Monk, neither morally nor physically, but he lived in dread of his brother.
For all that he pitied him, and tried all the years I have known him to bridge the gulf between them, he was deeply afraid.”
Monk waited for her to continue.
She looked into the distances within her own mind. “I have seen the change come over his face when he spoke of Caleb, how his eyes darkened and his mouth showed lines of pain.” She took a deep breath and he could see that she was shaking very slightly, as if mastering a deep shock within herself.
“I am not exaggerating, Mr. Monk. Please believe me, Caleb is both evil and dangerous. My worst fear is that his hatred has finally driven him mad and he has killed Angus. Of course, I hope he is alive… and yet I am terrified it is already too late. My heart tells me one thing, and my mind another.” At last she looked at him, her eyes wide and direct. “I need to know. Please leave no effort untried for as long as I have any means with which to recompense you. For my children's sake, as well as my own, I have to know what has happened to Angus.” She stopped. She would not repeat herself or beg for pity beyond his labor that she could hire. She stood very straight in the room he still merely observed only as a kind of elegance behind her. He was unaware even of the ash settling in the fire.
Not only for her, but for the man whose wife and home this was, he had no hesitation in accepting the task wholeheartedly.
“I will do everything in my power, Mrs. Stonefield, I promise you,” he answered. “May I continue by speaking to some of your servants who may have noticed letters or callers?”
She looked puzzled, and a flicker of disillusion shadowed her eyes. “How will that help?”
“It may not,” he conceded. “But without some kind of indication that some of the more obvious answers are untrue, I cannot request the help I shall need from the River Police to conduct a search of the docks or of the quarter where you say Caleb lives. If he has indeed killed his brother, it will not be easy to prove.”
“Oh…” She let out her breath in a jerky little sigh. “Of course.” She was very pale. “I had not thought of that. I'm sorry, Mr. Monk. I shall not interfere again. Whom would you like to see first?”
He spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening questioning the staff from the butler and the cook through to the between-maid and the bootboy, and learned nothing to contradict his first impression that Angus Stonefield was a diligent and prosperous man of excellent taste and very ordinary habits, with a wife to whom he was devoted, and five children ranging in age from three to thirteen years.
The butler had heard of the brother, Caleb, but had never seen him. He knew only that Mr. Stonefield would go quite regularly to the East End to meet with him, that he seemed nervous and unhappy prior to going and sad on his return. On almost every occasion he had sustained both personal injury and severe damage to his clothes, sometimes beyond repair. Mr. Stonefield had refused to call a doctor, insisting that the matter not be reported, and Mrs. Stonefield had cared for him herself. None of it helped to explain where Angus Stonefield was now or what had happened to him. Even his effects, and the few letters in the top drawer of his tallboy, were precise, each in its place, and exactly what Monk would have expected. “Did you learn anything?” Genevieve asked when he returned to the withdrawing room to take his leave.
He would have disliked disappointing her, but there was no hope in her face.
“No,” he confessed. “It was simply an avenue I dared not leave unexplored.”
She looked down at her hands, twisting together in front of her dress, the only betrayal of the emotion within her.
“I received a letter today from Angus's guardian, Lord Ravensbrook, offering to assist us until we can… until… You might care to see if he can… help… with information, I mean.” She looked up at him.
“I have written his address for you. I am sure he will receive you whenever you care to call.”
“You are going to accept his offer?” he said urgently.
The moment he asked he saw her face shadow, and knew he had been intrusive.
It was not his concern. She had promised to pay him, and he wondered now if she assumed that concern for money was the reason he had asked.
“No,” She said, before he could apologize and find some excuse to moderate his discourtesy. “I would very much prefer not to be”-she hesitated-”indebted to him, if it can be avoided. He is a good man, of course!” She went on quickly. “He raised Angus and Caleb when their own parents died. They are only distant relatives. He had no real obligation, but he gave them every opportunity, as if they were his own. His first wife died very young. He has married again now. I am sure he would give you any assistance he can.”
“Thank you,” he accepted, grateful that she had apparently taken no more offense at his clumsiness. “As soon as I learn anything, I promise I will let you know.”
“I am most obliged,” she said quietly. She seemed about to add something, then changed her mind. He wondered if it had been about the depth of her fears for her husband, or the urgency with which she needed an answer.
“Good evening, Mr. Monk.”
It was not a courteous time to call upon Lord and Lady Ravensbrook, but Genevieve's plight struck deep into him, and he was perfectly prepared to disturb them at dinner, or draw them away from guests if need be, and offer the truth as explanation.
As it was, when the hansom dropped him at Ravensbrook House in the rain and he splashed across the footpath through the are of the streetlight and up the marble steps, he was prepared for whatever battle faced him. But his forethought proved unnecessary. The door was opened by a footman in livery who accepted his card and the letter Genevieve had given him, leaving him in the hall while he went to present them to his master.
Ravensbrook House was magnificent. Monk judged it to date back to Queen Anne, a far more elegant period of architecture than that of the present queen. Here nothing was overcrowded. Ornamentation was simple, giving an air of space and perfect proportion. There were rather good portraits, presumably of the past Ravensbrooks, on three of the four walls. They all either had been of handsome appearance or had been highly flattered by the various artists.
The staircase was gray marble, like the front steps, and swept in a curve up the right-hand wall to a landing balustraded in the same stone. A chandelier of at least eighty candles illuminated the whole, and hothouse hyacinths flowered in a blue delft bowl, scenting the air.
It occurred to Monk that perhaps Angus Stonefield had been given an excellent start in his business, both financially and socially. It was a peculiar and rather harsh pride of Genevieve's that would not allow her to accept help now, at least for her children's sake, if not her own. Or did she really believe, in spite of what she said, that Angus would somehow return?
The footman came back, showing only the mildest surprise by the lifting of an eyebrow, and conducted Monk to the library. Lord Ravensbrook awaited him, apparently having left his dinner to receive this unexpected guest.
The door closed behind the retreating footman.
“I apologize, my lord, for the unseemliness of the hour,” Monk said immediately.
Ravensbrook dismissed it with a wave of his hand. He was a tall man, perhaps an inch or two taller than Monk, and extremely handsome. His face was lean and narrow, but with fine, dark eyes, a long nose and a chiseled mouth. Apart from his features, there was a quickness of intelligence in him, lines of wit and laughter around his mouth and a hint of temper between his brows. It was the face of a proud man of unusual charm and, Monk guessed, a considerable ability to command others.
However, on this occasion he made no attempt to impress.
“I gather from Mrs. Stonefield's letter that she has sought your help to discover what has happened.” He made it a statement, not a question. “I admit, I am close to my wits' end to think what can have befallen him, and would be glad of any assistance you can give.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Monk acknowledged. “I have been to his offices and they appear to know nothing, although I have not yet been able to question Mr. Arbuthnot, whom I am told is in charge and would have the authority to speak more frankly to me. However, if there is any financial hardship, it is certainly not evident-“
Ravensbrook's black eyebrows rose fractionally. “Financial hardship? Yes-I suppose you have to consider that. To one who does not know Angus, it would seem a possibility. However…” He walked over to the mantelshelf, where two exquisite Georgian silver candlesticks sat on either end and an Irish crystal vase a little to the left of
