“Don’t be absurd!” Monk cut across her. “There’s nothing you can accomplish here, and you may well be a hindrance.”

‘To whom?” she demanded. Anger was so much easier than the fear and need she really felt. “You? I would have thought, on your showing so far, you would be grateful for any help you could obtain. You don’t know whether it was Baird Mclvor or Kenneth. You just said as much. At least I knew Mary, you didn’t.”

Monk’s eyebrows rose. “And what help is that? If she said something useful, don’t tell me you have waited until now to reveal it.”

“Don’t be stupid! Of course-”

“This conversation is not furthering our cause,” Henry Rathbone interrupted them. “I think, if you will forgive me saying so, it is well time we exercised a little more logical thought and rather less emotion. It is only natural that after such a fearful experience we may all be excused a little self-indulgence, but it really will serve us ill in learning who is responsible for Mrs. Farraline’s death. Perhaps we should retire to our beds and resume our discussion in the morning?”

“An excellent idea.” Callandra rose to her feet. “We are all too tired to think usefully.”

“There is no decision to make,” Monk said irritably. “I shall go back to the Farraline house and continue my investigations.”

“How will you explain yourself?” Rathbone asked with pursed lips. “They may not find personal curiosity an acceptable excuse.”

Monk regarded him with loathing. “They are acutely vulnerable at the moment,” he replied slowly and with sarcastic patience. “It is now apparent to everyone that one of the family is guilty. They will each be pointing the finger at the other. It should not be beyond my ability to convince at least one of them that they require my services.”

Oliver’s eyebrows rose very high. “At least one? Do you plan to work for several of them? That should provoke an interesting situation, to say the least of it!”

“All right… one of them,” Monk conceded waspishly. “I’m sure Eilish is not guilty, and she will be very keen to prove that Mclvor is not either, since she is in love with him. I think it is not impossible she will prefer him to her brother, if she is driven to choose.”

“Which presumably you will do?”

“How perceptive of you!”

“Not particularly. You were rather obvious.”

Monk opened his mouth to retort.

“William!” Callandra commanded. “I will be obliged if you will take your leave. Whether you return to your room in the Grassmarket or not is up to you, but it seems more than apparent to me that you need a good night’s sleep.” She regarded Henry Rathbone with affection. “I am sure you must be ready to retire, and I am. Good night, Mr. Rathbone. You have been of great support to me in this most trying time, and my gratitude to you is immense. I hope we shall remain friends once you have returned to London.”

“I am always at your service, ma’am,” he said with a smile which warmed his whole face. “Good night. Come, Oliver. We have all but outstayed our welcome.”

“Good night, Lady Callandra,” Oliver said courteously. He turned to Hester, ignoring Monk. His face was suddenly gentle. The anger fled and a pronounced tenderness took its place. “Good night, my dear. Tonight you are free, and we shall find the solution somehow. You shall not be jeopardized again.”

“Thank you,” she said with a sudden rush of emotion making her voice hoarse. “I know how much you have done for me already, and I am profoundly grateful. Nothing I can say-”

“Don’t,” he interrupted. “Just sleep well. Tomorrow is time enough to think of the next step.”

She took a deep breath. “Good night.”

He smiled and led the way to the door. Henry Rathbone followed immediately after him, smiling at Hester, and leaving without further speech.

Monk hesitated, frowning, then seemed to think better of what he had been going to say.

“Good night, Hester, Lady Callandra.”

He was gone and the door closed before she realized it was the first time she could recall his having used her given name. It was odd to hear it on his tongue, and she was torn between relief that he had left and a desire for him to stay. That was ridiculous. She was much too tired and overwrought to make any sense even to herself.

“I think I will go to bed if you don’t mind,” she said to Callandra. “I think I am really…”

“Exhausted,” Callandra finished very gently. “Of course you are, my dear. I shall have the innkeeper send us both up hot milk and a spot of brandy. I think I need it about as much as you do. I can confess to you now, I was deathly afraid I was going to lose one of the dearest friends I have. The relief is rather more than I can comfortably cope with. I am very ready to sleep.” She held out her hand, and without an instant’s hesitation, Hester took it, and walked into her arms to cling to her as fiercely as she was able, and did not move till the innkeeper knocked on the door.

Early the following morning everyone was a trifle self-conscious over the previous night’s high emotion. No one referred to it Henry Rathbone took his leave back to London, stopping for a moment to speak with Hester and then failing to find words for what he meant. It did not matter in the slightest. She had no need of them.

Callandra also went, apparently satisfied that she could add nothing further to the situation.

Oliver Rathbone said that he was going to council with Argyll once more, and that no doubt he would see Monk and Hester again before he also returned to London. Not unnaturally he had other cases awaiting him. He said nothing to Monk about whatever he had intended to do at Ainslie Place, and took only a moment to speak, rather formally, to Hester. She thanked him yet again for his work on her behalf, and he looked embarrassed, so she pursued it no further.

By nine o’clock she and Monk were alone, everyone else having departed for the morning train south. It was a windy day but not unpleasant, and fitful shafts of sunlight gave it a brightness out of keeping with both their moods. They stood side by side on Princes Street, staring up its handsome length towards the rise of the new town, and Ainslie Place.

“I don’t know where you think you are going to stay,” Monk said with a frown. ‘The Grassmarket is most unsuitable, and you cannot afford the hotel where Callandra was.”

“What is wrong with the Grassmarket?” she demanded.

“It’s not suitable for a woman alone,” he replied irritably. ‘Tor heaven’s sake, I thought your own common sense would have told you that! The neighborhood is rough, and a great deal of it none too clean.”

She looked at him witheringly. “Worse than Newgate?” she inquired.

“Acquired a taste for it, have you?” he said, tight-lipped.

“Then leave me to attend to my own accommodation,” she said rashly. “And let us proceed to Ainslie Place.”

“What do you mean ‘us’? I’m not taking you!”

“I do not require you to. I am perfectly capable of taking myself. I believe I shall walk there. It is not an unpleasant day and I should welcome a little exercise. I have not had much of late.”

Monk shrugged and set out at a smart pace, so smart she was obliged almost to run to keep up with him. She had no breath to continue the conversation.

They arrived after ten, Hester with sore feet and feeling too heated for comfort, and by now in a very different temper. Damn Monk!

He, on the contrary, was looking rather pleased with himself.

The door of number seventeen was opened by McTeer. His dismal expression fell even farther when he saw Monk, and approached disastrous proportions when he saw Hester behind him.

“And who will ye be wanting?” he said slowly, rolling the words on his tongue as if he were making a prognostication of doom. “Have ye come for Mr. Mclvor?”

“No, of course not,” Monk said. “We have no power to come for anybody.”