Page 41 of The Sins of the Wolf (William Monk 5)

“Yes,” he said with a grim smile. “I had.”

She said nothing, but stared at him, waiting.

“In which case it was somebody else,” he said, completing the thought for her. “And it would be most interesting to find out who.”

“Aye, that it would,” she agreed, and shrugged her ample shoulders. “And I’ll not be envying you the task o’ that. They’re a powerful family, the Farralines. He’s the Fiscal, you know?”

“What about the others?” It was easy and natural to ask, and her opinion might yield something.

“Oh, well I don’t know anything beyond what’s said, mind. But McIvor runs the printing business now, he’s Miss Oonagh’s husband, but he’s no a Scot, he’s from down south in England somewhere. No but he’s a good enough sort of man, they say. Nothing really against him.”

“Except that he’s English?”

“Aye. And I suppose he canna help that. And then there’s Mr. Fyffe. He comes frae Stirling, I’ve heard. Or maybe it’s Dundee, but somewhere a wee bit north o’ here. Clever man, word has it, gae clever.”

“But not liked overmuch.” Monk said what she did not.

“Oh well …” She was loath to put it into words, but the agreement was there in her face.

“He’d be Miss Eilish’s husband,” he prompted.

“Aye, he would. Now there’s a great beauty, so they say. Not that I’ve ever seen her myself, y’understand? But they say she’s the loveliest thing ever to set foot in Edinburgh.”

“What else?”

“What?”

“What else do they say about her?”

“Why nothing. Isn’t that enough?”

He smiled, in spite of himself. He imagined what Hester would have said to a description like that.

“What is she like, her ambitions, her ideas?”

“Oh, for certain I never heard that.”

“And Mrs. Farraline herself?”

“A fine lady, so they say. Always was, for years back. Colonel Farraline was a gentleman, generous with his money, and she followed on the same. Always givin’ to the city. Poor Major Farraline, that’s the younger brother, now he’s a different kettle of fish. Drinks like a sot, he does. Hardly ever sober. Shame that, when a gentleman with all his opportunities goes to the bottle.”

“Yes it is a shame. Do you know why? Was there some tragedy?”

She pursed her lips.

“Not that I ever heard. But what would I know? Just a weak man, I suppose. World’s full o’ them. Looks for the answer to all o’ life’s problems in the bottom of a bottle. You’d think after a score or so they’d realize it wasn’t there—but not them.”

“What about the last son, Kenneth?” Monk asked, since she seemed to have exhausted the subject of Hector.

She shrugged again. “Just a young gentleman with more time and money than sense. He’ll grow out of it by and by, I expect. Pity his mother isn’t here any longer to see he does, but I daresay the Fiscal will. Wouldn’t want him doing something stupid and spoiling the family name. Or making a foolish marriage. He wouldn’t be the first young dandy to do that.”

“Does he not work at the family business?” Monk asked.

“Oh aye, so I’ve heard. Don’t know what he does, but no doubt it would be easy enough to find out.” A strange expression lightened her eyes, curiosity, disbelief and a kind of beginning of excitement. “Do you think one of them killed their own mother?” Then caution took hold again. “Never! They’re very well respected people, Mr. Monk. Highly thought of. Takes a big part in city affairs, does Mr. Alastair. A lot to do with government, as well as being the Fiscal.”

“Yes, I don’t suppose it’s likely,” Monk said judiciously. “But it could have been a maid. It’s possible, and I’ve got to look at everything.”

“’Course you have,” she agreed, straightening her apron and making to move. “Well, I’d best be leaving you to get on about it then.” She went to the door and turned back. “And ye’ll be here for a week or two, right enough?”