Page 7 of The Sins of the Wolf (William Monk 5)

“I expect it is,” Oonagh said with conviction. “Don’t think of it, Mother. It is just idle talk. It will die away when nothing comes of it.”

Mary looked at her gravely, but did not reply.

“I still wish you weren’t going to London,” Hector said to no one in particular. He looked sad and aggrieved, as if it were a personal blow to him.

“It’ll only be a few days,” Mary replied, her face surprisingly gentle as she looked at him. “She needs reassurance, my dear. She really is very troubled, you know.”

“Can’t think why.” Hector shook his head. “Lot of nonsense. Who are these Munros? Won’t they look after her properly? Doesn’t Colin Munro have a physician?”

“Murdoch—” Oonagh’s lips thinned in impatience. “Connal Murdoch. Of course he has a doctor, and no doubt midwives. But it is how Griselda feels. And Mother will only be gone a week.”

Hector reached for more wine and said nothing.

“Have they new evidence in the Galbraith case?” Mary asked, turning to Deirdra, a pucker between her brows.

“Alastair didn’t mention it to me,” Deirdra replied, looking surprised. “Or if he did, I don’t remember. I thought he said there was not sufficient evidence and threw it out?”

“He did,” Oonagh said firmly. “People are only talking about it because it would have been such a scandal if Galbraith had come to trial, being who he is. There will always be those who are envious of a man in his position, and whose tongues will wag, whether there is anything for them to wag about or not. The poor man has had to leave Edinburgh. That should be the end of it.”

Mary glanced at her, as if to speak, then changed her mind and looked down at her plate. No one else added anything. The rest of the meal passed with only the odd remark, and after it was finished, Oonagh suggested that Hester might like to rest for a few hours before the commencement of the return journey. She might go up the main stairs to the bedroom set aside for her use, if she cared to.

Hester accepted gratefully, and was on her way up the stairs when she encountered Hector Farraline again. He was halfway up and leaning heavily on the banister, his face filled with sorrow, and beneath it a deep anger. He was staring across the checkered expanse of the floor at the portrait on the far wall.

Hester came to a stop on the stair behind him.

“It’s very fine, isn’t it,” she said, intending it as a form of agreement.

“Fine?” he said bitterly and without turning to look at her. “Oh yes, very fine. Very handsome, was Hamish. Thought himself quite a fellow.” His expression did not change, nor did he move, but stood clinging to the banister rail and leaning half over it.

“I meant it was a fine portrait,” Hester corrected. “Of course I didn’t know the gentleman to comment upon him.”

“Hamish? My brother Hamish. Of course you didn’t. Been dead these last eight years, although with that thing hanging there, I don’t feel that he’s dead at all—just mummified and still with us. I should build a pyramid and pile it on top of him—that’s a good idea. A million tons of granite. A mountain of a tomb!” Very slowly he slid down until he was sitting on the tread, his legs sprawled across the stair, blocking her way. He smiled. “Two million! What does a million tons of rock look like, Miss—Miss—” He looked at her with wide, unfocused eyes.

“Latterly,” she offered.

He shook his head. “What do you mean, girl, latterly? A million tons is a million tons! It’s always the same. Latterly—formerly—anytime!” He blinked.

&nbs

p; “My name is Hester Latterly,” she said slowly.

“How do you do. Hector Farraline.” He made as if to bow, and slid down another step, bumping against her ankles.

She retreated. “How do you do, Mr. Farraline.”

“Ever seen the great pyramids of Egypt?” he asked innocently.

“No. I have never been to Egypt.”

“Should go. Very interesting.” He nodded several times and she was afraid he was going to slide down ever farther.

“I will do, if I should ever have the opportunity,” she assured him.

“Thought Oonagh said you’d been there.” He concentrated fiercely, screwing up his face. “Oonagh’s never wrong, never. Most unnerving woman. Never argue with Oonagh. Read your thoughts as another man might read a book.”

“I’ve been to the Crimea.” Hester retreated another step. She did not want him to knock her over if he should lose his balance again, which he looked to be in imminent danger of doing.

“Crimea? Whatever for?”