master, and possibly the police. After that, infinitely worse, she would have to tell Griselda Murdoch. The thought of that made her feel a little sick.

Better begin. Standing there would not help anything, and the contemplation of it was only adding to the hurt. Feeling numb she went to the compartment entranceway, in her awkwardness banging her elbow on the wooden partition. She was cold and stiff with tension. It hurt more than it would have normally, but she had no time for pain. Which way to go? Either. It made no difference. Just do something, don't stand undecided. She went left, towards the front of the train.

"Conductor! Conductor! Where are you?"

A military man with a mustache peered around a comer and stared at her. He drew breath to speak, but she had rushed on.

"Conductor!"

A very thin woman with gray hair looked at her sharply.

"Goodness, girl, whatever is the matter? Must you make so much noise?"

"Have you seen the conductor?" Hester demanded breathlessly.

"No I haven't. But for heaven's sake lower your voice." And without further comment she withdrew into her compartment.

"Can I help you, miss?"

She spun around. It was the conductor at last, his bland face unsuspecting of the trouble she was about to impart. Perhaps he was used to hysterical female passengers. She made an effort to keep her voice calm and under some control.

"I am afraid something very serious has happened..." Why was she shaking so much? She had seen hundreds of dead bodies before.

"Yes, miss. What would that be?" He was still quite unmoved, merely politely interested.

"I am afraid Mrs. Farraline, the lady with whom I was traveling, has died in the night."

"Probably just asleep, miss. Some folk sleep very deep-"

"I'm a nurse!" Hester snapped at him, her voice rising sharply. "I know death when I see it!"

This time he looked thoroughly disconcerted. "Oh dear. You quite sure? Elderly lady, is she? Heart, I suppose. Took bad, was she? Ye should'a' called me then, you know." He looked at her critically.

At another time Hester might have asked him what he could have done, but she was too distressed to argue.

"No-no, she made no sound in the night. I just found her when I went to rouse her now." Her voice was wavering again, and her lips almost too stiff to form the words. "I don't know-what happened. I suppose it was her heart. She was taking medicine for it."

"She had forgot to take it, did she?" He looked at her dubiously.

"No of course she didn't! I gave it to her myself. Hadn't you better report it to the guard?"

"All in good time, miss. Ye'd better take me to your compartment and we'll have a look. Maybe she's only poorly?" But his voice held little hope and he was only staving off the moment of acknowledgment.

Obediently Hester turned and led the way back, stopping at the entrance and allowing him to go in. He pulled the blanket back from the face and looked at Mary for only an instant before replacing it and stepping out again hastily.

"Yes, miss. Afraid you're right. Poor lady's passed over. I'll go and tell the guard. You stay 'ere, and don't touch anything, understand?"

"Yes."

"Good. Maybe you'd better sit down. We don't want you fainting or anything."

Hester was about to tell him she didn't faint, and then changed her mind. Her knees were weak and she would be very glad to sit down again.

The compartment was cold and, in spite of the rattle and jolt of the train, seemed oddly silent. Mary lay on the seat opposite, no longer in the comfortable position in which she had gone to sleep, but half turned over as Hester had left her, and the conductor had seen her upturned face. It was ridiculous to think of comfort, but Hester had to restrain herself from going and trying to ease her back to a more natural position. She had liked Mary, right from the moment they had met. She had a vitality and candor which were uniquely appealing, and had already awoken in Hester something close to affection.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the guard. He was a small man with a heavy mustache and lugubrious eyes. There was a smudge of snuff on the front of his uniform jacket.

"Sad business," he said dolefully. "Very sad. Fine lady, no doubt. Still, nothing to be done now to 'elp 'er, poor soul. Where was you takin' 'er?"

'To meet her daughter and son-in-law," Hester replied. "They will be at the station..."

"Oh dear, oh dear. Well, nothing else for it." He shook his head. "We'll let all the other passengers get orff, and we'll send for the stationmaster. No doubt 'e'H find this daughter. What's 'er name? D'ye know 'er name, miss?"

"Mrs. Griselda Murdoch. Her husband is Mr. Connal Murdoch."

"Very good. Well, I'm afraid the train is full, so I can't offer you another compartment to sit in, I'm sorry. But we'll be in London in another few moments. You just try to stay calm." He turned to the conductor. "You got something as you can give this young lady, medicinal, like?"

The conductor's bushy eyebrows shot up.

"Are you asking me if I got strong drink on me person, sir?"

"Of course I in't," the guard said smoothly. "That'd be agin company policy. But I just thought as yer might 'ave had summirtk medicinal on yer, against the cold, or shock, or summink. For passengers, and the like."

"Well..." The conductor looked at Hester's wan face. "Well, I suppose I might be able to find something- like..."

"Good. You go and look, Jake, an' if you can, you give tins poor soul a nip, right?"

"Yes sir! Right!"

And he was as good as his word. Having "found" the forbidden brandy, he gave Hester a brimming capful and then left her again, muttering unintelligibly about duty. It was a further quarter of an hour, during which she was shivering cold and feeling increasingly apprehensive, before the stationmaster appeared in the compartment entranceway. He had a bland, curious face, auburn hair and, at the present moment, a severe cold in the head.

"Now then, miss," he said, and sneezed violently. "You'd better tell us exactly what happened to the poor lady. Who is she? And for that matter, who are you?"

""Her name is Mrs. Mary Farraline, from Edinburgh," Hester replied. "I am Hester Latterly, employed to accompany her from Edinburgh to London in order to give her her medicine and see that she was comfortable." It sounded hollow now, even absurd.

"I see. What was the medicine for, miss?"

