Hester had to force herself to remember Rose Applegate's humiliation in order to say what she must. She was certain now that it had been Jenny who had poisoned Rose's food or drink with alcohol, not Argyll. It was she who had the motive, and surely it could only have been she who had known of Rose's weakness. Had Rose's resolve slipped before, or had she confided in someone in a moment of weakness, perhaps as her reason for not joining them in wine, or a champagne toast to some event? One might require such an excuse to avoid giving offense, for example at a wedding.
Jenny was waiting.
'Yes, it is true,' Hester replied. 'I went into court believing, as did my husband, that Mr. Sixsmith was innocent of everything except the very understandable offense of trying to bribe certain troublemakers to stop sabotaging the construction. The only reason he was charged at all was in order to bring the whole subject of James Havilland's death to court, and during the proceedings to prove that it was actually your husband who was guilty.'
'Then you succeeded,' Jenny said with almost no expression. 'Why have you bothered to come and tell me this? Do you imagine I care? What possible difference do your reasons or your beliefs make to me?'
Hester looked at her. Was any of that hurt or outrage real? Or was she showing that emotion to mask the sense of victory she must feel now the prize was almost in her hands?
'None at all,' Hester admitted calmly. 'It is the fact that we were mistaken that is of importance. Your husband was not guilty, and I am almost certain that we can prove that.'
Jenny stood motionless, her eyes wide, unfocused. For a moment Hester was afraid she might faint. 'Not… guilty?' she said hoarsely. 'How can that be? He has been arrested.'' That was a denial, almost a defiance.
Hester hoped fervently that Sixsmith was not in the house. Was she taking a stupid risk? It was too late to retreat now.
'But you don't believe him guilty, surely?'
'How… how can I not?'
'Because you know without any doubt who it was that asked you to write the letter to your father, and since it was Sixsmith who paid to have him killed, it is impossible to believe that it was not also Sixsmith who arranged to have him be in the stables,' Hester replied.
Jenny drew in her breath, raising her hands as if to push Hester away physically. 'Oh, no! I-'
'You are in love with him,' Hester continued. 'Yes, I know. So much is apparent. But however infatuated you are, it does not excuse the deaths of your father and your sister, and the shame of a suicide's grave for both.' The anger and all her own old pain poured into her voice until it shook. She had to gulp for breath and try to steady herself. 'You may not have known at first, but don't tell me you don't know now.''
'I don't!' Jenny denied furiously. 'You're lying. My husband is guilty! The court knows that! You have no right to come here saying such terrible things!'
'Terrible?' Hester challenged her. 'It is terrible that Sixsmith could be guilty of killing your father, but not that your husband is? I think that judgment betrays your loyalties rather clearly, Mrs. Argyll!'
'You accuse me!' Jenny shot back.
'Of course I do. It was you who swore on oath that it was your husband who made you write the letter that lured your father to his death. You could not mistake such a thing. It had to be a deliberate betrayal of both your husband and your father! What does Sixsmith offer you that is worth that?'
Jenny gasped. 'Get out of my house… you…' She could not find words to protect herself.
'Is he such a lover?' Hester went on, allowing her own past helplessness to drive her anger.
'How dare you!' Jenny shouted. 'You ignorant, complacent, stupid woman with your good works and your petty little ideas! What on earth do you know of passion?'
'I know love and hate, and the price you pay for each,' Hester replied. 'I know death, and I've seen better men than you've ever known give their lives for what they believed in. I've seen grief and war and murder. I've made more terrible mistakes, and I've loved till I thought I'd die of it. I've let people down because I've been weak or shortsighted, but I've never deliberately betrayed anyone. You betrayed your father, your sister, your husband, and Rose Applegate as well. Was that really worth it just to lie with Aston Sixsmith?'
Jenny swung her arm around and slapped Hester across the face as hard as she could, sending her staggering backwards until she fell onto the armchair several steps behind her.
Hester climbed to her feet slowly, hand to her burning cheek. 'I see that it wasn't,' she observed.
Jenny took a step towards her, face scarlet, eyes bright with rage.
