The William Monk Mysteries_ The First Three Novels - Anne Perry [251]
“Very relevant,” he agreed quietly. “Why did you not mention it before, Mrs. Kellard?”
“Because I hoped it would not be necessary, of course,” she replied immediately. “It is hardly a pleasant thing to have to admit—least of all to the police.”
Whether that was because of the implication for crime, or the indignity of discussing it with someone of the social standing of the police, she did not say, but Monk thought from the lopsided suggestion of a sneer on her mouth that it was the latter.
“Thank you for mentioning it now.” He ironed out the anger from his expression as well as he could, and was rewarded, and insulted, that she seemed to notice nothing at all. “I shall investigate the possibility,” he concluded.
“Naturally.” Her fine golden eyebrows rose. “I did not put myself to the discomfort of telling you for you merely to acknowledge it and do nothing.”
He bit back any further comment and contented himself with opening the door for her and bidding her good-day.
He had no alternative but to face Percival, because he had already drawn from everyone else the fragments of knowledge, speculation and judgment of character on the subject. Nothing added now would be proof of anything, only the words of fear, opportunism or malice. And undoubtedly Percival was disliked by some of his fellow servants, for greater or lesser reason. He was arrogant and abrasive and he had played with at least one woman’s affections, which produced volatile and unreliable testimony, at best.
When Percival appeared this time his attitude was different; the all-permeating fear was there, but far less powerfully. There was a return of the old confidence in the tilt of his head and the brash directness of his stare. Monk knew immediately there would be no point in even hoping to panic him into confession of anything.
“Sir?” Percival waited expectantly, bristlingly aware of tricks and verbal traps.
“Perhaps discretion kept you from saying so before.” Monk did not bother to prevaricate. “But Mrs. Haslett was one of the ladies who had more than an employer’s regard for you, was she not?” He smiled with bared teeth. “You need not permit modesty to direct your answer. It has come to me from another source.”
Percival’s mouth relaxed in something of a smirk, but he did not forget himself.
“Yes sir. Mrs. Haslett was … very appreciative.”
Monk was suddenly infuriated by the man’s complacence, his insufferable conceit. He thought of Octavia lying dead with the blood dark down her robe. She had seemed so vulnerable, so helpless to protect herself—which was ridiculous, since she was the one person in all of this tragedy who was now beyond pain or the petty fancies of dignity. But he bitterly resented this grubby little man’s ease of reference to her, his self-satisfaction, even his thoughts.
“How gratifying for you,” he said acidly. “If occasionally embarrassing.”
“No sir,” Percival said quickly, but there was a smugness to his face. “She was very discreet.”
“But of course,” Monk agreed, loathing Percival the more. “She was, after all, a lady, even if she occasionally forgot it.”
Percival’s narrow mouth twitched with irritation. Monk’s contempt had reached him. He did not like being reminded that it was beneath a lady to admire a footman in that way.
“I don’t expect you to understand,” Percival said with a sneer. He looked Monk up and down and stood a little straighter himself, his opinion in his eyes.
Monk had no idea what ladies of whatever rank might similarly have admired him; his memory was blank but his temper burned.
“I can imagine,” he replied viciously. “I’ve arrested a few whores from time to time.”
Percival’s cheeks flamed but he dared not say what came to his mind. He stared back with brilliant eyes.
“Indeed sir? I expect your job brings you into company of a great many people I have no experience of at all. Very regrettable.” Now his eyes were perfectly level and hard. “But like cleaning the drains, someone has to do it.”
“Precarious,” Monk said with deliberate