"A heart ailment, I believe. I was not told any details of her condition, only that the medicine must be given to her regularly, how much, and at what time."

"And did you give it to her, miss?" He regarded her under his eyebrows. "Ye'r sure you did?"

"Yes, absolutely sure." She rose to her feet and pulled down the medicine cabinet, opened it, and showed him the empty vials.

"There's two gone," the stationmaster observed.

"That's right. I gave her one last night, at about a quarter to eleven, the other they must have used in the morning."

"But you only joined the train yesterday evenin'," the conductor pointed out, peering over the stationmaster's shoulder. " 'Ad to 'ave. It don't start till evenin'."

"I know that," Hester said patiently. "Perhaps they were short of medicine, or the maid was lazy, and this was already made up, ready to use. I don't know. But I gave her the second one, out of this vial." She pointed to the second one in its bed. "Last night."

"And how was she then, miss? Poorly?"

"No-no she seemed very well," Hester said honestly.

"I see. Well, we'd best put a guard on duty 'ere to see she in't"-he hesitated-"in't disturbed, and you'd better come and find the poor lady's daughter who's come to meet her, poor soul." The stationmaster frowned, still staring at Hester. "You sure she didn't call out in the night? You were here, I take it-all night?"

"Yes I was," Hester said stiffly.

He hesitated again, then sneezed fiercely and was obliged to blow his nose. He looked at her carefully for several minutes, regarding her straight-backed, very slender figure, and making some estimate of her age, and decided she was probably telling the truth. It was not a flattering conclusion.

"I don't know Mr. and Mrs. Murdoch," Hester said quietly. "You will have to make some sort of announcement in order to find them."

"We'll take care of all that sort of thing. Now you just compose yourself, miss, and come and tell these poor souls that their mother has passed over." He looked at her narrowly. "Are you going to be able to do that, miss?"

"Yes-yes certainly I am. Thank you for your concern."

She followed after the stationmaster as he backed out of the entrance and led the way to the carriage door. He turned and assisted her to alight onto the platform. The outside air was sharp and cold on her face, smelling of steam and soot and the grime of thousands of dirty feet A chill wind whistled along the platform, in spite of the roof overhead, and the noise of trollies, boot heels, banging doors and voices echoed up into the vast overhead span. She followed the stationmaster jostling through the thinning crowd as they reached the steps to his office.

"Are they... here?" she asked, suddenly finding her throat tight.

"Yes, miss. Weren't 'ard to find. Young lady and gentleman looking to that train. Only 'ad to ask."

"Has anyone told them yet?"

"No, miss. Thought it better to learn that from you, seein' as you know the family, and o' course knew the lady herself."

"Oh."

The stationmaster opened the door and stood back. Hester went straight in.

The first person she saw was a young woman with fair auburn hair, waved like Eilish's, but much duller in color, sandy rather than burning autumnal. Her face was oval, her features good, but lacking both the passion and the beauty of her sister. Compared with anyone else, she would have been handsome enough, in a quiet, very seemly sort of way, but having met Eilish, Hester could only see her as a shadow, a pale reflection. Perhaps in time, when her present condition had run its term and she was no longer plagued by anxieties, she could be more like Oonagh, have more vivacity and confidence in her.

But it was the man beside her who spoke. He was three or four inches taller than she, his face bony, with hooded eyes and a habit of pursing his lips, which drew attention to his well-shaped mouth.

"You are the nurse employed to accompany Mrs. Farraline on the train?" he demanded. "Good. Perhaps you can tell us what this is all about? Where is Mrs. Farraline? Why have we been kept waiting here?"

Hester met his eyes for a moment in acknowledgment that she had heard him, then turned to Griselda.

"I am Hester Latterly. I was employed to accompany Mrs. Farraline. I am deeply sorry to have to bring you very bad news. She was in excellent spirits last evening, and seemed to be quite well, but she passed away in her sleep, during the night I think she could not have suffered, because she did not cry out____________________"

Griselda stared at her as if she had not comprehended a word she had heard.

"Mother?" She shook her head. "I don't know what you are saying. She was coming down to London to tell me-I don't know what. But she said it would all be all right! She said so! She promised me." She turned helplessly to her husband.

He ignored her and stared at Hester.

"What are you saying? That is not an explanation of anything. If Mrs. Farraline was in perfect health yesterday evening, she wouldn't simply have"-he looked for the right euphemism-"have passed over-without... For heaven's sake, I thought you were a nurse. What is the point of having a nurse to come with her if this is what happens? You are worse than useless!"

"Come now, sir," the stationmaster said reasonably. "If the good lady was getting on in years, and had a bad heart, she could have gone any time. It's something to be grateful for, she didn't suffer."

"Didn't suffer, man? She's dead!" Murdoch exploded.

Griselda covered her face and collapsed backwards onto the wooden chair behind her.

"She can't be gone," she wailed. "She was going to tell me... I can't bear this! She promised!"

Murdoch looked at her, his face filled with confusion, anger and helplessness. He seized on the refuge offered him.

"Come now, my dear. There is some truth in what the stationmaster says. It was extraordinarily sudden, but we must be grateful that she did not suffer. At least it appears so."

Griselda looked at him with horror in her wide eyes. "But she didn't-I mean, there wasn't even a letter. It is vitally important. She would never have... Oh this is terrible." She covered her face again and began to weep.

Murdoch looked at the stationmaster, ignoring Hester.

"You must understand, my wife was devoted to her mother. This has been a great shock to her."

"Yes sir, only natural," the stationmaster agreed. " 'Course it is. Would to anyone, especially a young lady o' sensibility."

Griselda rose to her feet suddenly. "Let me see her!" she demanded, pushing her way forward.

