the service, and arrived as the congregation was assembling.
They filed in behind a stout matron, leaning on the arm of a grim-faced man carrying his hat in his hand. This couple nodded to acquaintances, and received several acknowledgments in return. Everyone looked extremely sober.
Hester glanced around. It was difficult to recognize the Farraline women because they all wore hats, naturally. To go to church without a hat and gloves would be tantamount to arriving naked. It was easier to distinguish the men; hair color and bearing differed markedly. It did not take her long to find Alastair’s fair head with its faintly thinning patch towards the crown.
As if sensing her eyes on him, he turned half towards them, but apparently it was to nod to the eouple just ahead of them.
“Good morning, Fiscal,” the woman said grimly. “A fine day, is it not?” It was a ritual remark. It was beginning to rain and getting rapidly colder.
“Indeed, Mrs. Bain,” he replied. “Very agreeable. Good morning, Mr. Bain.”
“Good morning, Fiscal.” The man inclined his head respectfully and moved on.
“Poor creature,” the woman said as soon as they were past. “What a business for him.”
“Hold your peace, Martha,” the man said crisply. “I’ll not have you gossiping in here of all places. And on the Sabbath too. You should not be talking in kirk at all.”
She blushed angrily, but refused to defend herself.
Hester bit her lip with vicarious frustration.
Monk took her arm and led her, with some difficulty and several apologies for injured dignity and trodden toes, into the pew two rows behind the Farralines. Hester bent her head to pray, and he followed her example, at least outwardly.
More and more people arrived, several glancing at Monk and Hester with surprise and irritation. It was some time before either of them realized that apparently they had taken a place which by custom and tacit rule belonged to someone else. They did not move.
Monk watched, noticing how many people nodded or otherwise paid deference to Alastair. Those who spoke addressed him in a whisper, and by his office rather than his name.
“Such a clever man,” one woman murmured to her neighbor immediately in front of Monk. “I’m glad he didn’t prosecute Mr. Galbraith. I always thought he was innocent anyway. I don’t believe a gentleman like that would ever do such a thing.”
“And Mrs. Forbes’s son as well,” her neighbor replied. “I’m sure that was more of a tragedy than a crime.”
“Quite. Girl was no better than she should be, if you ask me. I know that sort.”
“Don’t we all, my dear. Had a maid like that once myself. Had to get rid of her, of course.”
“His father was a fine man too.” Her eyes returned to Alastair. “Such a pity.”
The organ was playing meditatively. Over to the left someone dropped a hymnbook with a crash. No one looked.
“I didn’t know you knew them.” There was a lift of interest in the woman’s voice in front of Hester, as she half turned her head to hear the better, should her neighbor choose to elaborate.
“Oh yes, quite well.” The neighbor nodded, the feathers in her hat waving. “So handsome, you know. Not like his miserable brother, who drinks like a fish, they say. Never had the talent either. The colonel was such an artist, you know.”
An old gentleman to the right glared at them and was ignored.
“An artist? I never knew that. I thought he owned a printing company.”
“Oh he did! But he was a fine artist too. Drew beautifully, and a great hand with his pen. Caricatures, you know? The poor major is a wretched creature beside him. No talent for anything, except sponging from the family, since the colonel died.”
Hester leaned forward and tapped her on the shoulder.
She turned around, startled, expecting to be told yet again not to speak in the kirk.
“Would you like a stone?” Hester offered.
“I beg your pardon!”
“A stone,” Hester repeated clearly.
“Whatever for?”
‘To throw,” Hester replied. And then, in case she had missed the point, “At Hector Farraline.”
The woman blushed scarlet. “Well really!”
“Hold your tongue, you fool!” Monk whispered, poking Hester with his elbow. “For God’s sake, woman, do you want to be recognized?”
She looked puzzled.
“ ‘Not proven’!” he said sharply, but so quietly she barely heard him. “Not innocent!”
The color burned up her face, and she turned away.
The service began. It was extremely sober and pious, with a long sermon on the sins of undue levity and light-mindedness.
Sabbath luncheon at Ainslie Place was not the rich fare it would have been in a family of such means in London. The servants had also attended the kirk, and although the food was plentiful, it was also cold. No comment was made. The day itself was considered sufficient explanation. Alastair, as head of the family, said a brief prayer before anyone presumed to eat, and then the vegetables were served to complement cold meats. For some time everyone avoided the subject of Mary’s croft, the rents, Arkwright, or any question of Baird’s culpability in that or any other matter.
Baird himself seemed to have closed his mind and his emotions, like a man who has already accepted his own death.
Eilish looked desolate. She was still beautiful. No grief could take that from her, but the fire that had lit her countenance before had vanished as if it had never been.
Deirdra had dark rings of sleeplessness under her eyes, and she constantly looked from one to another of her family as if seeking anything she might do to ease their pain, and found nothing at all.
Oonagh sat white-faced. Alastair was profoundly unhappy. Hector reached for the wine as often as usual, but seemed to remain stubbornly sober. Only Quinlan appeared to find even a glimmer of satisfaction in anything.
“You cannot put it off forever,” he said at last. “Some decision has to be made.” He glanced at Monk. “I assume you are going to return to London? If not tomorrow, then some time soon. You don’t intend to remain in Edinburgh, do you? We have no more crofts, to pay for your silence.”
“Quinlan!” Alastair said furiously, banging his clenched fist on the table. “For heaven’s sake, man, have a little decency!”
Quinlan’s eyebrows rose. “Is this matter decent? Your ideas differ from mine, Fiscal. I think it’s thoroughly indecent. What are you proposing? That we conspire together to keep silence over it and let the shadow hang forever over Miss Latterly?” He swiveled in his chair. “Will you allow that, Miss Latterly? It will make it uncommonly difficult for you to obtain another nursing post. Unless of course it is with someone who wishes the patient’s decease?”
“Of course I should like it resolved,” Hester answered him, while the rest of the company looked on in horrified silence. “But I do not wish anyone to stand in the dock in my place simply to accomplish that, if they are no more guilty than I am. There is a certain case against Mr. Mclvor, but I do not find it compelling.” She turned to Alastair. “Is it compelling, Procurator Fiscal? Would you prosecute with the evidence you have so far?”
Alastair blushed, and then paled. He swallowed hard. ‘They would not expect me to handle the case, Miss Latterly. I am too close to it.”
“That was not what she meant,” Quinlan said contemptuously. “But Alastair is famous for not prosecuting. Aren’t you, Fiscal?”
Alastair ignored him, turning instead to Baird.
“I presume you will be going in to the printing shop as usual tomorrow?”
“It’s closed tomorrow,” Baird replied, blinking at him as if he had barely understood what he had said.
Hector reached for more wine. “Why?” he asked, frowning. “What’s wrong with it? Tomorrow is Monday, isn’t it? Why aren’t you working on a Monday?” He hiccupped gently.
