“Well, I never,” she said quietly, her face reflecting a dozen different and conflicting emotions. “That concerned you! And did your resignation save him?”
“No.”
She walked in silence for about twenty yards. She seemed to be thinking deeply. Then suddenly she turned to face him, and her eyes were bright, her expression relaxed.
“And what is it you do now, Mr. Monk? You didn't tell me. You help ladies in distress because their husbands are missing?” She had a most attractive and individual voice.
“Among other things.” He stopped and indicated the coffeehouse, stepping ahead and opening the door for her. Inside was warm and noisy, and smelled of the delicious aroma of coffee beans grinding, the sweetness of chocolate, and the close, clinging odor of damp coats, wool and fur and wet leather boots.
They were shown straightaway to a table. He asked her what she wished, and on her reply ordered them both hot coffee. When it came the conversation was resumed, although in truth she was such a pleasure to look at he would not have minded silence. He was also aware of the slight hush around them, and the admiring glances of many of the other guests. If Drusilla noticed, she was so accustomed to it, it had no effect upon her.
“It must be a most interesting occupation you have,” she said, sipping at her coffee. “I suppose you meet all sorts of people? Of course you do. It is a foolish question.” She sipped again. “I don't suppose you even remember them all when a case is over. It must be like a magic lantern slide of life, all passions and mysteries. And then it is solved, and you leave it and begin the next.”
“I am not sure that I would have phrased it like that,” he replied, smiling at her over the rim of his own cup.
“Of course you would. It is fascinating, and so unlike my life, where I know the same tedious people year after year. Now please tell me more of this man who is missing. What manner of person is he?”
Quite unwillingly he told her all he knew that was not in confidence, and watched with pleasure both her intelligence and the smooth, unharassed expression of her face, as if her mind were engaged but she was not going to permit another woman's tragedy to spoil the pleasure or ease of their encounter.
“It seems to me,” she said thoughtfully, drinking the last of her coffee, “that the first thing you need to determine is whether he has a secret habit of some sort, be it another woman or some vice or other; or if he did as his wife feared, and went to visit his brother in the East End, and met with violence.”
“Quite,” he agreed. “That is why I am pursuing all I can in an effort to trace him during the last two or three weeks before his disappearance.”
“Hence the Geographical Society.” She nodded. “Where else might you try?
Perhaps I may be of some assistance?” She bit her lip. “This is, if I am not being too presumptuous?” She looked at him candidly with her wide, hazel eyes, but there was amusement and confidence in them. He knew that if he had refused her she would not have been hurt or offended, simply philosophical, and turned her attention to something else.
Not for a moment did he hesitate.
“Thank you. The matter is urgent, for Mrs. Stonefield's sake, so I should be grateful for any help at all. As you say, the first thing is to eliminate the most obvious alternative. His business affairs seem to be in excellent order, and his personal finances, so I cannot believe he gambled or indulged in any other vice which cost him money. Would you care for more coffee?”
“Thank you. I should like it very much,” she accepted.
It took him a moment to attract the waiter's attention, then when the man weaved his way through the tables to them, he ordered and paid. When the coffee came it was as steaming and fragrant as the first.
“Perhaps he was a successful gambler?” Drusilla raised her eyebrows.
“Then why disappear?” he countered.
“Oh, yes, I see.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “Well.. naughty theater? Peep shows? Some forbidden religion? Seances or black magic?”
He started to laugh. It was wonderful to be able to wander into the realms of the absurd and forget poverty, disease and all the wretchedness he had seen.
“I can't see the man I've discovered so far indulging in anything so frivolous,” he said candidly.
She was laughing too. “Is black magic frivolous?”
“I don't honestly know,” he confessed. “It sounds pretty irrelevant to reality to me, a sort of escape from responsibility and the daily round of duties, particularly for a man who spends his working hours considering the price of corn and other commodities.”
“And leads family prayers,” she added, “for a good wife and five children, and however many servants they have, not to mention goes to church every Sunday and observes the Sabbath with all diligence.”
There was a burst of laughter from the next table, and they both ignored it.
“Did you find out if they eat cold meals only, don't permit singing, whistling, games of any nature, and reading of fiction, taking of sugar in his tea or the eating of sweets or chocolates, in case it causes inappropriate love of luxury? And of course no laughing.”
He groaned. It was not the picture he had formed of Genevieve, but he had not asked. Perhaps Angus was as sober and worthy as that. She had certainly spoken of him in glowing, but rather formal and reverent, words.
“Poor devil,” he said aloud. “If he lived like that, there would be little wonder if he took leave of reality on occasion and did something totally bizarre. It might save his sanity.”
She finished her coffee the second time and sat back.
“Then permit me to discover what I can of such societies, and if anyone I know has met this Angus Stonefield.” Her eyes flickered down and then up again. “And of course there is the other possibility, which seems indelicate to mention, but we are speaking to each other without pretense-I do get so tired of pretense all the time, don't you? He may have met another woman, one who offers him laughter and affection without demanding anything from him at all, except the same in return. He may long for the freedom from the responsibility of children and the sobriety and decorum of family life. Many men find a liberty to express themselves to another woman in a way they cannot to their wives, if nothing else, simply because they do not have to face her every day across the breakfast table. If they make a fool of themselves, they may walk away and never meet again.”
He looked at her where she sat smiling at him, her slender shoulders so feminine and delicate, her thick shining hair, her lively face with its wide eyes, and always the air of composed amusement about her, as if she knew some secret happiness. He could well understand if Angus Stonefield, or any other man, found such a woman irresistible, a blazing, delicious freedom from the restrictions of the domestic round, the wife who was harassed by the duties of household and children, who did not feel it proper to laugh too easily or too loudly, who was conscious of her duty to him, and her dependence, and very probably who also knew him too well, and had expectations of what he should be, and how it was proper for him to behave.
Yes, perhaps Angus Stonefield had done precisely that. And if he had, Monk, for one, would not entirely blame him. On the other hand, he also felt a very sharp spur of envy which took him completely by surprise. Was Drusilla speaking from supposition? Or had she been that exquisite, delightful “other woman” for Stonefield, or for someone else? He would resent it profoundly if she had-which was both painful and absurd, but if he were as honest with himself as he was with others, still real.
“Of course,” he said at last, finishing his coffee also. “ I shall look into that as well.”
Chapter 4
Every hour or two brought more cases of fever to the makeshift hospital in Limehouse. The only blessing was that it also brought more volunteers to help with what little practical nursing could be done, and willing hands to help with the endless tasks of emptying, cleaning, laundering what sheets and blankets they had, and changing the soiled straw and fetching in new. Local men came and carried away the bodies of the dead.
“Where do they take them?” Enid Ravensbrook asked as they sat together in the small room where Monk had spoken with Callandra and Hester. It was late afternoon, dark and cold. Three people had died the previous night.
Kristian had been there since the previous evening, and he had taken a short break to go home, wash and
