Authors: Anne Perry
"But Argyll
will be charged?" Hester insisted. "So Mary Havilland can be buried
properly and ... and her father, too?"
"I'll make
certain." He meant it as a promise. Seeing the warmth in her eyes, he knew
that she understood.
"Did
Sixsmith give evidence?" she asked. "Explain it all? He seemed like a
decent man-a bit rough, perhaps, but it's a rough profession. He ... he felt
things deeply, I thought."
He smiled.
"Oh, yes. It's always a risk putting an accused man into the dock, but he
was excellent. He described exactly what happened, how Argyll gave him the
money and what he told him it was for, which was to bribe the toshers who were
making trouble. It made sense and you could see that the jury believed
it."
He remembered
Sixsmith's face in the witness box as he told it. "He said he had not
known what the man looked like, and he sat waiting for him. The man recognized
him immediately and came over. He was fairly tall, lean, with long black hair
onto his collar, and . . ." He stopped. The room swayed around him, and
his limbs suddenly felt far away and cold, as if they belonged to someone else.
Sixsmith had described the assassin as he had been when he was killed! Not when
Melisande Ewart had seen him on the night of Havilland's death, or two days
before.
"What is
it? William, what's wrong?" It was Hester's voice calling from a great
distance, fuzzy at the edges. She sounded frightened. Scuff was pressed up next
to her, his eyes wide, picking up her emotion.
When Monk spoke,
his mouth was dry. "Sixsmith said his hair was long. He swore he saw him
only once, two days before Havilland's death. But in fact his hair was shorter
then, much shorter. Mrs. Ewart said only a little longer than most men's. But
it was over his collar when I found him dead."
Hester stared at
him, horror slowly filling his eyes. "You mean Sixsmith saw him ... just
before he was killed? Then ..." She stopped, unable to finish the thought.
"He killed
him." Monk said it for her. "Argyll was telling the truth. He
probably gave Sixsmith the money to bribe the toshers, exactly as he told us.
It was Sixsmith who gave the order to kill Havilland, and possibly Mary as well."
"But Argyll
couldn't be innocent," Hester argued. "It was he who had Jenny write
..." She tailed off. "Or perhaps it wasn't? Perhaps she lied, and it
was Sixsmith who told her to. But why?"
Scuff was
looking at her anxiously, his mouth twisted down at the corners. He might be
only nine or ten, but he had lived on the streets. He had seen violence,
beatings, revenge. "She 'ate 'im that much?" he asked wonderingly.
"That's daft! Less 'e knocked 'er 'alf senseless."
"So she
would lie to incriminate her husband and get Sixsmith free?" Hester said
with awe and disgust. "Argyll might be cold, and bore her to death, but
could she really be in love with Sixsmith to that degree, knowing what he did?
Oh, William! He murdered her father and her sister! Has she lost her wits
completely? Or . . ." Her voice dropped. "Or is she now too afraid of
him to do anything else?"
"I don't
know," he admitted. "I... I don't know." His mind raced to the
memory of Jenny Argyll's eyes in court, the power in Sixsmith, and the way she
had looked at him. It had not felt like fear then; more like hunger.
Scuff looked
from one to the other of them. "Wot yer gonna do?" he asked.
"Yer gonna let 'im get away wi' it?" There was incredulity in his
face. It was impossible to believe such a thing.
"You can't
be tried twice for the same crime," Monk explained bitterly. "The
jury found him not guilty."
"But they
in't right!" Scuff protested. " 'E done it! 'E paid the man wot shot
Mr. 'Avilland! It wasn't Mr. Argyll arter all! Yer can't let 'im get topped fer
it! It in't right, even if 'e is a greedy sod."
"But he
wasn't tried for shooting the assassin," Hester pointed out eagerly.
"Nobody was."
