Funeral in Blue - Anne Perry [64]
Monk remained steady. He swallowed. “He was on the way back from seeing his patient when he passed the peddler, not on the way out,” he said before Runcorn could prompt him.
Recognition of what that meant flashed in Runcorn’s eyes, and surprise that Monk should have told him. “Why did you do that?” he said quietly. “Did it take you all afternoon? Or were you debating whether to tell me?”
Monk ground his teeth. Every word of this was as hard as he had expected. Silence was no longer a choice. He must either tell Runcorn the truth or deliberately lie. Perhaps he was deceiving himself if he thought the choice had ever been otherwise. Plunge in!
“Hester went to see Dr. Beck after the funeral meal, which was at Pendreigh’s house.” He saw the quick flash of incomprehension in Runcorn’s eyes. Pendreigh was of a social class Runcorn aspired to and would never understand. The fact infuriated him, and that Monk knew it angered him even more. He waited, and they stared intently at each other.
“Beck’s house is a facade,” Monk said painfully. “Only the front room and one bedroom are furnished; the rest is empty. Through her gambling Elissa Beck lost him almost everything he had.” He saw incredulity in Runcorn’s eyes, then pity, instantly masked, but not soon enough. It had been there, real and sharp. Monk was not sure if he felt better or worse for seeing it. How does a man like Runcorn pity someone like Kristian, who gave his life to compassion, who worked all the hours he was awake to relieve the suffering of strangers?
And yet the feeling made them for a moment equal, and how dare he deny that to Runcorn, even if he could have? A tumult of emotions awoke inside him. “I went to a gambling house on Swinton Street,” he continued. “Behind the butcher’s. That was where Elissa Beck went when she was early or late to Allardyce’s studio. When she lost badly she took refuge with him. That’s probably what a lot of her ’sittings’ were.”
Runcorn said nothing. He seemed to be undecided, searching for the right words and not finding them. The respect he felt embarrassed him. Why? Because he had to realize that Kristian had every reason and opportunity to have killed his wife? Monk felt exactly the same, but it was pain, not respect. Kristian’s virtues were not newly discovered.
Runcorn climbed to his feet, almost as if he were stiff. “Thank you,” he said, looking away from Monk. He put his hands in his pockets, then took them out again quickly. “Thank you.” And he walked past Monk and out of the door, leaving Monk standing alone in the office, realizing with anger and confusion that the respect was not for Kristian but for him, because he had told Runcorn the truth, and Runcorn hated the feeling as much as Monk hated his being capable of it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Monk went home, knowing he had to face breaking news which would be even more painful. He had not told Runcorn about Imogen, or that Charles had followed her. Part of Runcorn’s admiration for him was misplaced, and it stung like a blister on the heel, catching with every step. But he had no intention of rectifying it.
However, he must tell Hester. If it could have remained secret and she would never have had to know, he would have protected her from it. In spite of her courage, almost willingness to battle, she was capable of deep and terrible pain. In fact, perhaps the two things went together; she fought for others precisely because she understood the cost of losing, the physical and emotional wounds.
But if either Charles or Imogen were drawn into this further, if they actually had a part in it, or if Imogen were on the same path of destruction as Elissa Beck . . . He pushed the thought away from him. It was in Imogen’s hectic face and brilliant eyes that he had truly seen Elissa. He must tell Hester. There was no alternative. He must also tell her that Kristian had not spoken the truth about his time on the day of the murder, whether by accident or intent.
He went up the steps and unlocked the front door. Inside, the gas lamps hissed faintly