Cain His Brother - Anne Perry [10]
“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 arc 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