The Sins of the Wolf - Anne Perry [161]
As usual McTeer met them at the door and ushered them into the withdrawing room, where this time the entire family was assembled, almost as if they might have known a revelation awaited them—although perhaps, in the circumstances, that was not surprising. Hester had been released, if not cleared of the charge, and Quinlan had openly accused Baird McIvor. It was inconceivable that the case could rest as it was. Even if the police pressed it no further, it was beyond imagination that the Farralines themselves could leave matters as they stood.
As always it was Oonagh who acknowledged them first, but Alastair, looking pale and grim-faced, was only a moment behind.
“Good evening, Miss Latterly,” he said with studied politeness. “It is good of you to come with such generosity. A lesser woman might have borne a grudge.”
It crossed Monk’s mind that that remark might have been a question as much as a statement. Alastair had a haunted look in the depths of his eyes, as well he might, knowing either his brother or his dearest sister’s husband was guilty of murder, and the murder of his mother at that. Monk did not envy him. As he stood in the gracious withdrawing room with its tall windows and sweeping curtains, the fire blazing in the hearth and the generations of family mementos and embroideries, he felt a sharp touch of pity for Alastair. What if it were Baird McIvor? Alastair and Oonagh had grown up together, sharing their dreams and their fears in a way the other siblings had not. If it were Oonagh’s husband, Alastair would feel it almost as deeply as she. And he would be the one person from whom she might not hide her grief, her disillusionment, her intolerable sense of shame. No wonder he stood close to her now, as if he would touch her, were it not so obvious, and so intrusive of a wound not yet delivered.
Hester had already deflected the remark generously, turning it into a mere exchange. They were invited in, offered wine. Eilish caught Monk’s eye. She looked painfully embarrassed, knowing that at least some people would associate her with her husband’s accusations. And galling as it was, Hester probably owed him her freedom, even though it was brought about by Argyll’s questions.
Quinlan was standing at the farther end of the room, his lean face, with its long nose and chiseled lips, deep in thought. He was watching Hester, amusement in his eyes. Perhaps he was wondering how she would approach him, what she would find to say. Monk felt a rush of loathing towards the man, not for Hester’s sake—she was well able to take care of herself, or if she were not it was her own fault for being here—but for Eilish, who could not escape.
Baird stood by the fireplace, as far as possible from Quinlan. He looked pale, as if he had not eaten or slept, and there was a haunted air about him, as though he were preparing to fight but had no hope of winning.
Kenneth sat on the arm of one of the easy chairs, regarding Hester with undisguised interest.
They had been indulging in polite conversation about nothing that mattered, but the room seemed to crackle with the underlying silence, the waiting for someone to broach the only subject that mattered. Finally it was Alastair who did it.
“Oonagh says you went to find out about the other brooch which no one has seen. I can’t imagine why.” A curious look came into his eyes, doubt, incredulity, hope. “Surely you don’t think one of the servants took it … do you? Isn’t it merely lost? Mother does seem to have been somewhat careless