turn the subject to something else, not entirely successfully. It was not anything remarkable, Mr. Monk. And it certainly had no bearing upon Mrs. Carlyon's quarrel with him.”
“What was that about?”
“I have no idea!” he snapped. “I simply assume there was one, because she could not possibly have killed him unless there was a most violent difference between them. But none of us were aware of anything of the sort, or naturally we should have done something to prevent it.” He looked annoyed, as if he could not believe Monk was so stupid intentionally.
Before Monk could reply the door opened and a lovely but disheveled young woman stood facing them, her fair hair over her shoulders, her gown wrapped around by a shawl.
She held it with one slender, pale hand grasped close to her throat. She stared at Monk, disregarding Pole.
“Who are you? Polly said you are trying to help Mama. How can you do that?”
Monk rose to his feet. “William Monk, Mrs. Pole. I am employed by your mother's barrister, Mr. Rathbone, to see if I can learn something to mitigate her case.”
She stared at him in silence. Her eyes were very wide and fixed, and there was a hectic color in her cheeks.
Pole had risen when she came in, and now he turned to her gently. “Sabella, my dear, there is no cause to let this concern you. I think you should go back and lie down…”
She pushed him away angrily and came towards Monk. Pole put his hand on her arm and she snatched it away from him.
“Mr. Monk, is it possible you can do something to help my mother? You said 'mitigation.' Does that mean the law might take into account what manner of man he was? How he bullied us, forced us to his will regardless of our own desires?”
“Sabella…” Pole said urgently. He glared at Monk. “Really, Mr. Monk, this is all irrelevant and I-”
“It is not irrelevant!” Sabella said angrily, cutting across him.”Will you be good enough to answer me, Mr. Monk?”
He heard the rising hysteria in her voice and it was quite obvious she was on the edge of losing control altogether. It was hardly remarkable. Her family had been shattered by the most appalling double tragedy. She had effectively lost both her parents in a scandal which would ruin their reputations and tear her family life apart and expose it to public ignominy. What could he say to her that would not either make it worse or be totally meaningless? He forced his dislike of Pole out of his mind.
“I don't know, Mrs. Pole,” he said very gently. “I hope so. I believe she must have had some reason to do such a thing-if indeed it was she who did it. I need to learn what the reason was: it may be grounds for some sort of defense.”
“For God's sake, man!” Pole exploded furiously, his face tight with rage. “Have you no sense of decency at all? My wife is ill-can you not see that? I am sorry, but Mrs. Carlyon's defense, if indeed there can be any, lies with her solicitors, not with us. You must do what you can and not involve my wife. Now I must ask you to leave, without causing any more distress than you already have.” He stood, holding his position rather than moving towards Monk, but his threat was plain. He was a very angry man, and Monk thought he was also frightened, although his fear might well be for his wife's mental state and nothing more. Indeed she did look on the border of complete collapse.
Monk no longer had authority to insist, as he had when a policeman. He had no choice but to leave, and do it with as much dignity as possible. Being asked to leave was galling enough, being thrown out would be a total humiliation, which he would not endure. He turned from Pole to Sabella, but before he could collect his own excuses, she spoke.
“I have the deepest affection for my mother, Mr. Monk, and regardless of what my husband says, if there is anything at all I can do…” She stood rigidly, her body shaking, very deliberately ignoring Pole. “I shall do it! You may feel free to call upon me at any time. I shall instruct the servants that you are to be allowed in, and I am to be told.”
“Sabella!” Pole was exasperated. “I forbid it! You really have no idea what you are saying-”
Before he could finish she swung around on him in fury, her face spotted with color, her eyes brilliant, lips twisted.
“How dare you forbid me to help my mother! You are just like Papa-arrogant, tyrannical, telling me what I may and may not do, regardless of my feelings or what I know to be right.” Her voice was getting higher and more and more shrill. “I will not be dictated to-I-”
“ Sabella! Keep your voice down!” he said furiously.”Remember who you are-and to whom you speak. I am your husband, and you owe me your obedience, not to mention your loyalty.”
“Owe you?” She was shouting now. “I do not
“You are hysterical!” Pole's face was scarlet with fury and embarrassment. “Go to your room! That is an order, Sabella, and I will not be defied!” He waved his arm towards the door. “Your father's death has unhinged you, which is understandable, but I will not have you behave like this in front of a-a-” He was lost for words to describe Monk.
As if she had just remembered his presence, Sabella looked back at Monk, and at last realized the enormity of her behavior. Her color paled and with shuddering breath she turned and went out of the room without speaking again, leaving the door swinging.
Pole looked at Monk with blazing eyes, as if it were Monk's fault he had witnessed the scene.
“As you can see, Mr. Monk,” he said stiffly, “my wife is in a very distressed state. It will be perfectly clear to you that nothing she says can be of any use to Mrs. Carlyon, or to anyone else.” His face was hard, closed to all entreaty. “I must ask you not to call again. In spite of what she says, you will not be permitted in. I regret I cannot help, but it must be plain Co anyone that we are in no state to do so. Good day to you. The maid will show you to the door.” And so saying he turned around on his heel and went out, leaving Monk alone.
There was nothing to do but leave also, his mind filled with images and doubts. Surely Sabella Pole was passionate enough, and lightly balanced enough as Edith Sobell had apparently believed, to have pushed her father downstairs and then lifted that halberd and speared him to death. And she certainly seemed to have no idea at all of propriety, or what her station required of her, or perhaps even of sanity.
Monk met Hester Latterly, by arrangement, the following day. It was not that he entirely wanted to-his emotions were very mixed-but she was an excellent ally. She had acute observation, an understanding of women he would never achieve simply because he was a man. Also she was born of a different social class, and so would perceive and interpret nuances he might easily misunderstand. And of course in this instance she knew Edith Sobell, and had access to the Carlyon family, which might be invaluable if the case proved worth fighting and there was any weapon to use.
He had first met her in the Grey case nearly a year ago. She had been staying at Shelburne Court, the Grey country seat, and he had bumped into her when out walking on the estate. She had been conceited, opinionated, extremely bossy, far too outspoken, and as far as he was concerned, hi no way attractive. She had proved to be resourceful, courageous, determined, and her candid tongue had at times been a blessing. She had bullied him out of defeat with her rudeness and her blind refusal to accept despair.
In fact there had been moments when he had felt a kind of friendship for her more totally honest than he had for anyone else, even John Evan. She saw him without any deluding mists of admiration, self-interest or fear for her own position, and there was something extraordinarily sweet and comfortable about a friend who knows you and accepts you at your worst, your most bitter, or defeated, who sees your emotional ugliness naked and is not afraid to call it by name, and yet does not turn from you or allow you to cease to struggle, who wills your survival as precious.
Therefore he went out in the early afternoon to meet Hester just outside Major Tiplady's apartment in Great Titchfield Street, and walk with her down to Oxford Street, where they could find an agreeable place to take tea or hot chocolate. Perhaps her company would even be pleasant.
He had barely arrived at Tiplady's house when she came down the steps, head high, back stiff as if she were on parade. It reminded him sharply of the first occasion on which they had met; she had a very individual way of carrying herself. It both jarred on him for its assurance and sense of purpose, not a feminine characteristic at all, rather more like a soldier; and also was oddly comforting because of its familiarity. It evoked most sharply the way
