Up the stairs and along the landing Monk followed Hagger until they came to the master bedroom, apparently the general's, past his dressing room next door, and on to a very fine sunny and spacious room which he announced as being Mrs. Carlyon's. Opening off it to the left was a dressing room where cupboard doors stood open and a ladies' maid was busy brushing down a blue-gray outdoor cape which must have suited Alexandra's fair coloring excellently.

The girl looked up in surprise as she saw Hagger, and Monk behind him. Monk judged her to be in her mid-twenties, thin and dark, but with a remarkably pleasant countenance.

Hagger wasted no time. “Ginny, this is Mr. Monk. He is working for the mistress's lawyers, trying to find out something that will help her. He wants to ask you some questions, and you will answer him as much as you can-anything 'e wants to know. Understand?”

“Yes, Mr. Hagger.” She looked very puzzled, but not unwilling.

“Right.” Hagger turned to Monk. “You come down when you're ready, an' if there's ought else as can 'elp, let me know.”

“I will, thank you, Mr. Hagger. You have been most obliging,” Monk accepted. Then as soon as Hagger had departed and closed the door, he turned to the maid.

“Go on with what you are doing,” he requested. “I shall be sometime.”

“I'm sure I don't know what I can tell you,” Ginny said, obediently continuing to brush the cape. “She was always a very good mistress to me.”

“In what way good?”

She looked surprised. “Well… considerate, like. She apologized if she got anything extra dirty, or if she kept me up extra late. She gave me things as she didn't want no more, and always asked after me family, and the like.”

“You were fond of her?”

“Very fond of 'er, Mr.-”

“Monk.”

“Mr. Monk, can you 'elp 'er now? I mean, after she said as she done it?” Her face was puckered with anxiety.

“I don't know,” Monk admitted. “If there were some reason why, that people could understand, it might help.”

“What would anybody understand, as why a lady should kill 'er 'usband?” Ginny put away the cape and brought out a gown of a most unusual deep mulberry shade. She shook it and a perfume came from its folds that caught Monk with a jolt of memory so violent he saw a whole scene of a woman in pink, standing with her back to him, weeping softly. He had no idea what her face was like, except he found it beautiful, and he recalled none of her words. But the feeling was intense, an emotion that shook him and filled his being, an urgency amounting to passion that he must find the truth, and free her from a terrible danger, one that would destroy her life and her reputation.

But who was she? Surely she had nothing to do with Wal-brook? No-one thing seemed to resolve in his mind. When Walbrook was ruined, and Monk's own career in commerce came to an end, he had not at that point even thought of becoming a policeman. That was what had decided him- his total inability to either help Walbrook and his wife, or even to avenge them and put his enemy out of business.

The woman in pink had turned to him because he was a policeman. It was his job to find the truth.

But he could not bring her face to mind, nor anything to do with the case, except that she was suspected of murder-murdering her husband-like Alexandra Carlyon.

Had he succeeded? He did not even know mat. Or for that matter, if she was innocent or guilty. And why had he cared with such personal anguish? What had been their relationship? Had she cared for him as deeply, or was she simply turning to him because she was desperate and terrified?

“Sir?” Ginny was staring at him. “Are you all right, sir?”

“Oh-oh yes, thank you. What did you say?”

“What would folks reckon was a reason why it might be all right for a lady to kill 'er 'usband? I don't know of none.”

“Why do you think she did it?” Monk asked baldly, his wits still too scattered to be subtle. “Was she jealous of Mrs. Furnival?”

“Oh no sir.” Ginny dismissed it out of hand. “I don't like to speak ill of me betters, but Mrs. Furnival weren't the kind o' person to-well, sir, I don't rightly know 'ow to put it-”

“Simply.” Monk's attention was entirely on her now, the memory dismissed for the time being. “Just in your own words. Don't worry if it sounds ill-you can always take it back, if you want.”

“Thank you, sir, I'm sure.”

