The William Monk Mysteries_ The First Three Novels - Anne Perry [372]
“Yes.”
“You were friends?”
Again the look was guarded. “Yes.”
“So it was not unusual that he should call on you?”
“No, I’ve—I’ve known him a long time. In fact, all my life.”
Monk wished to express some sympathy, but was uncertain what words to use. The relationship between a boy and his hero is a delicate thing, and at times very private, composed in part of dreams.
“His death must be a great blow to you. I’m sorry.” He was uncharacteristically awkward. “Did you see your mother or your father at that time?”
“No. I—the general was—alone here. We were talking …” He glanced at his mother for an instant so brief Monk almost missed it.
“About what?” he asked.
“Er …” Valentine shrugged. “I don’t remember now. Army—army life …”
“Did you see Mrs. Carlyon?”
Valentine looked very white. “Yes—yes, she came in.”
“She came into your rooms here?”
“Yes.” He swallowed hard. “Yes she did.”
Monk was not surprised he was pale. He had seen a murderer and her victim a few minutes before the crime. He had almost certainly been the last one to see General Carlyon alive, except for Alexandra. It was a thought sufficient to chill anyone.
“How was she?” he asked very quietly. “Tell me what you can remember—and please be careful not to let your knowledge of what happened afterwards color what you say, if you can help it.”
“No sir.” Valentine looked squarely at him; his eyes were wide and vividly blue. “Mrs. Carlyon seemed very upset indeed, very angry. In fact she was shaking and she seemed to find it difficult to speak. I’ve seen someone drunk once, and it was rather like that, as if her tongue and her lips would not do what she wished.”
“Can you remember what she said?”
Valentine frowned. “Not exactly. It was more or less that he should come downstairs, and that she had to speak to him—or that she had spoken, I don’t remember which. I thought they had had a quarrel over something and it looked as if she wanted to start it up again. Sir?”
“Yes?”
This time he avoided his mother’s eyes deliberately. “Can you do anything to help Mrs. Carlyon?”
Monk was startled. He had expected the opposite.
“I don’t know yet. I have only just begun.” He wanted to ask why Valentine should wish her helped, but he knew it would be clumsy in front of Louisa.
Valentine turned to the window. “Of course. I’m sorry.”
“Not at all,” Monk said quietly. “It is very decent of you to ask.”
Valentine looked at him quickly, then away again, but in that instant Monk saw the flash of gratitude.
“Did the general seem upset?” he asked.
“No, not really.”
“So you think he had no idea she was in such a fury?”
“No, I don’t think so. Well if he had known, he wouldn’t have turned his back on her, would he? He’s a lot bigger than she is and he would have to have been caught by surprise …”
“You are quite right. It’s a good point.”
Valentine smiled unhappily.
Louisa interrupted for the first time.
“I don’t think he can tell you anything more, Mr. Monk.”
“No. Thank you.” He spoke to Valentine. “I am grateful for your forbearance”
“You’re welcome, sir.”
They were back downstairs in the hall and Monk was ready to take his leave when Maxim Furnival came in, handing his hat and stick to the maid. He was a tall, slender man with hair almost black and deep-set dark brown eyes. He was very nearly handsome, except his lower lip was a trifle too full, and when he smiled there was a gap between his front teeth. It was a moody face, emotional, intelligent and without cruelty.
Louisa explained Monk’s presence quickly. “Mr. Monk is working for Alexandra Carlyon’s lawyer.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Furnival.” Monk inclined his head. He needed this man’s help. “I appreciate your courtesy.”
Maxim’s face darkened immediately, but it was with pity rather than irritation.
“I wish there was something we could do. But it’s too late now.” His voice was constricted, as though his distress were startlingly deep and full of anger. “We should have done it weeks ago.” He moved towards the passage leading to the withdrawing room. “What is there now,