"Now really, my dear," Murdoch protested, grasping her shoulders. "That would do no good at all and you must rest Think of your condition..."

"But I must!" She fought free of him and confronted Hester, her face so pale the dusting of freckles across her cheeks stood out like dirty marks. Her eyes were wild and staring. "What did she say to you?" she demanded. "She must have told you something! Something about her purpose in coming here-something about me! Didn't she?"

"Only that she was coming to reassure you that you had no cause for anxiety," Hester said gently. "She was quite definite about that. You need have no anxiety at all."

"But why?" Griselda said furiously, her hands held up as if she would grasp Hester and shake her if she had dared. "Are you sure? She might not have meant it! She could have been simply-I don't know-being kind."

"I don't think so," Hester replied quite frankly. "From what I saw of Mrs. Farraline, she did not speak idly in order to set someone's mind at rest; if what she had said was not completely true, she need not have mentioned it at all. Of course it is extremely difficult for you at such a dreadful time, but I should try to believe that you really do have no cause for concern."

"Would you?" Griselda said eagerly. "Do you think so, Miss..."

"Latterly. Yes I do."

"Come, my dear," Connal said soothingly. "This is really not important now. We have arrangements to make. And you must write to your family in Edinburgh. There is a great deal to take care of."

Griselda turned to him as if he had been speaking a foreign language.

"What?"

"Don't worry yourself. I shall attend to it all. I shall write this morning, a full letter with all that we know. If I post it today, it will go on the night train, and they will receive it in Edinburgh tomorrow morning. I will assume then that it was very quiet and she almost certainly felt nothing." He shook his head a little. "Now, my dear, this has been a terrible day for you. I shall take you home where Mama can care for you." His voice held a sudden relief at having thought of the ideal way of releasing himself from a situation beyond his ability. "You really must consider your... health, my dear. You should rest. There is nothing you can do here, I assure you."

"That's right, ma'am," the stationmaster said quickly. "You go with your husband. 'E is absolutely right, ma'am."

Griselda hesitated, shot another anguished look at Hester, then succumbed to a superior force.

Hester watched her go with relief, and a sharp, sad memory of Mary saying how unnecessarily Griselda worried. She could almost hear Mary's voice in her head, and the very humor in it. Perhaps she should have said more to comfort her. She had seemed more devastated by the lack of reassurance over her child than by her mother's death. But perhaps that was the easier of the two emotions to face. Where some people retreated into anger, and she had seen that often enough, Griselda was grasping on to fear. Being with child, especially a first, could cause all kinds of strange turmoils in the mind, feelings that would not normally be so close to the surface.

But Griselda was gone, and there was nothing she could add now. Perhaps in time Murdoch would think of the right things to say or do.

It was nearly another hour of questions and repeated futile answers before Hester was permitted to leave the station. She had recounted to every appropriate authority the exact instructions she had been given in Edinburgh, how Mary had seemed during the evening, that she had made no complaint whatever of illness, on the contrary, she had seemed in unusually good spirits. No, Hester had heard nothing unusual in the night, the sound of the wheels on the track had obliterated almost everything else anyway. Yes, without question she had given Mrs. Farraline her medicine, one vial as instructed. The other vial had already been empty.

No, she did not know the cause of Mrs. Farraline's death. She assumed it was the heart complaint from which she suffered. No, she had not been told the history of the illness. She was not nursing her, simply accompanying her and making sure she did not forget her medicine or take a double dose. Could she have done so? No, she had not opened the case herself, it was exactly where Hester had put it. Besides which, Mary was not absentminded, nor approaching senility.

At last, feeling numb with sadness, Hester was permitted to leave, and made her way to the street, where she hailed a hansom cab and gave the driver Callandra Daviot's address. She did not even consider whether it was a courteous thing to turn up in the middle of the morning, unannounced and in a state of distress. Her desire to be warm and safe, and to hear a familiar voice, was so intense it drove out normal thoughts of decorum. Not that Callandra was someone who cared much for such things, but eccentricity was not the same as lack of consideration.

It was a gray day, with gusts of rain on the wind, but she was unaware of her surroundings. Grimy streets and soot-stained walls and wet pavements gave way to more gracious squares, falling leaves and splashes of autumn color, but they did not intrude into her consciousness.

" 'Ere y'are, miss," the driver said at last, peering down at her through the peephole.

"What?" she said abruptly.

"We're 'ere, miss. Ye goin' ter get out, or d'yer wanner stay sitting in 'ere? I'll 'ave ter charge yer. I got me livin' ter make."

"No, of course I don't want to stay in here," she said crossly, scrambling to open the door with one hand and grasp her bag with the other. She alighted awkwardly and, setting her bag on the pavement, paid him and bade him a good day. As the horse moved off, and the rain increased in strength, making broad puddles where the stones were uneven, she picked up the bag again and climbed the steps to the front door. Please heaven Callandra was at home, and not out engaged in one of her many interests. She had refused to think of that before, because she did not want to face the possibility, but now it seemed so likely she even hesitated on the step, and stood undecided in the rain, her feet wet, her skirts becoming sodden where they brushed the stones.

There was nothing to lose now. She pulled the bell knob and waited.

The door opened but it was a moment before the butler recognized her, then his expression changed.

"Good morning, Miss Latterly." He made as if to say something further, then thought better of it.

"Good morning. Is Lady Callandra at home?"

"Yes ma'am. If you care to come in, I shall inform her you are here." He moved aside to allow her to pass, his eyebrows slightly raised at her bedraggled appearance. He took her bag from her and set it down gingerly, then excused himself, leaving her dripping onto the polished floor.