“Mrs. Furnival.”

“Well, sir, she's what my granny used to call a flighty piece, sir, beggin' yer pardon, all smiles and nods and eyes all over the place. Likes the taste o' power, but not one to fell what you'd call in love, not to care for anyone.”

“But the general might have cared for her? Was he a good judge of women?”

“Lord, sir, he didn't hardly know one kind o' woman from another, if you take my meaning. He wasn't no ladies' man.”

“Isn't that just the sort that gets taken in by the likes of anyone such as Mrs. Furnival?”

“No sir, because 'e weren't susceptible like. I seen 'er when she was 'ere to dinner, and he weren't interested 'ceptin' business and casual talking like to a friend. And Mrs. Carlyon, she knew that, sir. There weren't no cause for 'er to be jealous, and she never imagined there were. Besides…” She stopped, the pink color up her cheeks.

“Besides what, Ginny?”

Still she hesitated.

“Ginny, Mrs. Carlyon's life is at stake. As it is, if we don't find some good reason, she'll hang! Surely you don't think she did it without a good reason, do you?”

“Oh no sir! Never!”

“Wellthen…”

“Well, sir, Mrs. Carlyon weren't that fond o' the general anyway, as to mind all that terrible if occasionally 'e took 'is pleasures elsewhere, if you know what I mean?”

“Yes, I know what you mean. Quite a common enough arrangement, when a couple have been married a long time, no doubt. And did Mrs. Carlyon-have other interests?”

She colored very faintly, but did not evade the subject.

“Some time ago, sir, I did rather think as she favored a Mr. Ives, but it was only a little flattery, and enjoying his company, like. And there was Mr. McLaren, who was obviously very taken with 'er, but I don't think she more than passing liked him. And of course she was always fond of Mr. Furnival, and at one time…” She lowered her eyes. “But that was four years ago now. And if you ask if she ever did anything improper, I can tell you as she didn't. And bein”er maid, like, an' seein' all 'er most private things, I would know, I'll be bound.”

“Yes, I imagine you would,” Monk said. He was inclined to believe her, in spite of the fact that she could only be biased. “Well, if the general was not overly fond of Mrs. Furnival, is it possible he was fond of someone else, another lady, perhaps?”

“Well, if he was, sir, 'e hid it powerful well,” she said vehemently. “Holmes, that's his valet, didn't know about it-an' I reckon he'd have at least an idea. No sir, I'm sorry, I can't 'elp you at all. I truly believe as the general was an exemplary man in that respect. Everything in loyalty an' honor a woman would want.”

“And in other respects?” Monk persisted. He glanced along the row of cupboards. “It doesn't look as if he kept her short of money?”

“Oh no, sir. I don't think 'e was very interested in what the mistress wore, but 'e weren't never mean about it one bit. Always 'ad all she wanted, an' more.”

“Sounds like a model husband,” Monk said dispiritedly.

“Well, yes, I suppose so-for a lady, that is,” she conceded, watching his face.

“But not what you would like?” he asked.

“Me? Well-well sir, I think as I'd want someone who- maybe this sounds silly, you bein' a gentleman an' all-but I'd want someone as I could 'ave fun with-talk to, like. A man who'd…”She colored fiercely now. “Who'd give me a bit of affection-if you see what I mean, sir.”

“Yes, I see what you mean.” Monk smiled at her without knowing quite why. Some old memory of warmth came back to him, the kitchen in his mother's house in Northumberland, her standing there at the table with her sleeves rolled up, and cuffing him gently around the ear for being cheeky, but it was more a caress than a discipline. She had been proud of him. He knew that beyond doubt in that moment. He had written regularly from London, letting her know how he was doing, of his career and what he hoped to achieve. And she had written back, short, oddly spelled letters in a round hand, but full of pride. He had sent money when he could, which was quite often. It pleased him to help her, after all the lean, sacrificing years, and it was a mark of his success.