asked softly.
“Often. And of all sorts of things.”
Merrit stood still in the fading light. Only the very top of the aspen beyond her still caught the sun. She was fingering a rather heavy watch which had been tucked down her bosom, and now she had taken it out. She caught Hester’s eyes on it and the color deepened in her cheeks.
“Lyman gave it to me … Mr. Breeland,” she explained, avoiding her mother’s gaze. “I know it doesn’t really complement this dress, but I intend to keep it with me always, to the devil with fashion!” She lifted her chin a little, ready to defy any criticism.
Judith opened her mouth, then changed her mind.
“Perhaps you could wear it on your skirt?” Hester suggested. “It looks like a watch for use as much as ornament.”
Merrit’s face lightened. “That’s a good idea. I should have thought of that.”
“I tend to wear a useful watch rather than a pretty one,” Hester said. “One I cannot really see defeats the purpose.”
Merrit walked over to the chair opposite Hester and sat down. “I have the most tremendous admiration for people who dedicate themselves to the care of others,” she said earnestly. “Would it be intrusive or troublesome of me to ask you to tell us a little more about your experiences?”
Actually it was something Hester was very willing to leave behind her when there was nothing she could accomplish and no one to persuade. However, it would have been ungracious to refuse, so she spent the next hour answering Merrit’s eager questions and waiting for Judith to lead the conversation in another path, but Judith seemed to be just as interested, and her silence was one of deep attention.
When Trace had completed his business with Alberton he took his leave, and Alberton returned to the dining room, glanced at Casbolt, then seeing a slight nod, invited him and Monk to find more comfortable seats, not in the withdrawing room with the ladies but in the library.
“I owe you an apology, Mr. Monk,” Alberton said almost before they had made themselves comfortable. “I have certainly enjoyed your company this evening, and that of your wife, who is a most remarkable woman. But I invited you here because we need your help. Well, principally I do, but Casbolt is involved as well. I am sorry for misleading you in such a way, but the matter is very delicate, and in spite of Lady Callandra’s high opinion of you- which, by the way, was given as a friend, not professionally-I preferred to form my own judgment.”
Monk felt a moment’s resentment, mostly on Hester’s behalf, then realized that he might well have done the same thing himself, were he in Alberton’s position. He hoped it was nothing to do with guns, or a choice between Philo Trace and Lyman Breeland. He found Trace the more agreeable man, but he believed in Breeland’s cause far more. He did not feel as passionately as Hester, but the idea of slavery repelled him.
“I accept your apology,” he said with a slightly sardonic smile. “Now, if you can tell me the matter that troubles you, I will make my judgment as to whether I can help you with it-or wish to.”
“Well taken, Mr. Monk,” Alberton said ruefully. He made light of it, but Monk could see the tension underlying his words. His body was rigid; a tiny muscle ticked in his jaw. His voice was not quite even.
Monk felt a stab of guilt for his levity. The man was neither arrogant nor indifferent. His self-control all evening had been an act of courage.
“Are you facing some kind of threat?” he asked quietly. “Tell me what it is, and if I can help you, I will.”
The flicker of a smile crossed Alberton’s face.
“The problem is very simple to explain, Mr. Monk. As you know, Casbolt and I are partners in the business of shipping, sometimes timber, but mostly machinery and armaments. I imagine after the conversation of our other dinner guest, that much is obvious.” He did not look at Casbolt while he spoke but fixed his gaze unwaveringly on Monk. “What you cannot know is that some ten years ago I was introduced to a young man named Alexander Gilmer. He was charming, very beautiful to look at, and a trifle eccentric in his style of living. He was also ill and had been earning his way as an artists’ model. As I said, he was of striking appearance. His employer had abandoned him, Gilmer said, because he had refused him sexual favors. At that time he was desperate. I paid his debts as a matter of compassion.” He took a deep breath but his eyes did not waver.
Casbolt did not attempt to interrupt. He seemed content that Alberton should tell the story.
“Nevertheless,” Alberton went on, his voice even lower, “the poor man died … in very tragic circumstances. …” He drew in his breath and let it out in a sigh. “He had tried to get more work as a model, but each time with less respectable people. He was … somewhat naive, I think. He expected a standard of morality that did not exist in the circles in which he moved. He was misunderstood. Men thought he was offering sexual favors, and when he refused they became angry and put him out on the street. I suppose rejection very often produces such emotions.” He stopped, his face filled with pity.
This time it was Casbolt who took up the thread, his voice earnest.
“You see, Mr. Monk, poor Gilmer, whom I also helped financially on one occasion, was found dead several months ago in a house known for male prostitution. Whether they merely sheltered him out of compassion, or if he worked there, is not known. But it made any money passed to him, whether a gift or a payment, fall under suspicion.”
“Yes, I see that.” Monk could visualize the picture very clearly. He was not sure precisely how much he believed, but it was probably irrelevant. “Someone has discovered proof of this gift of yours and wishes you to continue it … only to them?”
A flicker crossed Alberton’s face. “It is not quite as simple as that, but that is the substance of it. It is not money they wish. If it were, I could be tempted, to protect my family, although I realize that once you have paid there is no end to it.”
“It also appears to be an admission that there is something to hide,” Monk added, hearing the edge of contempt in his own voice. Blackmail was a crime he loathed above any other kind of theft. It was not just the extortion of money; it was a form of torture, long-drawn-out and deliberate. He had known it to drive people to their deaths. “I’ll do all I can to help,” he added quickly.
Alberton looked at him. “The payment they want is one I cannot give.”
Casbolt nodded very slightly, but there was anger and pain in his face. He watched Monk intently.
Monk waited.
“They want me to pay them in gun sales,” Alberton explained. “To Baskin and Company, a firm which I know is merely a front for another which sells directly to pirates operating in the Mediterranean.” His hands were clenched into fists till his knuckles shone white. “What you may not know, Mr. Monk, is that my wife is half Italian.” He glanced momentarily at Casbolt. “I think you heard mention of it at dinner. Her brother and his wife and children were murdered while at sea off the coast of Sicily … by pirates. You will understand why it would be impossible for me to sell them guns in those circumstances.”
“Yes … yes, of course I do,” Monk said with feeling. “It is never good to pay blackmail, but this is doubly impossible. If you give me all the information you have, I will do everything I can to find out who is threatening you, and deal with it. I may be able to find proof that your gift was no more than compassion, then they will have no weapon left. Alternatively, there may be the same weapon to use against them. I assume you would be willing for me to do that?”
Alberton drew in his breath.
“Yes,” Casbolt said without hesitation. “Certainly. Forgive me, but it was to form some judgment of your willingness to pursue a difficult and even dangerous case to the conclusion, to fight for justice when all seemed stacked against you, that I asked you so much about yourself earlier in the evening, before you knew the reason why. I also wished to see if you had the vision to see a cause greater than satisfying the letter of the law.”
Monk smiled a trifle twistedly. He also took few men at their word.
“Now, if you would tell me how they got in touch with you, and everything you know about Alexander Gilmer, both his life and his death,” he replied, “I will begin tomorrow morning. If they get in touch with you again, delay them. Tell them you need to make arrangements and are in the process of doing so.”
“Thank you.” For the first time since he had mentioned the subject, Alberton relaxed a little. “I am deeply obliged. Now we must discuss the financial arrangements.”
Casbolt reached out his hand. “Thank you, Monk. I think we now have room to hope.”