It was Callandra herself who appeared, her curious, long-nosed face full of concern. As always, her hair was escaping its pins as if to take flight, and her green gown was more comfortable than elegant. The wide skirts had become her when she was younger and slimmer; now they no longer disguised a certain generosity of hip, but made her seem shorter than she was. However, her carriage, as always, was excellent, and her humor and intelligence more than made up for any lack of beauty.

"My dear, you look awful!" she said with anxiety. "Whatever has happened? I thought you had gone to Edinburgh. Was it canceled?" For the moment she ignored the sodden skirt and the generally crumpled gown, the hair as untidy as her own. "You look quite ill."

Hester smiled in sheer relief at seeing her. It filled her with a sense of warmth far deeper than anything physical, like a homecoming after a lonely journey.

"I did go to Edinburgh. I came home on the overnight train. My patient died."

"Oh my dear, I'm so sorry," Callandra said quickly. "Before you got there? How wretched. Still-oh-" She searched Hester's face. "That's not what you mean, is it? She died in your charge?"

"Yes."

"They had no business to dispatch you with someone so ill," she said decisively. "Poor creature, to have died away from home, and on a train, of all things. You must feel dreadful. You certainly look it." She took Hester's arm. "Come in and sit down. That skirt is soaking wet. Nothing of mine will fit you, you'd step right through them. You'll have to make do with one of the maid's dresses. They are quite good enough until that dries out Or you'll catch your-" She stopped and pulled a sorrowful face.

"Death," Hester supplied for her with a ghost of a smile. "Thank you."

"Daisy," Callandra called loudly. "Daisy, come here if you please!"

Obediently a slender dark girl with wide eyes came out of the dining room door, a duster in her hand, her lace cap a trifle crooked on her head.

"Yes, your ladyship?"

"You are about Miss Latterly's height Would you be good enough to lend her a dress until hers is dried out. I have no idea what she has been doing in it, but it is shedding a pool of water in here, and must be as cold as Christmas to wear. Oh, and you'd better find some boots and stockings for her too. Then on your way ask Cook to send some hot chocolate into the green room."

"Yes, your ladyship." She bobbed in something like a half curtsy, and with a glance at Hester to make sure she had understood the instruction, led her away to fulfill the errand.

Ten minutes later Hester was dressed in a gray stuff gown which fitted her excellently apart from being a couple of inches short at the ankle, showing her borrowed stockings and boots, and sitting beside the fire opposite Callan-dra.

The room was one of her favorites, decorated entirely in dark green and white, with white doors and window embrasures, directing one's eye toward the light. The furniture was warm, dark rosewood, upholstered in cream brocade, and there was a bowl of white chrysanthemums on the table. She put her hands around the cup of hot chocolate and sipped it gratefully. It was ridiculous to be so cold; it was not even winter, and certainly far from frosty outside. And yet she was shivering.

"Shock," Callandra said sympathetically. "Drink it. It will make you feel better."

Hester sipped again, and felt the hot liquid down her throat.

"She was so well the evening before," she said vehemently. "We sat up and talked about all sorts of things. She would have talked longer, only her daughter instructed me she should not stay up later than quarter past eleven at the outside."

"If she was well until the very last evening of her life, she was most fortunate," Callandra said, looking at Hester over the top of the cup. "Most people have at least some period of illness, usually weeks. Of course it is a shock, but in a little while it will seem more of a blessing."

"I expect it will," Hester said slowly. Her brain knew that what Callandra said was perfectly true, but her emotions were sharp with guilt and regret "I liked her very much," she said aloud.

"Then be glad for her that she did not suffer."

"I felt so-inefficient, so uncaring," Hester protested. "I didn't help her in the slightest. I didn't even wake up. For any use or comfort I was to her, I could have stayed at home."

'Tf she died in her sleep, my dear girl, there was no use or comfort you could have been," Callandra pointed out.

"I suppose so..."

"I imagine you had to inform someone? Family?"

"Yes. Her daughter and son-in-law had come to meet her. She was very distressed."

"Of course. And sometimes sudden grief can make people very angry, and quite unreasonable. Was she unpleasant to you?"

"No-not at all. She was really very fair." Hester smiled bitterly. "She didn't blame me at all, and she could well have done. She seemed more distressed that she could not learn what her mother was going to tell her man anything else. The poor soul is with child, and it is her first. She was anxious about her health, and Mrs. Farraline had gone to reassure her. She was almost distracted that she would never know what it was that Mrs. Farraline was going to say."

"A most unfortunate situation altogether," Callandra said sympathetically. "But no one is at fault, unless it is Mrs. Farraline for having undertaken such a journey when she was in such delicate health herself. A long letter would have been much better advised. Still, we can all be clever after the event."

"I don't think that I have ever liked a patient more thoroughly or more immediately," Hester said, swallowing hard. "She was very direct, very honest She told me about dancing the night away before the Battle of Waterloo. Everyone who was anyone in Europe was there that night, she said. It was all gaiety, laughter and beauty, with a desperate, wild kind of life, knowing what the morrow might bring." For a moment the dim lamplight of the carriage, and Mary's quick, intelligent face, seemed more real than the green room and the fire of the present.

"And then their partings in the morning," she went on. "The men in their scarlet and braid, the horses smelling the excitement and the whiff of battle, harnesses jingling, hooves never still." She finished the last of the chocolate but kept holding the empty cup. "There was a portrait of her husband in the hall. He had a remarkable face, full of emotion, and yet so much of it half hidden, only guessed at. Do you know what I mean?" She looked at Callandra ques-tioningly. "There was passion in his mouth, but uncertainty in his eyes, as if you would always have to guess at what he was really thinking."

"A complex man," Callandra agreed. "And a clever artist to catch all that in a face, by the sound of it."