It was true. No
one had specifically made any charge about the murder of the assassin; it had
simply been implicit that it was Argyll, because he had the motive. But
Sixsmith could be charged with that. Legally it was perfectly possible; in
fact, it was absolutely imperative that he must be, for only then would the
charges against Argyll be dropped.
Monk stood up
slowly, oddly stiff. "I must go and tell Rathbone."
Hester stood
also. "Tonight?"
"Yes. I
can't leave it. I'm sorry."
She nodded
slowly. She did not explain that she wanted to come, but could not.
Scuff
understood, however. "I'm all right!" he chipped in.
"I
know," Hester agreed quickly. "But I'm not leaving you anyway, so
don't bother arguing with me."
"But-"
She froze him
with a look, and he subsided, wide-eyed, his lips quivering between tears and a
smile, refusing to let her see how much her caring mattered to him.
Monk looked at
them for a moment longer, then turned and left.
The hansom
dropped him outside Rathbone's house. He told the driver to wait. Although the
lights were on, it might only mean that the manservant was in, but at least he
would probably know where Rathbone could be found.
As it was,
Rathbone was at dinner, as Monk had expected, with Margaret Ballinger. Mr. and
Mrs. Ballinger were present also, as chaperones at this delicate stage in the
younger couple's betrothal. Too, they were delighted to be included in what was
also the celebration of a victory. They did not in the least understand its
nature, but they were aware of its importance.
"I'm
sorry," Monk apologized to the butler in the hall, "but it is
imperative that I speak to Sir Oliver immediately, and in private."
"I'm
afraid, sir, that Sir Oliver is dining," the manservant apologized.
"The soup has just been served. I cannot interrupt them at present. May I
offer you something in the morning room, perhaps? That is, if you would care to
wait?"
"No, thank
you," Monk declined. "Please tell Sir Oliver that I have discovered a
fact of devastating importance regarding the Sixsmith case. The verdict cannot
be allowed to stand as it is. His attention cannot wait."
The manservant
hesitated, looked more earnestly at Monk, then decided to obey.
Five minutes
later Rathbone appeared, elegantly dressed in evening clothes. "What is
it?" he asked as he closed the door on the glittering dining room behind
him, shutting out the voices, the laughter, and the clink of glasses. "I
am in the middle of dinner and have guests. You are welcome to join us if you
wish. Heaven knows, you did more than anyone else to bring about our
victory."
Monk took a deep
breath. "It was not a victory, Rathbone. Do you remember Sixsmith
describing the assassin when he passed him the money?"
Rathbone
frowned. "Of course. What of it?"
"Do you
remember Melisande Ewart's description of him when he came out of the mews
after he had just shot Havilland, two days after that?"
"Yes. It
was obviously the same man. There can't be two looking like that!"
Rathbone s face was puzzled, and on the edge of losing patience.
"Hair,"
Monk said simply. "I saw him when he was dead, and his hair was long over
his collar. So did Sixsmith. That was what he was describing on the
stand."
Rathbone
blushed. "Are you saying that he didn't pay him the money? What..."
His eyes widened. Suddenly he understood, and the color died from his face.
"Sixsmith shot him! God in heaven-he was guilty all the time! We got him
off! I got him off!"
"But not
for killing the assassin!" Monk said quietly.
Rathbone stared
at him with dawning comprehension.
There was a
knock on the door.
Rathbone turned
around slowly. "Come," he answered.
Margaret
entered. She glanced at Rathbone, then at Monk, a question in her eyes. She was
dressed in extravagant oyster satin with pearls at her ears and throat, and
there was a warmth in her face that no artifice could lend.
Rathbone went to
her immediately, touching her with intense gentleness.
"We were
wrong," he said simply. "Monk has just pointed out that Sixsmith must
have shot the assassin, and more essentially, that we have accused the wrong
man. To save him, we must at the very least prove Sixsmith's guilt of the
assassin's death, and if possible convict him of it."
