The William Monk Mysteries_ The First Three Novels - Anne Perry [89]
“Oh, because he had no property, being a third son; and after his being wounded he limped, you know. So of course there was no career for him in the army. He appeared to feel he was of little—little standing—that no one accounted him much. Which was quite untrue, of course. He was a hero—and much liked by all manner of people!”
“I see.” Monk was thinking of Rosamond Shelburne, obliged by her mother to marry the son with the title and the prospects. Had Joscelin loved her, or was it more an insult than a wound, a reminder that he was third best? Had he cared, it could only have hurt him that she had not the courage to follow her heart and marry as she wished. Or was the status more important to her, and she had used Joscelin to reach Lovel? That would perhaps have hurt differently, with a bitterness that would remain.
Perhaps they would never know the answer to that.
He changed the subject. “Did he at any time mention what his business interests were? He must have had some income beyond the allowance from his family.”
“Oh yes,” she agreed. “He did discuss it with my husband, and he mentioned it to me, although not in any great detail.”
“And what was it, Mrs. Dawlish?”
“I believe it was some investment, quite a sizable one, in a company to trade with Egypt.” The memory of it was bright in her face for a moment, the enthusiasm and expectation of that time coming back.
“Was Mr. Dawlish involved in this investment?”
“He was considering it; he spoke highly of its possibilities.”
“I see. May I call again later when Mr. Dawlish is at home, and learn more details of this company from him?”
“Oh dear.” The lightness vanished. “I am afraid I have expressed myself badly. The company is not yet formed. I gathered it was merely a prospect that Joscelin intended to pursue.”
Monk considered for a moment. If Grey were only forming a company, and perhaps persuading Dawlish to invest, then what had been his source of income up to that time?
“Thank you.” He stood up slowly. “I understand. All the same, I should like to speak to Mr. Dawlish. He may well know something about Mr. Grey’s finances. If he were contemplating entering business with him, it would be natural he should inquire.”
“Yes, yes of course.” She poked ineffectually at her hair. “Perhaps about six o’clock.”
Evan’s questioning of the half-dozen or so domestic servants yielded nothing except the picture of a very ordinary household, well run by a quiet, sad woman stricken with a grief she bore as bravely as she could, but of which they were all only too aware and each in their own way shared. The butler had a nephew who served as a foot soldier and had returned a cripple. Evan was suddenly sobered by the remembrance of so many other losses, so many people who had to struggle on without the notoriety, or the sympathy, of Joscelin Grey’s family.
The sixteen-year-old between-stairs maid had lost an elder brother at Inkermann. They all recalled Major Grey, how charming he was, and that Miss Amanda was very taken with him. They had hoped he would return, and were horrified that he could be so terribly murdered right here in his home. They had an obvious duality of thought that confounded Evan—it shocked them that a gentleman should be so killed, and yet they viewed their own losses as things merely to be borne with quiet dignity.
He came away with an admiration for their stoicism, and an anger that they should accept the difference so easily. Then as he came through the green baize door back into the main hallway, the thought occurred to him that perhaps that was the only way of bearing it—anything else would be too destructive, and in the end only futile.
And he had learned little of Joscelin Grey that he had not already deduced from the other calls.
Dawlish was a stout, expensively dressed man with a high forehead and dark, clever eyes, but at present he was displeased at the prospect of speaking with the police, and appeared distinctly ill at ease. There was no reason to assume it was an unquiet conscience; to have the police at one’s house, for any reason,