"He formed the family printing company."

"Indeed."

"He died eight years ago."

Callandra listened for another half hour while Hester told her about the Farralines, about the little she had seen of Edinburgh, and what she would do about obtaining another position. Then she rose and suggested that Hester tidy her hair, which was still lacking several pins and far from dressed, and they should consider luncheon.

"Yes-yes of course," Hester said quickly, only just realizing how much of Callandra's time she had taken. "I'm sorry... I... should have..."

Callandra stopped her with a look.

"Yes," Hester said obediently. "Yes, I'll go and find some more pins. And I daresay Daisy will wish for her dress back. It was very kind of her to lend me this."

"Yours will hardly be dry yet," Callandra pointed out. "There will be plenty of time after we have eaten."

Without further argument Hester went upstairs to the spare bedroom where Daisy had put her bag, and opened it to find her comb and some additional pins. She poked her hand down the side hopefully and felt around. No comb. She tried the other side and her fingers touched it after a moment. The pins were harder. They should be in a little screw of paper, but after several minutes she still had not come across it.

Impatiently she tipped up the bag and emptied the contents out onto the bed. Still the pins were not immediately visible. She picked up her chemise that she had changed out of in Mrs. Farraline's house when she had rested. It was hard to realize that had been only yesterday. She shook it and something flew out and went onto the floor with a faint sound. It must be the screw of paper with the pins. It was the right size and weight. She went around to the far side of the bed and knelt down to find it. It was gone again. She moved her hand over the carpet, gently feeling for it.

There it was. Next to the leg of the bed. She picked it up, and instantly knew something was wrong. It was not paper, or even loose pins. It was a complicated scroll of metal. She looked at it. Then her stomach lurched and her mouth went suddenly dry. It was a jeweled pin, a hoop and scroll set with diamonds and large gray pearls. She had never seen it before, but its description was sharp in her mind. It was Mary Farraline's brooch, the one she had said was her favorite and which she had left behind because the dress it complemented was stained.

With clumsy fingers she clasped it, and, her hair still trailing out of its pins, she went back down the stairs and into the green room.

Callandra looked up.

"What is it?" She had taken one look at Hester's face and knew there was something new and seriously wrong. "What has happened?"

Hester held out the pin.

"It is Mary Farraline's," she said huskily. "I just found it in my bag."

"You had better sit down," Callandra said grimly, holding out her hand for the brooch.

Hester sank into the chair gratefully. Her legs seemed to have no strength in them.

Callandra took the brooch and turned it over carefully, examining the pearls, then the hallmark on the back.

"I think it is probably worth a good deal," she said in a soft, very grave voice. "At least ninety to a hundred pounds." She looked at Hester with a frown between her brows. "I suppose you have no idea how it came to be in your bag?"

"No-none at all. Mrs. Farraline said she had not brought it with her because the dress she wears it with had been stained."

"Then it would seem that her maid did not obey instructions very well." Callandra bit her lip. "And is also... a great deal less than honest. It is hard to see how this could have happened by accident. Hester, there is something seriously wrong here, but try as I might, I cannot understand it. We need assistance, and I propose that you ask William..."

Hester froze.

"... to give us his advice," Callandra finished. "This is not something we can deal with ourselves, nor would it be sensible to try. My dear, there is something very wrong. The poor woman is dead. It may be some kind of unfortunate error that her jewelry has found its way into your belongings, but for the life of me I cannot think what."

"But do you think..." Hester began, hating the thought of going to Monk for help. It seemed so ineffectual, and at the moment she felt too tired and stunned to be up to the kind of emotional battle Monk would engender.

"Yes I do," Callandra said, yielding nothing. "Or I would not have suggested it. I will not override your wishes, but I cannot urge you strongly enough to get counsel and do so without delay."

Hester stood still for several moments, thinking, trying to find an explanation so she would not have to go to Monk, and even as she was doing it, knowing it was futile. There was no explanation that made any kind of sense.

Callandra waited, knowing she had carried the argument, it was simply a matter of coming to the point of surrender.

"Yes..." Hester said quietly. "Yes, you are right. I shall go back upstairs and find the pins, then I'll go and see if I can find Monk."

"You may take my carriage," Callandra offered.

Hester smiled wanly. "Do you not trust me to go?" But she did not wait for an answer. They both knew it was the only course that made sense.

Monk looked at her with a frown. They were in the small sitting room she had suggested he use as a place to receive prospective clients. It would make them feel much more at ease than his rather austere office, which was far too functional and intimidating. Monk himself was unnerving enough, with his smooth, lean-boned face and unwavering eyes.

He was standing by the mantelpiece, having heard the outer door open and come in immediately. His expression on recognizing her was an extraordinary mixture of pleasure and irritation. Obviously he had been hoping for a client Now he regarded with disfavor her plain dress, the one borrowed from Callandra's maid, her pale face and her hastily done hair.

"What's wrong? You look dreadful." It was said in a tone of pure criticism. Then a flicker of anxiety crossed his eyes. "You are not ill, are you?" There was anger in his voice. It would inconvenience him if she were ill. Or was it fear?

"No, I'm not ill," she said tartly. "I have returned from Edinburgh on the overnight train, with a patient." It was difficult to say this with the composure and the chill she wished. If only there had been someone else to turn to who would be equally able to see the dangers and give good and practical advice.

He drew breath to make some stinging retort, then, knowing her as well as he did, realized there was something profoundly wrong. He waited, looking at her intently.

"My patient was an elderly lady of some position in Edinburgh," she went on, her voice growing quieter and losing its sharpness. "A Mrs. Mary Farraline. I was employed to give her her medicine last thing at night, that was really all I had to do. Apart from that, I think it was mainly company for her."

