“You were going to add something.”

“Well, only that she seemed a trifle closer to her daughters, but I imagine that is natural in a woman. Master Cassian was very fond of his father, poor child. Thought the world o' the general, he did. Very natural 'e should. General took a lot o' care with 'im; spent time, which is more than many a man will with 'is son, 'specially a man as busy as the general, and as important. Admired him for that, I did.”

“A fine trait,” Monk agreed. “One many a son might envy. I assume from what you say that these times did not include Mrs. Carlyon's presence?”

“No, sir, I can't recall as they ever did. I suppose they spoke of man's affairs, not suitable for ladies-the army, acts o' heroism and fighting, adventures, exploration and the like.” Hagger shifted in his seat a trifle. “The boy used to come downstairs with stars in his eyes, poor child-and a smile on his lips.” He shook his head. “I can't think what he must be feeling, fair stunned and lost, I shouldn't wonder.”

For the first time since seeing Alexandra Carlyon in prison Monk felt an overwhelming anger against her, crowding out pity and divorcing him utterly from the other woman who haunted the periphery of his mind, and whose innocence he had struggled so intensely to prove. She had had no child- of that he was quite certain. And younger-yes, she had been younger. He did not know why he was so sure of that, but it was a certainty inside him like the knowledge one has in dreams, without knowing where it came from.

He forced himself back to the present. Hagger was staring at him, a flicker of anxiety returning to his face.

“Where is he?” Monk asked aloud.

“With his grandparents, sir, Colonel and Mrs. Carlyon. They sent for him as soon as 'is mother was took.”

“Did you know Mrs. Furnival?”

“I have seen her, sir. She and Mr. Furnival dined here on occasion, but that's all I could say-not exactly 'know.' She didn't come 'ere very often.”

“I thought the general was a good friend of the Furnivals'?”

“Yes sir, so 'e was. But far more often 'e went there.”

“How often?”

Hagger looked harassed and tired, but there was no guilt in his expression and no evasion. “Well, as I understand it from Holmes, that's 'is valet, about once or twice a week. But if you're thinking it was anything improper, sir, all I can say is I most sincerely think as you're mistaken. The general 'ad business with Mr. Furnival, and 'e went there to 'elp the gentleman. And most obliged Mr. Furnival was too, from what I hear.”

Monk asked the question he had been leading towards, the one that mattered most, and whose answer now he curiously dreaded.

“Who were Mrs. Carlyon's friends, if not Mrs. Furnival? I imagine she had friends, people she called upon and who came here, people with whom she attended parties, dances, the theater and so on?”

“Oh yes, sir, naturally.”

“Who are they?”

Hagger listed a dozen or so names, most of them married couples.

“Mr. Oundel?” Monk asked. “Was there no Mrs. Oun-del?” He felt surprisingly miserable as he asked it. He did not want the answer.

“No sir, she died some time ago. Very lonely, he was, poor gentleman. Used to come 'ere often.”

“I see. Mrs. Carlyon was fond of him?”

“Yes sir, I think she was. Sorry for 'im, I should say. 'E used to call in the afternoons sometimes, and they'd sit in the garden and talk for ages. Went 'ome fairly lifted in spirits.” He smiled as he said it, and looked at Monk with a sudden sadness in his eyes. “Very good to 'im, she was.”

Monk felt a little sick.

“What is Mr. Oundel's occupation? Or is he a gentleman of leisure?”

“Bless you, sir, 'e's retired. Must be eighty if 'e's a day, poor old gentleman.”

“Oh.” Monk felt such an overwhelming relief it was absurd. He wanted to smile, to say something wild and happy.

Hagger would think he had taken leave of his wits-or at the very least his manners. “Yes-yes, I see. Thank you very much. You have been most helpful. Perhaps I should speak to her ladies' maid? She is still in the house?”

“Oh yes sir, we wouldn't presume to let any of the staff go until-I mean…” Hagger stopped awkardly.

“Of course,” Monk agreed. “I understand. Let us hope it doesn't come to that.” He rose to his feet.

Hagger also rose to his feet, his face tightened, and he fumbled awkwardly. “Is there any hope, sir, that…”

“I don't know,” Monk said candidly. “What I need to know, Mr. Hagger, is what reason Mrs. Carlyon could possibly have for wishing her husband dead.”

“Oh-I'm sure I can't think of any! Can't you-I mean, I wish…”

“No,” Monk cut off hope instantly. “I am afraid she is definitely responsible; there can be no doubt.”

Hagger's face fell.”I see. I had hoped-I mean… someone else… and she was protecting them.”

“Is that the sort of person she was?”

“Yes sir, I believe so-a great deal of courage, stood up to anyone to protect 'er own…”

“Miss Sabella?”

“Yes sir-but…” Hagger was caught in a dilemma, his face pink, his body stiff.

“It's all right,” Monk assured him. “Miss Sabella was not responsible. That is beyond question.”

Hagger relaxed a little. “I don't know 'ow to 'elp,” he said miserably.”There isn't any reason why a decent woman kills her husband-unless he threatened her life.”

“Was the general ever violent towards her?”

Hagger looked shocked. “Oh no sir! Most certainly not.”

“Would you know, if he had been?”

“I believe so, sir. But you can ask Ginny, what's Mrs. Carlyon's maid. She'd know beyond question.”

“I'll do that, Mr. Hagger, if you will be so good as to allow me to go upstairs and find her?”

“I'll 'ave 'er sent for.”

“No-I should prefer to speak to her in her normal place of work, if you please. Make her less nervous, you understand?” Actually that was not the reason. Monk wished to see Alexandra's bedroom and if possible her dressing room and something of her wardrobe. It would furnish him a better picture of the woman. All he had seen her wearing was a dark skirt and plain blouse; far from her usual dress, he imagined.

“By all means,” Hagger concurred. “If you'll follow me, sir.” And he led the way through a surprisingly busy kitchen, where the cook was presiding over the first preparation for a large dinner. The scullery maid had apparently already prepared the vegetables, the kitchen maid was carrying dirty pots and pans to the sink for the scullery maid to wash, and the cook herself was chopping large quantities of meat ready to put into a pie dish, lined with pastry, and the crust ready rolled to go on when she had finished.

A packet of Purcel's portable jelly mixture, newly available since the Great Exhibition of 1851, was hying ready to make for a later course, along with cold apple pie, cream and fresh cheese. It looked as if the meal would feed a dozen.

Then of course Monk remembered that even when all the family were at home, they only added three more to the household, which was predominantly staff, and with upstairs and downstairs, indoor and outdoor, must have numbered at least twelve, and they continued regardless of the death of the general or the imprisonment of Mrs. Carlyon, at least for the moment.

Along the corridor they passed the pantry, where a footman was cleaning the knives with India rubber, a buff leather knife board and a green-and-red tin of Wellington knife polish. Then past the housekeeper's sitting room with door closed, the butler's sitting room similarly, and through the green baize door to the main house. Of course most of the cleaning work would normally be done before the family rose for breakfast, but at present there was hardly any need, so the maids had an extra hour in bed, and were now occupied in sweeping, beating carpets, polishing floors with melted candle ends and turpentine, cleaning brass with boiling vinegar.