Page 63 of The Sins of the Wolf (William Monk 5)

“Good morning, Mrs. McIvor,” he replied. “Not a great deal, I am afraid, except that my investigation so far indicates that your sister-in-law is involved in nothing discreditable. I do not believe she gambles or keeps company with people of poor reputation or habits. I am sure she does not keep a lover, nor is there anyone putting pressure upon her for payment, either of old debts or to keep silent about some unfortunate act of the past.” He smiled straight at her, not boldly, but quite casually. Liars could give themselves away by appearing overconfident. “In fact, it would seem she is simply an extravagant woman who has little idea of the value of money and no idea at all how to obtain a bargain, or even a reasonable purchase.”

Somewhere beyond the door a maid giggled, and was instantly silent again.

She looked at him steadily, her eyes searching his. It was many years since he had faced anyone with such a penetrating gaze, one which he felt was able to perceive a person’s character and read not only judgments but emotions as well, even to sense weaknesses and hungers.

Suddenly she smiled and the light filled her face.

“I’m so relieved, Mr. Monk.”

Did she believe him, or was this a polite way of dismissing the subject for the time being?

“I am glad,” he acknowledged, surprised how relieved he was that the intensity of the moment had passed.

“Thank you for telling me so rapidly.” She walked farther into the room and automatically adjusted an ornament of dried flowers on the central table. It was a desiccated-looking piece and reminded him of funerals.

As if reading his thoughts, or perhaps his face, she pulled the corners of her mouth into a grimace. “It doesn’t look well in here, does it? I think I shall have it removed. I would prefer fresh leaves to this, wouldn’t you?”

It was unnerving to have one’s thoughts so easily observed. It made him wonder if she had seen the lies he had told as well, and simply chose not to remark on them.

“I don’t care for artificial flowers,” he agreed, forcing himself to keep the smile on his face.

“You must have worked very hard,” she went on quite casually.

For a moment he had no idea what she meant, then with a jolt he realized she was referring to his report on Deirdra again. Had he overstated his findings? How could he substantiate such answers if she were to ask him how he knew?

“You are quite sure of what you say?” she pressed. There was a flicker of amusement in her eyes—or was it perception?

There was nothing to do but be brazen. He made the same laughter reflect in his own face. It was not difficult.

“Yes, I am quite certain that I have no evidence that she is anything more than extravagant and unaware of the amount she needs to pay rather than can be persuaded to pay,” he answered. “And there is much evidence that she is, in all ways that matter, a thoroughly respectable woman.”

She was standing with her back to the window and the light made a halo of her hair.

“Hmm.” She sighed a little. “All in so short a time, and yet it has taken you many days to search for evidence that will convict Miss Latterly….”

He should have foreseen that, and he had not. He thought quickly.

“Miss Latterly has taken a great deal of trouble to hide any such evidence, Mrs. McIvor. Mrs. Farraline had nothing to hide. Murder hardly compares with a little extravagance in one’s dressmaker, milliner, glover, hosier, bootmaker, haberdasher, furrier, jeweler or perfumier.”

“Great heavens!” She laughed, turning to face him. “What an array of people! Yes, perhaps I begin to understand. Anyway, I am obliged to you, and also for having the courtesy to tell me so rapidly. How is your own investigation proceeding?”

“So far I can find nothing with which the defense could trap us,” he said truthfully. “I should like very much to learn where she obtained the extra digitalis, but either it was not from an apothecary locally or, if it was, they prefer to remain silent about it.”

“I suppose that would not be altogether surprising. The sale would make them, however innocently, party to the murder,” she said, watching his face. “People do not like to compromise their reputations, especially if they are in business. It would not improve his trade.”

“No.” He pursed his lips. “Although I would like to have found him. The defense will point out that she had very little time in which she could have left the house. She was in a city she did not know—she cannot have gone far.”

Oonagh drew breath as if to say something, then let it out in a sigh.

“Have you given up, Mr. Monk?” There was only the faintest shadow of challenge in her voice, and disappointment.

He too nearly spoke before thinking. It was on the edge of his tongue to deny it fiercely, then he realized how the emotion would betray him. Carefully he masked his feelings.

“Not yet,” he said casually. “But I am close to it. I may soon have done all I can to assure the outcome.”

“I hope you will call on us again before you leave Edinburgh?” There was nothing in her face. She needed no artifice and she knew it. Such a thing would be beneath her.

“Thank you, I should like to. You have been most courteous.”