He did not interrupt. She smiled with a bitter amusement. A few months ago he would have. Being obliged to seek customers in order to obtain a living, instead of having them as a right, as he had when a police inspector, had taught him, if not humility, at least enlightened self-interest.

He motioned her to sit down, while he sat opposite her, still listening.

She returned her mind painfully to her reason for being there.

"She went to sleep about half past eleven," she continued. "At least she seemed to. I slept quite well myself, having been up... in a second-class carriage all the way from London the night before." She swallowed. "When I awoke in the morning, shortly before our arrival in London, I tried to rouse her, and discovered she was dead"

"I'm sorry," he said. There was sincerity in his voice, but also a waiting. He knew it must have disturbed her. Although it was probably beyond her control, it was a kind of failure and he knew she would regard it as such. But she had never confided her failures or sadnesses to him before... or at least only indirectly. She would not have come simply to say this. He stood with one foot on the fender, shoulder against the mantelshelf, waiting for her to continue.

"Of course I had to inform the stationmaster, and then her daughter and son-in-law, who had come to meet her. It was some time before I was able to leave the station. When I did, I went to see Callandra..."

He nodded. It was what he would have expected. In fact, it was what he would have done himself. Callandra was perhaps the only person in whom he would confide his emotions. He would never willingly allow Hester to see his vulnerability. Of course she had seen it a few times as Callandra never had, but that was different, and had been unintentional.

"While I was there I had occasion to go upstairs and search for some further hairpins..."

His smile was sarcastic. She knew her hair was still untidy, and exactly what was passing through his mind. Her voice sharpened again.

"I put my hand into my case, and instead of pins I found a brooch... with diamonds and gray pearls in it. It is not mine, and I am quite sure it was Mrs. Farraline's, because she described it to me in the course of conversation about what she might do in London."

His face darkened and he moved away from the mantelpiece and sat down in the chair opposite her, waiting patiently for her to be seated also.

"So she was not wearing it on the train?" he asked.

"No. That is the point. She said she had left it at home in Edinburgh because the gown it went with had been stained!"

"It only went with one gown?" he said in surprise, but the disbelief in his voice did not carry to his eyes. Already his mind was ahead, understanding the fears.

"Gray pearls," she explained unnecessarily. "They would look wrong with most colors, rather dull." She went on talking to avoid the moment when she would have to acknowledge what it really meant. "Even black wouldn't be-"

"All right," he said. "She said she had left it behind? I don't suppose she packed her own clothes. She had a maid for that sort of thing. And her cases would be in the guard's van during the journey. Did you meet this maid? Did you quarrel with her? Was she jealous of you because she wished to come to London herself, and you were taking her place?"

"No. She didn't want to go at all. And we did not quarrel. She was perfectly agreeable."

"Then who put the brooch in your bag? You wouldn't be coming to me if you'd done it yourself."

"Don't be fatuous!" she said. "Of course I didn't do it. If I were a thief, I would hardly come and tell you about it!" Her voice was getting louder and higher with anger as fear caught hold of her and she began to see more clearly the peril of the situation.

He looked at her unhappily. "Where is the brooch now?"

"At Callandra's house."

"Since the unfortunate woman is dead, it is not a matter of simply returning it to her. And we do not know if it was lost in a genuine accident or if it is part of an attempted crime. It could become very ugly." He bit his lip doubtfully. "People in bereavement are often irrational and only too ready to retreat from grief into anger. It is easier to be angry, to feel relief at having something with which to blame someone else. The matter of returning it should be dealt with professionally, by someone retained solely to look after your interests in the case. We had better go and speak to Rathbone." And without waiting to see whether she agreed with this advice, he took his coat from the rack and his hat off the stand and advanced towards the door. "Well, don't sit there," he said tartly. "The more rapidly it is done, the better. Besides, I might lose a client if I dither around wasting time."

"You don't need to come with me," she said defensively, rising to her feet. "I can find Oliver myself and tell him what happened. Thank you for your advice." She went past him and out of the door into the entranceway. It was raining outside, and as she opened the street door the cold air chilled her, matching the fear and sense of isolation within.

He ignored her words and followed her out, closing the door behind him and beginning to walk towards the main thoroughfare, where they could find a hansom to take them from Tottenham Court Road west across the city towards the Inns of Court and Vere Street, where Oliver Rathbone had his office. She was obliged to go with him, or else start an argument which would have been totally foolish.

The traffic was heavy, carriages, cabs, wagons, carts of every description passing by, splashing the water out of the gutters, wheels hissing on the wet road, horses dripping, sodden hides dark. Drivers sat hunched with collars up and hats down in a futile attempt to keep the cold rain from running down their necks, hands clenched on the reins.

The crossing sweeper, a boy of about eight or nine years, was still busily pushing manure out of the way to make a clean path for any pedestrian who wished to reach the other side. He seemed to be one of those cheerful souls willing to make the best out of any situation. His skimpy trousers stuck to his legs, his coat was too long for him and gaped around the neck, but his enormous cap seemed to keep most of the rain off his head, except for his chin and nose. He wore the cap tilted at such an angle that the lower half of his face was visible, and his gap-toothed smile was the first thing one saw of him.

Monk had no need to cross the road, but he threw him a halfpenny anyway, and Hester felt a sudden surge of hope. The boy caught it and automatically put it between his teeth to assure himself it was real, then tipped his finger to the peak of his cap, almost invisible under its folds, and called out his thanks.

Monk hailed a hansom and as it stopped, he pulled open the door for her and then followed her in, calling out Rathbone's address to the driver.

