The William Monk Mysteries_ The First Three Novels - Anne Perry [489]
“What is it this time, Mr. Monk?” the butler asked when he returned a few minutes later. “I’m sure we’ve all told you all we know about that night. Now we’d just like to forget it and get on with our work. I’ll not ’ave you upsetting all our maids again!”
“I don’t need to see the maids,” Monk said placatingly. “Just a footman would be quite sufficient, and possibly the bootboy. It is only about who called here frequently.”
“Robert said something about Master Valentine.” The butler looked at Monk closely. “I can’t let you see him, not without the master’s or the mistress’s permission, and they’re both out at the present.”
“I understand.” Monk chose not to fight when he knew he could not win. That would have to wait for another time. “I daresay you know everything that goes on in the house anyway. If you can spare the time?”
The butler considered for a moment. He was not immune to flattery, if it were disguised well enough, and he certainly liked what was his due.
“What is it you wish to know, in particular, Mr. Monk?” He turned and led the way towards his own sitting room, where they could be private, in case the matter should be in any way delicate. And regardless of that, it created the right impression in front of the other staff. It did not do to stand around discussing presumably private business in full view of everyone.
“How often did General Carlyon come here to visit, either Mrs. Furnival or Master Valentine?”
“Well, Mr. Monk, he used to come more often in the past, before he had his accident, sir. After that he came a lot less.”
“Accident?”
“Yes sir—when he injured his leg, sir.”
“That would be when he was hurt with the knife. Cleaning the knife, and it slipped and gashed him in the thigh,” Monk said as levelly as he could.
“Yes sir.”
“Where did that happen? In what room?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know, sir. Somewhere upstairs, I believe. Possibly in the schoolroom. There is an ornamental knife up there. At least there was. I haven’t seen it since then. May I ask why you need to know, sir?”
“No reason in particular—just that it was a nasty thing to happen. Did anyone else visit Master Valentine regularly? Mr. Pole, for example?”
“No sir, never that I know of.” The first question remained in the butler’s face.
“Or Mr. Erskine?”
“No sir, not as far as I know of. What would that have to do with the general’s death, Mr. Monk?”
“I’m not sure,” Monk said candidly. “I think it’s possible that someone may have … exerted certain … pressures on Master Valentine.”
“Pressures, sir?”
“I don’t want to say anything more until I know for certain. It could malign someone quite without foundation.”
“I understand, sir.” The butler nodded sagely.
“Did Master Valentine visit the Carlyon house, to your knowledge?”
“Not so far as I am aware, sir. I do not believe that either Mr. or Mrs. Furnival is acquainted with Colonel and Mrs. Carlyon, and their acquaintance with Mr. and Mrs. Erskine is not close.”
“I see. Thank you.” Monk was not sure whether he was relieved or disappointed. He did not want it to be Peverell Erskine. But he needed to find out who it was, and time was getting desperately short. Perhaps it was Maxim after all—the most obvious, when one thought about it. He was here all the time. Another father abusing his son. He found his stomach clenching and his teeth ached with the tightness of his jaw. It was the first time he had felt even the briefest moment of pity for Louisa.
“Is there anything else, sir?” the butler said helpfully.
“I don’t think so.” What was there to ask that could be addressed to this man and yield an answer leading to the identity of whoever had so used Valentine? But however slender the chance of hearing any admission of a