Death of a Stranger - Anne Perry [41]
Had that first fraud been practiced on Baltimore and Sons at all? Or was Monk’s connection with them coincidence? If Dundas’s bank had made a business of financing railways, he might have been connected with many.
But the fraud was the same! Or it seemed the same. He could remember the rabbits, the rerouting on the longer track, the protestors, the anger, the questions as to which land was to be used, and the accusations of profiteering.
Was he transplanting all that from the past, and his own broken memory, into the present where it did not belong?
No. Katrina Harcus had come to him because she had overheard Dalgarno and Jarvis Baltimore talking of large and dangerous profits that must be kept secret, and she feared fraud. That was fact, nothing to do with memory, true or false, and very much in the present. As was Nolan Baltimore’s murder, whether it had anything to do with the railway or not.
The train pulled into Euston at last, and Monk got out and hurried along the platform, jostled by tired and impatient travelers.
The huge space beyond the platform, arched over by a magnificent roof, was filled with peddlers, people hurrying to catch outgoing trains, porters with boxes and cases, friends and relatives come to meet those arriving or to wish good-bye to those leaving. Coachmen looked for their masters or mistresses.
A paperboy was calling out the latest news. Hurrying past him, Monk heard something about the Union troops in America having captured Roanoke Island on the Kentucky border. The violence and tragedy of that war seemed very far away; the searing heat and dust and blood of the battle he and Hester had been caught up in were in another world now.
When at last he got home he found Hester asleep, curled over in the bed as if she had reached to touch him and found him not there. One arm was still outstretched.
He stood still for several moments, hesitating whether to waken her or not. The fact that she did not stir, unaware of him, told him how tired she must be. There were times when his own impulse would have woken her anyway. She would not have minded. She would have smiled and turned to him.
Now he resisted. What would he say to her? That he had found nothing in Derby except ghosts of familiarity that he could not place? That there was a crash in the past which was so terrible he could neither remember it nor forget it, and he dared not look at the reasons because he was afraid that they involved some kind of guilt, but he had no idea for what? And he had nothing yet that would help his client.
He turned away and went to wash, shave, and change into clean clothes. Hester was still asleep when he left to go to the Royal Botanic Gardens to meet with Katrina Harcus.
It was a bright, windy, March afternoon and a score of people had chosen to spend it admiring the early flowers, the vivid green of the grass, and the giant trees, still bare, wind gusting noisily through the branches. In spite of the brilliant light, the ladies had abandoned parasols. As it was, now and again both hands were needed to keep hats in place and skirts from being whipped and lifted above petticoats.
He saw Katrina after a moment. There was a distinction about her bearing which marked her out. Apparently she recognized him just as quickly and came over without any pretense that it was a casual meeting.
Her face was flushed, but that might have been the wind and sun rather than any expectation so soon.
“Mr. Monk!” She stopped in front of him breathlessly. “What have you learned?”
An elderly gentleman out walking alone turned and smiled at them indulgently, no doubt mistaking it for a lovers’ meeting. Another couple walking arm in arm nodded and moved even closer to each other.
“Very little, Miss Harcus,” he replied quietly. This was not a conversation he wished overheard.
Her eyes dropped and disappointment filled her face, too acute to be concealed.
“I have made enquiries about workmanship and materials,” he went on. “From what I have heard, the railway