"Shouldn't I go and get the brooch firstT' Hester asked. "Then I can give it to him to return to the Farralines."

"I think you should report it first," he replied, settling himself in his seat as the cab lurched forward. "For your own safety."

The chill returned. She said nothing. They rode in silence through the wet streets. All she could think of was Mary Farraline, and how much she had liked her, her stories of Europe in her youth, of Hamish as a soldier, dashing and brave, and the other men with whom she had danced the nights away before those tumultuous days. They had seemed so alive in her memory. It was hard to accept that she too was suddenly and so completely gone.

Monk did not interrupt her thoughts. Whatever he was concerned with, it apparently held him totally. Once she glanced sideways at him and saw the deep concentration in his face, eyes steadily ahead, brows drawn fractionally downward, mouth tense.

She looked away again, feeling closed out.

At Vere Street the cab stopped and Monk alighted, held the door for her long enough for her to move over and grasp it herself, then paid the driver and went across the pavement to the entrance of the offices and tugged sharply at the bellpull.

The door was opened by a white-haired clerk in winged collar and frock coat.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Monk," he said stiffly. Then he caught sight of Hester behind him. "Good afternoon, Miss Latterly. Please come in out of the rain. Fearful weather." He shook his head, standing back for them to follow him into the foyer, and then the outer office. "I am afraid Mr. Rathbone is not expecting you." He looked at them doubtfully, his pale gray eyes very steady, like a disillusioned schoolmaster. "He has a gentleman with him presently."

"We'll wait," Monk said grimly. "This is a matter of urgency."

"Of course." The clerk nodded his head and indicated a seat where they could make themselves comfortable. Monk declined and stood impatiently, staring through the glass partitions to the office where juniors in black coats copied writs and deeds in copperplate, and other more senior clerks searched in huge law books for references and precedents.

Hester sat down, and Monk sat also but almost immediately rose to his feet again, unable to keep still. One or two heads lifted as they caught sight of him out of the comer of their eyes, but no one spoke.

Minutes ticked by. Monk's face grew tighter and his impatience more obvious.

Finally the door of Rathbone's office opened and an elderly gentleman with massive side whiskers came out, turned and said something, then bowed very slightly and made his way across the office to where the clerk who had welcomed Hester and Monk left his desk and handed the gentleman his hat and cane.

Monk moved forward. No one was going to preempt him. He grasped the handle of the office door and swung it wider, coming face-to-face with Oliver Rathbone.

"Good afternoon," Monk said briskly. "Hester and I have the most urgent matter with which we require your assistance."

Rathbone did not back away. His long face with its humorous eyes and mouth registered only good-natured surprise.

"Indeed?" He looked past Monk at the clerk who had shown the previous client to the door and was now standing wondering what to do about Monk and his regrettable lapse from good manners. Rathbone met his eyes, and understanding passed between them. Monk saw it, and unaccountably it irritated him. But he was in the position of a supplicant, so it would be self-defeating to be sarcastic. He stepped back to allow Rathbone to see Hester, who was now just behind him.

Oliver Rathbone was of medium height, slender, and dressed with the immaculate ease of one who is accustomed to the best of material things and has grown to take elegance for granted. It required no effort; it was a way of life.

However, when he saw Hester's pale face and unusually grim and bedraggled appearance, his composure was shaken, and ignoring Monk, he went forward anxiously.

"My dear Hester, whatever has happened? You look quite-distressed!"

It was nearly two months since she had last seen him, and then it had been more by chance than design. She was not sure how he regarded their relationship. In any formal sense it was professional rather than personal. She did not move in his social sphere at all. Yet they were friends in a deeper sense than most acquaintances ever were. They had shared passionate beliefs in justice, spoken more frankly than perhaps either had to anyone else about certain things. On the other hand, there were whole worlds of personal emotions they had never touched on at all.

Now he was staring at her with obvious concern. In spite of his fairish hair, his eyes were very dark, and she was acutely aware of the intelligence in him.

"For goodness' sake tell him!" Monk said, waving his arm towards the office. "But not out here," he added, in case she should be absentminded enough to be so indiscreet.

Without looking at Monk, Hester walked in front of Rathbone and into the office. Monk followed her, and Rathbone came in behind and closed the door.

Hester began straightaway. Quietly and succinctly, with as little emotion as she could manage, she told him the elements of what had transpired.

Rathbone sat listening without interruption, and although twice Monk opened his mouth to speak, on each occasion he changed his mind.

"Where is this brooch now?" Rathbone said when at last she finished.

"With Lady Callandra," she replied. Rathbone knew Callandra well enough and no introduction of her was necessary.

"But she did not see you find it? Not that it matters," he added quickly, on observing her consternation. "Could you have misunderstood Mrs. Farraline on the subject of having left this article in Edinburgh?"

"I cannot think how. She had no reason to bring it, since the dress was stained, and she said quite specifically that it went with no other." She could not restrain herself from asking, "What do you think has happened?"

"Does your bag resemble any that Mrs. Farraline had, either with her or in the guard's van? Or any that you observed in her dressing room in Edinburgh?"

Hester felt cold and there was a hard knot inside her.

"No. Mine was a very ordinary brown leather bag with soft sides. Mrs. Farraline's were yellow pigskin, with her initials monogrammed on them, and they all matched." Her voice was scratchy, her mouth dry. She was aware of Monk's growing irritation behind her. "No one could think mine was one of hers," she finished.

Rathbone spoke very quietly.

"Then I am afraid I can think of no explanation other than malice, and why anyone should do such a thing, I cannot imagine."

"But I was only there less than a day," Hester protested "I did nothing that could possibly offend anyone!"

