bolted. The harness was not broken. The reins were still tied to the bar, as if the driver had stopped, then climbed down rather than fallen. The carriage itself has no scratches or marks but those of ordinary use.'
Stourbridge turned questioningly to Monk.
'There is nothing further you can do here now,' Monk assured him. 'Thank you for coming to identify Treadwell. Perhaps you had better return home and inform your family- and, of course, the cook. She is bound to be distressed. As soon as I learn anything more, I will tell you.'
Lucius stood still. 'The answer must be here!' he insisted desperately, loath to leave without something further accomplished.
Stourbridge touched his elbow. 'Perhaps, but Mr. Monk will find it more easily if we do not hamper him.'
Lucius did not move.
'Come,' Stourbridge said gently. 'We shall only make it more difficult.'
Reluctantly, still half disbelieving, Lucius bade good-bye and permitted himself to be led away.
'You realize I shall have to find this woman?' Robb shoved his hands deep in his pockets, staring grimly at Monk. He looked guarded, careful, his shoulders hunched a little. 'At best she may be witness to the murder, at worst a victim herself.'
It was unarguable. Monk said nothing.
'Or she may be guilty herself,' Robb went on. 'That blow could have been struck by a woman, if she were frightened enough or angry enough. Perhaps you will now be frank and tell me what you know of this Mrs. Gardiner. Since Mr. Stourbridge seems to have hired you to find her, presumably you know a great deal more than you have so far told me.'
There was no evading it now, and perhaps it was the only way to help Lucius Stourbridge. Whatever the truth was, one day he would have to face at least part of it. Some details might be kept from him, but not the essence. If Miriam Gardiner were involved in the murder of Treadwell, it would be public knowledge sooner or later. Monk could not protect him from that, even if she were no more than a witness. And unless Treadwell had set her down somewhere before he reached the Heath, that seemed an unavoidable conclusion. It was plain in Robb’s face now as he looked grimly at Monk, ignoring the traffic passing by them and the people on foot having to walk around.
Monk told Robb the outline of his interview with Lucius Stourbridge and his visit to Bayswater. He gave no more detail than was necessary to be honest, and none of his own impressions, except that he had believed what he had been told so far.
Robb looked thoughtful, biting his lips. 'And no one gave you any idea why Mrs. Gardiner should have run off in this way?'
'No.'
'Where did Treadwell serve before Bayswater? Where was he born?'
Monk felt himself flush with annoyance. They were obvious questions, and he had not thought to ask them. It was a stupid oversight. He had concentrated on Miriam, thinking of Treadwell only as someone to drive the coach for her. It was instinctive to try to defend himself, but there was nothing to say which would not make his omission look worse.
'I don’t know.' The words were hollow, an open failure.
Robb was tactful. He even seemed faintly relieved.
'And about her?' he asked.
This time Monk could answer, and did as fully as he knew.
Robb thought for several moments before he spoke again.
'So a relationship between Mrs. Gardiner and this coachman is unlikely, but it is not impossible. It seems she turned to him to take her away from the Stourbridge house, at least.' He looked at Monk nervously. 'And you still have no idea why?'
'None.'
Robb grunted. 'I cannot stop you looking for her also, of course, and perhaps finding her before I do. But if she is involved in this crime, even as a witness, and you assist her, I shall charge you!' His young face was set, his lips tight.
'Of course,' Monk agreed. 'I would in your place.' That was unquestionably true. He had a suspicion from what he had learned of himself and the past that Robb was being gentler with him than he had been with others. He smiled bleakly. 'Thank you for your civility. I expect we’ll meet again. Good day.'
Monk arrived home at Fitzroy Street a little after seven and found dinner ready and Hester waiting for him. It was extremely satisfying. The house was clean and smelled faintly of lavender and polish. There were fresh flowers on the table, a white cloth with blue cross-stitch patterns on it, and crockery and silverware. Hester served cold game pie with crisp pastry and hot vegetables, then an egg custard with nutmeg grated over the top, and lastly cheese and crusty bread. There were even a few early strawberries to finish. He sat back with a feeling of immense well-being to watch Hester clear away the dishes, and was pleased to see her return some twenty-five minutes later ready to sit down and talk with him for the rest of the evening. He wanted to tell her about Treadwell, and about Robb and his grandfather.
'Did you find the coach yet?' she asked.
He leaned back in the chair, crossing his legs.
'Yes. And I found Treadwell also.' He saw her eyes widen, then the knowledge came into her face that there was far more to what he said. She understood the tragedy before he put it into words. She did not ask him, but waited.
'I went to the local police station to see if they had seen the coach. The sergeant was occupied with a murder case, but he spared me a few minutes …' He knew she would leap to the conclusion before he told her.
'Treadwell!' She swallowed. 'Not Miriam, too?' Her voice was strained with expectation of pain.
'No,' he said quickly. 'There’s no sign of her at all. I would not have had to mention her, except that I brought Major Stourbridge to identify Treadwell, and Lucius insisted on coming as well. Of course, they had to ask Robb about her.'
'Robb is the sergeant?'
'Yes.' He described him for her, trying to bring to life in words both the gentleness he had seen in the young man and the determination, and a little of the edge of his nervousness, his need to succeed.
He saw in her face that he had caught her interest. She had understood that there was far more he had not yet told her.
'How was Treadwell killed?' she asked.
'With a blow over the head with something hard and heavy.'
'Did he fight?'
'No. It was as if he was taken by surprise.'
'Where was he found?' She was leaning forward now, her attention wholly absorbed.
'On the path of a small house on Green Man Hill, just off the Heath.'
'That’s close to the hospital,' she said quietly. 'One or two of our part-time nurses live around there.'
'I doubt he was going to see a nurse,' he said dryly, but it brought to mind his visit with Robb to the old man, and the poverty in which they lived. Robb’s return home would be so different from his own, no wife with a fine meal ready and a quiet evening in the last of the sun. He would find a sick old man who needed caring for, washing, feeding, cleaning often, and who was always either in distress or close to it. Money must be scarce. The medicines alone would be expensive, and perhaps hard to come by.
'What?' she said softly, as if reading his thoughts, or at least his emotions.
He told her about his lunchtime visit, his feelings pouring through his words in a kind of release. He had not realized how much it had cost to contain them within himself, until now that he could share them with her with the certainty that she understood. He could sense her response as surely as if she had answered every sentence, although she did not interrupt at all. Only when he was finished did she speak.
'I’ll go and see him. Perhaps the hospital can-'
He did not allow her to complete the words. 'No, you won’t!' He did not even know why he said it, except that he did not want Robb to think he had interfered, implying that he was not looking after the old man adequately. For
