The William Monk Mysteries_ The First Three Novels - Anne Perry [135]
“And Joscelin Grey?”
“He was distressed, of course, but according to Imogen he did his best to hide it; in fact he hardly mentioned it again.”
“And your father?”
Her eyes were staring blindly past him at the wind in the leaves. “Papa could not return the watch, nor could he replace it, since in spite of its monetary value, its personal value was far greater, and it was that which really mattered. So when Joscelin Grey was interested in a certain business venture, Papa felt it was the very least he could do to offer to join him in it. Indeed from what both he and Charles said, it seemed at the time to be, in their judgment, an excellent scheme.”
“That was the one in which your father lost his money?”
Her face tightened.
“Yes. He did not lose it all, but a considerable amount. What caused him to take his life, and Imogen has accepted now that he did so, was that he had recommended the scheme to his friends, and some of them had lost far more. That was the shame of it. Of course Joscelin Grey lost much of his own money too, and he was terribly distressed.”
“And from that time their friendship ceased?”
“Not immediately. It was a week later, when Papa shot himself. Joscelin Grey sent a letter of condolence, and Charles wrote back, thanking him, and suggesting that they discontinue their acquaintance, in the circumstances.”
“Yes, I saw the letter. Grey kept it—I don’t know why.”
“Mama died a few days after that.” She went on very quietly. “She simply collapsed, and never got up again. And of course it was not a time for social acquaintance: they were all in mourning.” She hesitated a moment. “We still are.”
“And it was after your father’s death that Imogen came to see me?” he prompted after a moment.
“Yes, but not straightaway. She came the day after they buried Mama. I cannot think there was ever anything you could have done, but she was too upset to be thinking as deeply as she might, and who can blame her? She just found it too hard then to accept what must have been the truth.”
They turned and began walking back again.
“So she came to the police station?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“And told me everything that you have told me now?”
“Yes. And you asked her all the details of Papa’s death: how he died, precisely when, who was in the house, and soon.”
“And I noted it?”
“Yes, you said it might have been murder, or an accident, although you doubted it. You said that you would make some investigation.”
“Do you know what I did?”
“I asked Imogen, but she did not know, only that you found no evidence that it was other than it seemed, which was that he took his own life while in deep despair. But you said you would continue to investigate it and let her know if you discovered anything further. But you never did, at least not until after we saw you again in the church, more than two months later.”
He was disappointed, and becoming frightened as well. There was still no direct connection between himself and Joscelin Grey, still less any reason why he should have hated him. He tried a last time.
“And she does not know what my investigations were? I told her nothing?”
“No.” She shook her head. “But I imagine, from the questions you asked her about Papa and the business, such as she knew it, that you inquired into that.”
“Did I meet Joscelin Grey?”
“No. You met a Mr. Marner, who was one of the principals. You spoke of him; but you never met Joscelin Grey so far as she knows. In fact the last time she saw you you said quite plainly that you had not. He was also a victim of the same misfortune, and you seemed to consider Mr. Marner the author of it, whether intentionally or not.”
It was something, however frail; a place to begin.
“Do you know where I can find Mr. Marner now?”
“No, I am afraid not. I asked Imogen, but she had no knowledge.”
“Did she know his Christian name?”
Again she shook her head. “No. You mentioned him only very briefly. I