"You had better go and get this piece of jewelry and bring it to me immediately. I shall write to Mrs. Farraline's estate and inform them of its discovery, and that we shall return it as soon as possible. Please do not waste any time. I do not believe we can afford to wait."

Hester rose to her feet. "I don't understand," she said helplessly. "It seems so pointless."

Rathbone rose also, coming around to open the door for her. He glanced at Monk, then back at Hester.

"Probably it is some family quarrel we know nothing of, or even some malice directed at Mrs. Farraline which has tragically gone astray with her death. It hardly matters at the moment. Your part is to bring it to me, and I shall give you a receipt for it and deal with the matter as regards Mrs. Farraline's executors."

Still she hesitated, confusion welling in her mind, remembering their faces: Mary, Oonagh, Alastair at the dinner table, the beautiful Eilish, Baird and Quinlan who so obviously disliked each other, Kenneth hurrying to his appointment, absentminded Deirdra, the man whose portrait hung in the hall, and drunken, rambling Uncle Hector.

"Come," Monk said sharply, pulling abruptly at her elbow. "There is no time to waste, and certainly none to stand here trying to solve a problem for which we have no information."

"Yes-yes, I'm coming," she agreed, still uncertain. She turned to Rathbone. "Thank you."

They rode back to Callandra's house in silence, Monk apparently lost in thought, and Hester still wrestling with her memories of Edinburgh and searching for any reason at all why someone should have played such a pointless and malicious trick on her. Or was it on Mary? Or the lady's maid? Was that it? Yes, that must be it. One of the maids was jealous, and trying to get her into trouble, perhaps even usurp her position, without actually stealing the brooch.

She was about to say this to Monk when the cab pulled up and they alighted, and the thought was lost in action.

However, the butler who opened Callandra's door was pale-faced and totally unsmiling, and he led the way hastily, closing the door with a snap.

"What is it?" Monk demanded immediately.

"I am afraid, sir, that there are two persons from the police in the withdrawing room," the butler replied grimly, his expression conveying both his distaste and his apprehension. "Her ladyship is speaking with them now."

Monk strode past him across the floor and threw open the withdrawing room door. Hester followed after him, calmer and cold now that the moment had come.

Inside the room Callandra was standing in the center of the floor and she turned around as soon as she heard the door. Beside her were two men, one small and stocky with a blunt face and wide eyes, the other taller, leaner and foxy looking. If they knew Monk they gave no sign of it.

"Good afternoon, sir," the shorter one said politely, but his eyes did not widen in the slightest.

"Good afternoon, ma'am. Sergeant Daly, Metropolitan Police. You must be Miss Latterly, am I right?"

Hester swallowed. "Yes..." Suddenly her voice would not stay level. "What is it you wish? Is it regarding the death of Mrs. Farraline?"

"No, miss, not at present." He came forward, polite and very formal. His taller companion was apparently junior. "Miss Latterly, I have authority to search your baggage, and your person if necessary, for a piece of jewelry belonging to the late Mrs. Mary Farraline, which, according to her daughter, is missing from her luggage. Perhaps you can save us the necessity for anything so unpleasant by telling us if you have such a piece?"

"Yes she has," Monk said icily. "She has already reported the matter to her legal adviser, and we came here, on his counsel, to take the pin to him so that he might return it to Mrs. Farraline's estate."

Sergeant Daly nodded. "Very wise of you, ma'am, but not sufficient, I'm afraid. Constable Jacks"-he nodded abruptly at the other man-"would you go with this gentleman and obtain the said article." He looked at Monk. "Perhaps you'd be good enough, sir? And you, Miss Latterly, I'm afraid you'll have to come with us."

"Nonsense!" Callandra stepped forward. "Miss Latterly has told you what happened. She found the piece of jewelry that was missing and made provision to return it. You do not need further explanations. She has had a long journey to Edinburgh and back again, and a most distressing experience. She is not going anywhere with you, merely in order to repeat an explanation which is quite clear to you now. You are not a fool, man, you understand exactly what has happened."

"No, I do not understand, your ladyship," he said calmly. "I don't understand at all why a respectable woman who cares for the sick should take from an old lady a piece of jewelry which belongs to her, but that's unarguably what it looks like. Theft is theft, ma'am, whoever did it and whatever for. And F'tn afraid, Miss Latterly, you will have to come with us." He shook his head gently. "And don't make it harder for yourself by resisting. I'd hate to have to take you in manacles-but I will, if you force me."

For the second time that day, Hester felt shock and disbelief buffet her like a blow, and then they vanished, leaving only cold, bitter knowledge.

"I shall not make that necessary," she said in a very small voice. "I did not steal anything from Mrs. Farraline. She was my patient, and I had the highest regard for her. And I have never stolen anything from anyone." She turned to Callandra. "Thank you, but I think protest is of no value at this time." She felt herself painfully close to tears, and did not trust herself to speak anymore, least of all to Monk.

Callandra produced the brooch, which she had placed on the mantelshelf before Hester had left, and silently gave it to the sergeant.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said as he accepted it, and wrapped it in a large clean handkerchief which he took from his coat pocket. He turned again to Hester. "Now, miss, I think it would be best if you come along. Perhaps Constable Jacks can fetch your valise for you. You'll already have everything you need in that, at least for tonight."

Hester was surprised, then she realized that of course they knew she would have them with her. They had known where to find her. Her landlady must have given them Callandra's name. It was an educated guess. She had stayed with her often enough before, between cases. The knowledge was like a door slamming, closing her in.

She had time only to glance at Monk and see the burning anger in his face. The next moment she was in the hall, a policeman on either side of her, being taken inexorably towards the open front door and the street beyond, cold and gray with driving rain.