The Sins of the Wolf - Anne Perry [72]
He took the glass and drank it all in one long gulp, then looked at her with slight difficulty in focusing.
“Did you?” He hiccupped loudly and waved his hand in embarrassment. “I don’t think I …”
“Come on, dear, I’ll have your dinner sent up. I don’t think you are well enough to enjoy it down here.”
Hector turned to Monk again.
“Then what the hell are you?”
Monk had an uncharacteristic moment of tact.
“I have to do with the law, Mr. Farraline. There are details to be dealt with.”
“Oh—” He seemed satisfied.
Oonagh half turned and shot Monk a look of gratitude, then gently steered Hector towards the door and out
By the time she came back they were in the dining room and seated at the table. The meal was served, and while they were eating, Monk had the opportunity to observe them individually, conversation requiring no effort on his part.
He turned over in his mind what the errand boy had said. He looked discreetly at Deirdra Farraline. Her face still pleased him. It was thoroughly feminine, soft curves to the cheek and jaw, neat nose, good brow, and yet it was full of determination; there was nothing weak or apathetic about her. He was stupidly disappointed that she was apparently dedicated to spending her time in society and using extravagant amounts of money to impress others.
Of course she was dressed entirely in black now, as mourning required, and it became her, but looking at it with a critical eye, her gown was hardly high fashion. Indeed, he would have said by London standards it was really very ordinary. The gossip was right; she had no taste. It angered him to concede the point.
He turned to look at Eilish, unwilling to be caught staring at her. Her beauty irritated him enough as it was, without his being observed watching her. The last thing he wished was to pander to her vanity.
He need not have worried. She kept her head bent towards her plate, and only twice did she glance upward, and then it was to Baird.
Her gown was also black, naturally, but more becomingly cut, and certainly more up-to-the-minute in detail. In fact, it could not have been bettered by any London beauty, whatever the cost.
He turned to Oonagh. She was surveying the table, watching everyone to assure herself they had sufficient and were comfortable. He could afford only a moment to look at her, or she would see him. Her gown also was well cut, simple, and more fashionable than Deirdra’s. It was not just her fire and her intelligence which made it so. Whatever Deirdra spent her money on, it was not her mourning clothes.
The meal progressed with polite conversation about nothing in particular, and when it was over Kenneth excused himself, to Alastair’s annoyance and a sarcastic comment from Quinlan, and the rest of the company retired to the withdrawing room to take up occupations suitable to the Sabbath. Alastair shut himself away in his study to read, although whether it was the Scriptures or not he did not say, and the question from Quinlan went unanswered. Oonagh and Eilish took up embroidery; Deirdra said she had a duty visit to make to a neighbor who was ill, which passed without remark. Apparently she was known to the family, and Deirdra called upon her regularly. Quinlan picked up a newspaper—to one or two looks of disapproval, which he ignored—and Baird said he was going to write letters.
Monk took the opportunity to find the domestic staff and question them about the day Hester had been in the house.
It was a difficult task. Their memories were clouded and distorted by their knowledge of Mary’s death and their conviction that Hester was to blame. Impressions were useless, only facts had any hope of representing truth, and even they were suspect. Hindsight blurred previous certainties and lent conviction to others which had been only thoughts at the time.
No one argued as to when she had arrived or left, or that she had taken breakfast in the kitchen, then Oonagh had taken her to meet Mary Farraline. The women had had both elevenses and