The Silent Cry - Anne Perry [149]
Kynaston stiffened. “I do not appreciate being threatened, Mr. Monk.”
“Few of us do,” Monk said with a thin smile. “But most of us take heed.”
Kynaston looked at him a moment longer, weighing Monk’s nerve and his intent, then swung on his heel and led the way.
Monk was startled by Fidelis Kynaston. He had not had any particular expectations of Kynaston’s wife, but this woman of extraordinary composure, with her asymmetrical face and her calm, very lovely voice, took him utterly by surprise. The inner repose of her fascinated him.
“This is Mr. Monk,” Kynaston said tersely, without looking at him. “He requires to ask you a question about Rhys Duff. It is probably advisable that you answer him.”
“How do you do, Mr. Monk,” she said graciously. Unlike her husband, her face was filled with sadness rather than tension or anger. Perhaps she was completely unaware of her sons’ part in the crime, or the pattern of behavior which had led up to it. Kynaston might have shielded her from it, in which case there was more in him to be admired than Monk had supposed. And yet Monk could tell, from looking at Fidelis’s face, that there was knowledge of pain beneath her composure, and a kind of stillness in her eyes which springs from self-mastery in the experience of deep unhappiness. Was it conceivable that they both knew, and yet each shielded the other, and the whole tragedy was never shared?
“I am sorry to disturb your evening, Mrs. Kynaston,” he said sincerely. “But I need to ask you to cast your mind back to the night before Christmas Eve. Can you tell me if you were at home, and if so, who was with you, and until what hour?”
“Certainly,” she said with a shadow of puzzlement in her eyes. “I was at home, and my sons were here, and Rhys Duff, and Lady Sandon and her son, Mr. Rufus Sandon. We played cards and talked a great deal about all manner of things, Egyptian exploration in particular. Rufus Sandon was most enthusiastic about Monsieur Champollion and his discovery of the Rosetta stone, and its meaning. Rhys was fascinated. I think he would willingly have listened all night.”
“What time did he leave, Mrs. Kynaston?”
“About two o’clock, I believe,” she replied. “It was very late indeed. But the following day was Christmas Eve, and they intended to lie in, and be late the evening after as well. I remember them saying so. Marmaduke retired to bed earlier. He was less interested, but the rest of us remained long into the night. May I ask why you wish to know, Mr. Monk? Can it in some way help Rhys now?” There was no need to ask if that was something she wished; it was plain in her entire bearing.
“I don’t know, ma’am,” he answered frankly. “It is not what I had expected you to say. I admit, this throws me into some confusion. You have no doubt whatsoever about the date?”
“None at all. We were discussing the fact that it was Christmas Eve the following day,” she affirmed.
“Thank you. I appreciate your courtesy.”
“Then we will not detain you any further, Mr. Monk,” Kynaston said abruptly just as Fidelis was about to speak again.
Monk bowed and took his leave, thoroughly puzzled. If Rhys had been at the Kynastons’ until two in the morning, then it could not have been he with whom Leighton Duff had fought in St. Giles shortly after midnight. Monk did not doubt Fidelis, but it would be simple to check with Lady Sandon. He had not asked for her address, but a woman of title would not be difficult to locate.
As soon as he reached his rooms he went to his desk and took out all his notes on the times, dates and places of the rapes he had investigated. They were in chronological order, and it took him only moments to ascertain that his memory was correct. There had been a particularly brutal rape and beating on the night before Christmas Eve, shortly before midnight, as near as the victim could tell, probably two men rather than three.
The conclusion was startling, and inescapable.