Defend and Betray - Anne Perry [78]
But if she wished to betray him with a lover of her own, and had murdered him to free herself, no one on earth would excuse that.
In fact the more Monk thought about it, the more did it seem the only solution that fitted all they knew. It was an exceedingly ugly thought—but imperative he learn if it were the truth.
He decided to begin at Alexandra Carlyon’s home, which she had shared with the general for the last ten years of his life, since his return from active service abroad. Since Monk was indirectly in Mrs. Carlyon’s employ, and she had so far not been convicted of any crime, he felt certain he would find a civil, even friendly reception.
The house on Portland Place was closed and forbidding in appearance, the blinds drawn in mourning and a black wreath on the door. For the first time he could recall, he presented himself at the servants’ entrance, as if he had been hawking household goods or was calling to visit some relative in service.
The back door was opened by a bootboy of perhaps twelve years, round-faced, snub-nosed and wary.
“Yes sir?” he said guardedly. Monk imagined he had probably been told by the butler to be very careful of inquisitive strangers, most especially if they might be from the newspapers. Had he been butler he would have said something of the sort.
“Wotcher want?” the boy added as Monk said nothing.
“To speak with your butler, and if he is not available, with your housekeeper,” Monk replied. He hoped fervently that Alexandra had been a considerate mistress, and her staff were loyal enough to her to wish her well now and give what assistance they might to someone seeking to aid her cause, and that they would have sufficient understanding to accept that that was indeed his aim.
“Woffor?” The boy was not so easily beguiled. He looked Monk up and down, the quality of his suit, his stiff-collared white shirt and immaculate boots. “ ’Oo are yer, mister?”
“William Monk, employed by Mrs. Carlyon’s barrister.”
The boy scowled. “Wot’s a barrister?”
“Lawyer—who speaks for her in court.”
“Oh—well, yer’d better come in. I’ll get Mr. ’Agger.” And he opened the door wider and permitted Monk into the back kitchen. He was left to stand there while the boy went for the butler, who was in charge of the house now that both master and mistress were gone, until either Mrs. Carlyon should be acquitted or the executors should dispose of the estate.
Monk stared about him. He could see through the open doorway into the laundry room, where the dolly tub was standing with its wooden dolly for moving, lifting and turning the clothes, the mangle for squeezing out the water, and the long shelf with jars of various substances for washing the different kinds of cloth: boiled bran for sponging chintz; clean horses’ hoof parings for woollens; turpentine and ground sheep’s trotters, or chalk, to remove oil and grease; lemon or onion juice for ink; warm cows’ milk for wine or vinegar stains; stale bread for gold, silver or silken fabrics; and of course some soap.
There were also jars of bleach, a large tub of borax for heavy starching, and a board and knife for cutting up old potatoes to soak for articles to be more lightly starched.
Monk recognized them all from dim memories, habit, and recollections of more recent investigations which had taken him into kitchens and laundry rooms. This was apparently a well-run household, with all the attentions to detail one would expect from an efficient staff.
Sharply he recalled his mother with the luxury of home made soap from fat and wood ash. For the laundry, like other poorer women, she used lye, the liquid made from wood ash collected from furnaces and open fires and then mixed with water. Sometimes urine, fowl dung or bran were added to make it more effective.