Defend and Betray - Anne Perry [80]
For the first time since seeing Alexandra Carlyon in prison Monk felt an overwhelming anger against her, crowding out pity and divorcing him utterly from the other woman who haunted the periphery of his mind, and whose innocence he had struggled so intensely to prove. She had had no child—of that he was quite certain. And younger—yes, she had been younger. He did not know why he was so sure of that, but it was a certainty inside him like the knowledge one has in dreams, without knowing where it came from.
He forced himself back to the present. Hagger was staring at him, a flicker of anxiety returning to his face.
“Where is he?” Monk asked aloud.
“With his grandparents, sir, Colonel and Mrs. Carlyon. They sent for him as soon as ’is mother was took.”
“Did you know Mrs. Furnival?”
“I have seen her, sir. She and Mr. Furnival dined here on occasion, but that’s all I could say—not exactly ‘know.’ She didn’t come ’ere very often.”
“I thought the general was a good friend of the Furnivals’?”
“Yes sir, so ’e was. But far more often ’e went there.”
“How often?”
Hagger looked harassed and tired, but there was no guilt in his expression and no evasion. “Well, as I understand it from Holmes, that’s ’is valet, about once or twice a week. But if you’re thinking it was anything improper, sir, all I can say is I most sincerely think as you’re mistaken. The general ’ad business with Mr. Furnival, and ’e went there to ’elp the gentleman. And most obliged Mr. Furnival was too, from what I hear.”
Monk asked the question he had been leading towards, the one that mattered most, and whose answer now he curiously dreaded.
“Who were Mrs. Carlyon’s friends, if not Mrs. Furnival? I imagine she had friends, people she called upon and who came here, people with whom she attended parties, dances, the theater and so on?”
“Oh yes, sir, naturally.”
“Who are they?”
Hagger listed a dozen or so names, most of them married couples.
“Mr. Oundel?” Monk asked. “Was there no Mrs. Oundel?” He felt surprisingly miserable as he asked it. He did not want the answer.
“No sir, she died some time ago. Very lonely, he was, poor gentleman. Used to come ’ere often.”
“I see. Mrs. Carlyon was fond of him?”
“Yes sir, I think she was. Sorry for ’im, I should say. ’E used to call in the afternoons sometimes, and they’d sit in the garden and talk for ages. Went ’ome fairly lifted in spirits.” He smiled as he said it, and looked at Monk with a sudden sadness in his eyes. “Very good to ’im, she was.”
Monk felt a little sick.
“What is Mr. Oundel’s occupation? Or is he a gentleman of leisure?”
“Bless you, sir, ’e’s retired. Must be eighty if ’e’s a day, poor old gentleman.”
“Oh.” Monk felt such an overwhelming relief it was absurd. He wanted to smile, to say something wild and happy. Hagger would think he had taken leave of his wits—or at the very least his manners. “Yes—yes, I see. Thank you very much. You have been most helpful. Perhaps I should speak to her ladies’ maid? She is still in the house?”
“Oh yes sir, we wouldn’t presume to let any of the staff go until—I mean …” Hagger stopped awkardly.
“Of course,” Monk agreed. “I understand. Let us hope it doesn’t come to that.” He rose to his feet.
Hagger also rose to his feet, his face tightened, and he fumbled awkwardly. “Is there any hope, sir, that …”
“I don’t know,” Monk said candidly. “What I need to know, Mr. Hagger, is what reason Mrs. Carlyon could possibly have for wishing her husband dead.”
“Oh—I’m sure I can’t think of any! Can’t you—I mean, I wish …”
“No,” Monk cut off hope instantly. “I am afraid she is definitely responsible; there can be no doubt.”
Hagger’s face fell. “I see. I had hoped—I mean … someone else … and she was protecting