The Dark Assassin (17 page)

"Sixsmith,
who's in charge of the practical side of the tunneling, is certain that
Havilland committed suicide when he couldn't cope with the claustrophobia of
working underground," he said, watching her face.

She felt herself
tighten, ready to argue, but kept her temper, waiting for what else he would
say.

He smiled
slightly, just an easing of the tiredness in him. "I went back to the
Havilland house and spoke to the cook and one of the maids," he went on.
"They said Havilland received a note that night, hand-delivered to the
back door. As soon as he read it he burnt it, and then told the butler to go to
bed and he would lock up himself."

"He was
going to meet someone in the stable!" she said instantly, sitting upright
and staring at him. "Whom?"

He looked
rueful. "They had no idea. The envelope had only his name on it. The cook
saw it briefly, and the maid who carried it doesn't read."

"Well, who
could it be?" she said eagerly. At last there was something to grasp hold
of. She felt a surge of hope, which was absurd. It should not matter to her so
much. She had never known Mary Havilland. She might not have liked her in the
least if she had. She was remembering her own grief, the feeling of having been
bruised all over, stunned by confusion, when she had first stood on the
dockside at Scutari and read the letter from her brother, telling her of her
fathers suicide, and then her mother's death from what was termed a broken
heart. She could not help imagining Mary Havilland feeling the same searing
pain.

Except that
Hester had believed it and Mary had not. Had Mary been wrong, making it harder
for herself, and for her sister, by refusing to accept the inevitable?
"Who could it be?" she repeated.

Monk was
watching her, his eyes soft with knowledge of her pain.

"I don't
know, except that since he immediately made arrangements to meet the person, it
must have been either someone he knew or at the least someone he was not
surprised to hear from. Nor did he seem to need to answer it, so whoever it was
knew he would come."

"You must
find out!" she said unhesitatingly.

It was
unreasonable, and she knew it as she spoke, but he did not argue. Was that for
her? Or was the anger at his loss, the sense of incompleteness, still raw
inside him, too? Or worse, was it the challenge that he must be perfect at his
new job, equal to his own vision of what Durban would have done?

"William
...," she started.

"I
know." He smiled.

"Do
you?" she asked doubtfully.

His eyes were
gentle, amused. "Yes."

However, in the
morning Hester set out on her own path towards learning what she hoped would be
both more about Mary Havilland, and something to further the cause in which she
had promised to help Sutton.

First she called
at the clinic in Portpool Lane to complete the books and ledgers and pass them
to Margaret.

"That's
complete and up to date," she said when she'd finished, suddenly finding
it difficult to hide her emotion. She was going to miss the work, the struggles
and victories, and most of all the people. The sense of loss was even worse
than she had expected.

Margaret was
looking at her, aware for the first time that there was something new and harsh
still unsaid. "What is it, Hester?" Her voice was so gentle it brought
Hester to the edge of tears.

How much could
she say that it was Monk and not she who was forcing this decision?

"I have
agreed to stay at home for a while," she began. "William's new job is
... different." She swallowed hard. "You're managing very well now.
Claudine is excellent, and Bessie. I could never raise money as you do."

Margaret looked
stunned. "A while? How long a while?" She bit her lip. "You mean
always, don't you?"

"I think
so."

Margaret stepped
forward and put her arms around Hester, hugging her tightly. She did not say
anything. It was as if she understood. Perhaps, knowing Monk and remembering
last year, she did.

Hester did not
want to say good-bye to Bessie and the others girls, especially Claudine, but
it would have been cowardly not to. She promised to call in occasionally, and
she would keep her word. Monk could not object to that.

She left into
the cold, sharp morning again, not as confident or light of foot as she had
come. That was foolish, even vain. She must shake herself out of it.

She arrived at
the Applegates' house still a little early for the most civil calls, especially
to someone she barely knew. However, she had been in the morning room only a
matter of minutes when Rose Applegate came sweeping in. She was dressed
extremely elegantly, as if she was expecting important company. Hester's heart
sank. Perhaps Rose's original enthusiasm was more an intention of kindness than
a real desire to become involved, and Hester had misread it because she wanted
to. Certainly Rose's high-necked gown with its gorgeous lace collar and tiny
velvet bows on the skirt was up-to-the-minute fashion. By comparison she
herself was dowdy. She was acutely aware of the social gulf between them. It
seemed at the moment an uncrossable abyss.

"Good
morning, Mrs. Monk," Rose greeted her, her curious face alight with
pleasure. "Has there been news? Is there something we can do?" Then
she looked a trifle self-conscious. "I'm sorry, that is most discourteous
of me. How are you?" It was not customary to offer refreshment of any kind
at this hour, and it seemed Rose observed the proprieties exactly. The room was
formal; the maid had been immaculate in starched cap and apron. The hall was
already polished and swept. Hester had smelled the pleasant, damp aroma of wet
tea leaves scattered and taken up to collect the dust, and of lavender and
beeswax to shine the wood.

"Good
morning, Mrs. Applegate," she replied. "No, I'm afraid there is
little fresh so far." She had nothing to lose by telling the truth. It was
probably all lost anyway. "My husband learned a bit more about Mr.
Havilland's anxieties, but if Mary's father found out anything precise, we do
not know what it was. According to Mr. Sixsmith, who is in charge, he had
something of an obsession about enclosed spaces and finally became quite
irrational about it. Mr. Sixsmith said that was what finally unhinged his
reason and brought about his death."

Rose was clearly
startled. "Good heavens!" She sat down rather suddenly, disregarding
the crumpling of her skirt, and motioned for Hester to sit also. "That
sounds so terribly reasonable, doesn't it? But it's not true!"