Hester was prepared this time, her own hand ready, fist closed. 'Sixsmith murdered the assassin,' she said. 'Shot him and left him to be crushed and buried under the cave-in. And don't bother to argue that. It was what gave him away. He described the man as he was when he was killed, not when Sixsmith said he paid him. It was his only mistake, but it was enough. It'll save your husband from the rope. Or is that not what you want to hear?' That was an accusation with the bitterest contempt.
'I don't want any of it!' Jenny said desperately. 'And you're lying. It can't be true!'
Hester did not bother to argue. 'He murdered your father and your sister, and he's going to murder your husband. Is that the sort of man you trust to look after you, not to mention your children? If you've got any wits left at all, you'll save yourself while you can. Your husband's going to be freed, whatever you do, and Sixsmith will hang.'
Jenny looked at her with loathing. 'And what does it profit you, Mrs. Monk? Why do you care if I survive or not? I think you're lying, and you need me to betray Aston, or he'll still beat you and Alan.'
Hester forced herself to smile, but she knew it was a cold, uncertain gesture. 'Are you prepared to wager your life on no one finding evidence, now that they know where to look? More than that, are you sure your own future is safe with a man who will kill when it suits him, who betrayed the man who employed him and trusted him by taking his wife and who set him up to hang for a murder he didn't commit? Look who is dead! Are you sure you are not the next, when your usefulness to him is over, or he finds a younger, prettier woman who isn't weighed down with another man's children? Or could it be that your children are heirs to the whole Argyll inheritance? Could that be your value to him? And if you marry him, whose will it be then? Toby's, dead, too! And Mary.'
Jenny's face collapsed. Hester imagined the memories that might be racing through her mind, moments of intimacy, of passion. Hester would have pitied her had not so many others paid the price.
'Go to the police and confess perjury,' she said more gently. 'While you still have time. Make up some story that you were deceived and now you realize the truth. You might at least survive. You have a choice, today anyway. Live with Argyll, who may be a bore and a bully-or hang with Sixsmith, who is far worse.' She gave a very slight shrug. 'There's no profit in it for me, Mrs. Argyll, but there is for your children. I suppose I care about them.' And she turned on her heel and walked out. She would go back home and have lunch with Scuff, and perhaps tell him what she had done. She would write a letter to Rose Applegate and tell her too, when it was all over.
As Monk and all the others shared a brief lunch with a group of navvies, this time having the benefit of far more knowledge, they questioned them not about Argyll but about Sixsmith. They were deep underground, sitting on stones in the rubble away from the pounding of the engine. It was an old tunnel where debris had been dumped rather than carry it all the way to the surface. The constant dripping of water filled the air with damp and the smell of sewage. The scrabble of rats' feet was closer than the clang and thump of the machine. The voices around them echoed until it was hard to tell from which direction they came. Darkness hemmed them in on all sides, crowding the frail heart of the lantern light. They could have been twenty feet below the surface of the earth, or hundreds. Monk tried to drive the thought from his mind and keep his stomach from knotting.
Rathbone drank some water but was reluctant to eat the coarse bread. He did manage to keep the look of distaste out of his expression.
'So Miss Havilland asked for Mr. Sixsmith's help?' he said again.
'Yeah,' the navvy agreed. He was a big, bull-chested man with fair hair receding at the front and an agreeable, heavily weathered face. 'Course 'e did. Went out o' 'is way ter give 'er wot she asked fer. Did fer 'er pa, too.'
'Same information?' Rathbone asked.
'I s'pose.' The navvy creased his face in thought. ' 'E 'elped a lot o' them. Never 'id nuffink. 'E must 'a told Miss 'Avilland wot she asked 'im fer, 'cos it were arter she spoke wi' 'im that she came ter know as 'er pa were murdered. Or leastways ter think as 'e were.'
Rathbone glanced at Monk, then looked back at the navvy. 'I think I might begin to understand this, Mr…'
'Finger,' the navvy supplied. ' 'Cos I lost me finger, see?' He held up his left hand, the middle finger missing from the knuckle.