Margaret turned
to Monk to verify from his face if that could possibly be true. She needed only
an instant to see that it was. "Then we must do it," she said
quietly. "But how? The trial is finished. Would taking his testimony to
anyone be sufficient?"
"No,"
Monk said with certainty. "We must prove the whole line of connection, the
fact that he knew the man all the way through." He saw in her face that
she did not understand. "If we charged Sixsmith now," he explained,
"on the strength of his description of the assassin, he could say he heard
it from Argyll, or anyone else. He might slip away again." He smiled
bleakly. "We must be right this time."
"I
see." Her answer was simple. She was not a beautiful woman, her looks
being rather more individual, but at this moment there was a true beauty in her
face as she turned back to Rathbone. "We'll celebrate when we have it
right," she said calmly. "I shall explain to Mama and Papa, and we
can finish dinner quite pleasantly, and then go home. Please do what is
necessary. It cannot wait. Whatever time it takes, however difficult it is, it
must be accomplished before Argyll is charged and tried. They would hang him
for James Havilland's death. Perhaps for Mary's as well, although I suppose it
could have been Toby who was to blame for that. Do you suppose Toby did that
for Sixsmith?"
Rathbone was
thoughtful, but he did not take his eyes from her face. "Possibly, but he
might not have realized all the implications. Sixsmith could have asked him to
speak to her, try to persuade her that her father's death was suicide after
all, and that she was only making it worse by continuing to probe it. Almost
certainly he would try to persuade her that there was no danger in the
tunnels."
"Was that
what James Havilland was afraid of, uncharted underground rivers?" She
turned to Monk.
"Yes, I
think so. Toby seems to have spoken to toshers a lot, too, but that could have
been to try to stop them from interfering with the work. That's what I thought
to begin with. I don't think we'll ever know if he meant to kill Mary. Probably
not. Not unless there was far more between him and Sixsmith than we know."
He tried to visualize again what he had seen on the bridge. "I think it
was an accident. She was frightened of him. Perhaps she thought Alan Argyll was
behind her father's death and that Toby was going to kill her, too. She tried
to get away from him, and whether she meant to or not, she took him with
her." As he said it, he was not sure if that was what he really believed.
Could Sixsmith deliberately have corrupted Toby Argyll? He remembered Alan
Argyll's grief when he had heard of his brother's death. Grief, or guilt?
"We won't
know, will we?" Margaret said sadly.
"Probably
not," he admitted.
"And Mrs.
Argyll?" she persisted. "She swore it was her husband who told her to
write the letter."
"I
know," Rathbone answered her. "There are a lot of things we still
have to learn, and to prove. But we can't afford to wait. I'm sorry."
"I
understand." She gave him a smile that was intimate and a little sad, but
only for the moment missed, no more. She excused herself and left.
Rathbone looked
at Monk. For the first time since Rathbone had realized he was in love with
Hester, there was no envy in his eyes, only a deep happiness. He smiled at
Monk.
Monk smiled back
at him, surprised how pleased he was. "I'm sorry," he said again.
"Where are
we going to start?" Rathbone asked him.
Monk looked Rathbone's
elegant figure up and down. "With rather older clothes, I think. We need
to find and prove the connection between Sixsmith and the assassin."
Rathbone's eyes
widened. "For God's sake, Monk! How? Sixsmith worked in the sewer
excavations. He could have been anywhere when he was out on bail. It was only a
bribery charge! And no one has the faintest idea where the assassin was. We
don't even have a name for him!"
"You've
summed it up perfectly," Monk said with a smile that was more like a
baring of teeth. "I plan on enlisting all the help I can. I'll start with
Runcorn, Orme, and as many of my own men as I can spare, then the doctor, Crow.
He'll be happy to help because the assassin shot Scuff. Then I'll get as many
navvies as'll help. Toshers, gangers, and watermen, too. And I'll try to get
Sutton, the ratcatcher. He knows the hidden rivers and wells that very few
other people do, all the hiding places. People who won't speak to us will speak
to him."