Hester recounted
what Monk had told her the previous evening-at least regarding the cook's
opinion of Mary, though not yet about the letter.

"That is
the Mary I know," Rose agreed quickly. She leaned forward. "She was
not a sentimental sort of person, Mrs. Monk. She was very practical and quite
able to stand up to a truth she did not wish to hear, if it was indeed the
truth. I don't know where to begin, but if you have any idea at all, please let
us do something to establish her innocence."

"Innocence
... ?"

"Of having
killed herself!" Rose said quickly, the emotion now clear in her face, her
eyes very bright as though on the brink of tears. "And, if the account is
true-God forgive me-innocent of having taken Toby Argyll with her. That is a
terrible thing to think of anyone, and I refuse to let it be said by default,
because it would be easier for us all to pretend it was over."

Hester was
suddenly heartened. "What are the alternatives?" she asked.
"What did happen? How can we demonstrate it so it cannot be denied?"

"Oh,
dear!" Rose sat bolt upright. "I see what you mean. If it was not
suicide, then it was an accident, or it was murder. That is a very dreadful
thought."

"It seems
to me to be inescapable," Hester pointed out.

The door opened
and Morgan Applegate came in. His eyes went immediately to his wife, then to
Hester. He was polite and, to judge from the expression on his face, pleased to
see her. However, there was something faintly protective in the way he went to
Rose and remained standing by her chair, as if, without even giving it a
thought, he would make certain Hester did not somehow distress or disturb her.

"How are
you, Mrs. Monk?" he said agreeably. "Has there been progress so
soon?"

Rose swung
around to look at him. "In essence there has, Morgan," she replied.
"We came face-to-face with irrefutable logic, and we must go forward.
Actually, Mr. Monk allowed the possibility of accident, but I do not. Two such
accidents-it is absurd. Either Mr. Havilland and Mary both took their own
lives, or Toby Argyll tried to kill Mary and fell in himself."

"Rose
...," he started to say, his face now heavy with concern.

"Oh, it's
inescapable," she said, brushing aside his interruption, and turned again
to Hester. "The question is: Who killed Mary? And it must be whoever
killed James Havilland."

"Your logic
is at fault, my dear," Applegate said gently, but his voice was quite
firm. "According to the police, there was no one involved in poor Mary's
death apart from Toby Argyll, and he, poor man, went off the bridge with her.
If he was responsible, then he has already paid the ultimate price."

Rose looked at
him patiently. "You have missed the point, Morgan. I am not concerned with
trying to have someone pay! I wish to clear Mary of the sin of suicide, and of
Toby's death also, if any might suppose she meant to pull him over. And I want
to vindicate her father as well, which is what she wanted above all
things."

"But-"
he started.

"And
possibly even more important," she went on, as if he had not spoken,
"I want to show that they were both right in their fear of some terrible
accident, so that we can still prevent it. So you see we are anything but finished!
Is that not so, Mrs. Monk?" She turned her steady, bright gaze on Hester.

"Rose!"
Applegate said exasperatedly. "You are placing Mrs. Monk in an impossible
position! Please, you must not embarrass her."

"I am not
embarrassed," Hester lied quickly. "But if I were, it could hardly
matter! We are speaking of other people's deaths, and of the possible deaths
and mutilation of scores of men, even hundreds, if there should be a major
cave-in or a flood."

"You
see?" Rose said with finality. "We must do everything we can, and we
shall begin by learning whatever it was that Mary already knew."

Applegate looked
at Hester with some desperation. "You seem to have an understanding of
logic, Mrs. Monk. Either you are right or you are mistaken in this. If you are
mistaken, there is no point in pursuing it, and you may damage the reputations
of good men who have already suffered deeply in the loss of those they loved. I
speak in particular of Alan Argyll." He spread his hands. "But if you
are right, then he has been the cause of Havilland's death, and now of Mary's
and his own brother's, albeit he did not intend the latter. Surely you must see
that in that case he is a most dangerous man and will not hesitate to harm you
if he has the chance. And please do not be rash enough to suppose you can
outwit him!" He turned to his wife, touching her shoulder. "And for
you, my dear, I am afraid I forbid you to endanger yourself in this way."
He smiled-a sweet, gentle gesture that lit his face, making his emotions
unmistakable. "Or in any other way."

Rose's eyebrows
shot up. "Good gracious! What on earth do you imagine I am going to do? Go
down a sewer and accuse some engineer of carelessness? Or perhaps visit Mr.
Argyll in his mourning and tell him I think he is a murderer? Really, Morgan,
credit me with a little sense! Mrs. Monk is primarily concerned with the safety
of navvies, and that is a very right and proper thing for a member of
Parliament's wife to care about as well-especially the wife of the member who
is most involved with this work." She rose to her feet and stood facing
him very patiently. "I shall be sociable and charitable. Mrs. Monk does
great work for the poor and has served with Miss Nightingale, nursing soldiers.
Who more appropriate to take with me when considering the injured?"

He looked
bewildered. She had robbed him of argument, and yet he was obviously unhappy.
Hester wondered why he was still quite clearly afraid for her.

"I promise
you we shall not behave inappropriately," Hester said to him, wishing to
make him feel less apprehensive, but also knowing that without Rose's knowledge
of Alan Argyll and of what Mary had already discussed, she had little chance of
success.

There was
something Applegate wished to say, and yet obviously he felt restrained. He
looked at Rose again. "Please be careful."

"Of course
I shall be careful!" she said with the very slightest edge of irritation.
"I am merely going to visit some of the men who have been injured in the
past, and to whom Mary might have spoken." She looked at Hester.
"What could we take them that would be useful and not condescending?"