Page 72 of The Sins of the Wolf (William Monk 5)

“Hester …”

“What? Where?”

“In the guard’s van. They’ve brought her up.”

Monk looked as if he were about to strike him.

“It’s the way they always do it,” Rathbone said between his teeth. “You must know that. Come on. There’s no point in standing here gaping with the rest of the crowd. We can’t help her.”

Monk hesitated, loath simply to leave. The shouting and the catcalls were getting worse.

Rathbone looked up the platform towards the exit, then back down its length where a crowd was gathering. He was in an agony of indecision.

“Train murderess on trial!” a newsboy called out. “Read all about it here! Here, sir, ye want one? Penny, sir….”

There was a constable wending his way alone towards them, shouldering people aside.

“Now then, now then! On about your business. There’s nothing to see. Just some poor woman come to stand trial. It’ll all come out then. On your way, please! Come on, move along there.”

Rathbone made up his mind, turning and starting off again towards the way out.

“When does the trial start?” Monk asked, matching him stride for stride, and at last the other passengers also scrambling with loss of dignity, and corresponding loss of temper.

“Impudent beggar!” an elderly man said furiously, but neither Monk nor Rathbone heard him. “Watch where you’re going, sir! I really don’t know … as if the police weren’t enough. One can hardly travel decently anymore….”

“What are you basing the defense on?” Monk demanded as he and Rathbone strode through the gate and out towards the street. “That way.” He indicated the steps up to Princes Street.

“I’m not,” Rathbone said bitterly. “It’s all up to Argyll.”

Monk knew what the letter had said, and all the reasons, but it did nothing to ease his fear.

“For God’s sake, doesn’t Hester have anything to say about it?” he demanded as they burst out into Princes Street, nearly knocking over a pretty woman with a child in tow.

“I beg your pardon,” Rathbone said abruptly to her. “Not a great deal, I imagine. I haven’t met the man yet, I have only corresponded with him, and that was kept to the formalities. I have no idea

whether he even believes she is innocent.”

“You bloody incompetent!” Monk exploded, swinging around to face him. “You mean you have hired a lawyer to defend her without even knowing if he believes in her?” He grasped Rathbone by the lapels, his face twisted with fury.

Rathbone slapped him away with surprising violence. “I did not hire him, you ignoramus! Lady Callandra Daviot hired him. And belief in her innocence is a very pleasant thing to have, but in our parlous state it is a luxury we may not be able to afford. For a start, such a thing may not exist—in Edinburgh.”

Monk opened his mouth to retaliate, then realized the truth of the remark and let it go.

Rathbone smoothed down his lapels.

“Well, what are you standing there for?” Monk said acidly. “Let us go and see this man Argyll, and find out if he is any good.”

“There is no point in being a crack shot if you have no ammunition,” Rathbone said bitterly, turning to face the way they had been going and resuming his journey. He knew Argyll’s address was in Princes Street itself, and had been advised it was easy walking distance from the station. “If you have no idea who did kill Mary Farraline, at least tell me who could have, and why. I presume you have something since you last wrote. It is three days.”

Monk’s face was tight and very pale as he fell in step with Rathbone again. For several moments they walked in silence, then finally he spoke, his voice rasping.

“I’ve been over the apothecaries again. I can’t find the source of the digitalis, for Hester or anyone else….”

“So you wrote.”

“Apparently there was a digitalis poisoning a few months ago here in Edinburgh. It received some attention. It may have given our killer the idea.”

Rathbone’s eyes widened. “That’s interesting. Not much, but you are right, it may have prompted the idea. What else?”