“Any number of ways,” she responded. “Someone obviously knew.”
“But he had only been in England a few weeks at that time.”
“How do you know that?”
He drew in his breath slowly. “I don’t!”
“And he could have had allies. Whatever the truth of it,” she pointed out, “it seems Breeland was on a special night train to Liverpool and could not actually have killed Mr. Alberton himself. And Merrit was with him, so that excludes her also, thank heaven.”
He leaned forward. “Are you sure? Mrs. Monk, please,
please don’t raise Judith’s hopes unless there is no doubt whatever … you understand it would be unbearably cruel.”
“Of course. I understand. This is why I came to you, not to her,” she said quickly. “And because I can speak to you more frankly about Mrs. Alberton. But do you think it is possible that the whole blackmail attempt is connected with the final theft of the guns—whether it was an unsuccessful attempt by Breeland, or even by Mr. Trace?”
His eyes widened.
“Trace? Yes … it could be. He is … devious enough … for that.” Then he frowned. “But even if it were so, how would that help Merrit? And to be honest, Mrs. Monk, that is really all I care about. I am not concerned with justice. I hope I don’t shock you in saying that. I am sorry if I do. Daniel was my friend, and I need to see his murderers brought to justice, but not at the cost of further loss to his widow and daughter. He was my best friend from youth, and I knew him well. I believe their welfare is what would have concerned him far above any revenge for his death. And that is all it would be now.” He looked at her earnestly, searching her eyes for understanding.
She tried to think how she would feel in Judith’s place. Would she care above all things that Monk be avenged, or would their child’s safety and happiness come first? If she were killed, would she want Monk to pursue vengeance for her?
The answer to that came immediately. No. She would want the living protected. Let time take care of justice.
“I see you understand,” he said softly. “I thought you would.” There was gentleness in his voice, and relief. He could not hide it, and perhaps he did not want to.
But she could not let go of the truth, the need to worry at the problem until she had unraveled it. She would decide afterwards who to tell and what decisions to make.
“I wonder why they asked for the guns to be delivered to Baskin and Company, instead of direct to them. Do you suppose they believed Mr. Alberton had some reason not to sell to one side or the other in the American war?”
He understood exactly what she meant. “I know of none. But it would suggest someone who was unfamiliar with his family history. Anyone who knew him would never imagine he would do business that would profit pirates, however indirectly. So you are right in that it may be an American rather than someone British.” He shook his head a little. “But I don’t see how that helps Merrit. In fact, I don’t even see how it brings us any closer to the truth. What we need is something that shows Merrit had no knowledge of Breeland’s intention to harm Daniel. Either that, or that she knew but was unable to help. She was under threat herself, or imprisoned in some way.”
“We couldn’t prove that because it is quite obviously untrue,” she pointed out. “She went with him willingly, and is still prepared to defend him. She believes he is innocent.”
“She believes it because she has to.” He shook his head and smiled very slightly. “I’ve known Merrit since she was born. She is the closest I have to a child of my own. I know she is passionate and willful, and when she gives herself to something, or someone, it is wholeheartedly, and not always wisely. I have watched her through a love of horses, the determination to be a nun and then a missionary in Africa, and a deep infatuation with the local doctor, a very nice young man who was quite unaware of her regard.” Amusement and affection lit his face. “Mercifully, it passed without incident, or embarrassment.” He shrugged. “I think it is all part of growing up. I seem to remember a few turbulent emotions myself which I blush to recall now, and certainly will not speak of.”
Hester could do the same, including the vicar she had mentioned to Monk. She had also had periods of being quite convinced nobody loved her or understood her feelings, least of all her parents.
“Nevertheless,” she persisted, “the blackmail attempt was quite real. If it was not either Breeland or Trace, then it was someone else. Could it have been Mr. Shearer, the agent?”
He was startled. “Shearer? Why …” He stared at her intently.
“Yes, it could, Mrs. Monk. It is a very disagreeable thought, but it is not at all impossible. Shearer acting as intermediary for pirates, and when that did not work, then for Breeland!” His voice rose. “And if Breeland himself cannot have killed poor Daniel, then perhaps Shearer did? Certainly he seems to have left London since Daniel’s death. I have not seen him since a day or two before. That would explain a great deal … and best of all, it would account for Merrit’s belief that Breeland is innocent.”
The quiet room seemed to glow around them. A bowl of golden midseason roses shone amber and apricot, reflected in the polished surface of the table beneath. The grace of a Targ horse filled an alcove.
“Poor Daniel,” he said quietly. “He trusted Shearer. He was ambitious, always looking for the advantage, driving the hardest bargain for shipping of any man on the river, and believe me, that is saying a great deal. But Daniel thought he was loyal, and I confess, so did I.” His lips twisted in a bitter grimace. “But then I suppose the greatest betrayals are from where they are least expected.”
Another thought occurred to Hester, one she would far rather not have entertained, but it would not be dismissed.
“Do you have any control over who buys the guns, Mr. Casbolt?”
“Not legally, but I suppose effectively I do. If Daniel had done something I found intolerable I could have overridden it. Why do you ask? He never did, or anything even questionable.”
“Would you have sold them to the pirates?”
“No.” Again he was meeting her eyes with candor and a fierce intensity. “And if you are thinking that Daniel would, then you are mistaken. Judith would never have borne it, after what happened to her brother. Nor would I. And Daniel would not have done it even if she had never known. Believe me, he hated the pirates as much as we did.” He looked down for a moment. “I’m sorry if I sound harsh, Mrs. Monk, but you did not know Daniel or you would not have
asked. What they did to her brother was monstrous. Daniel would not give them air to breathe, let alone guns to continue their crimes. Nor would I have allowed it, whatever the threat or the price.”
Hester believed him, but she could not help wondering if perhaps Daniel Alberton had needed the sale sufficiently to connive at it, and hope Judith would never know. With the American war, guns appeared to be scarce, and at a premium. She did not wish to believe it. She had liked Alberton. But she knew people would do desperate things if faced with ruin, not even so much for the loss of material goods as for the shame of failure.
“Thank you, Mr. Casbolt, you have been very kind in giving me so much of your time.”
“Mrs. Monk, please do not pursue this idea any further. I knew Daniel Alberton better than any man, in some ways even better than his wife did. Nothing in the world would have persuaded him to sell guns to any pirate on earth, and least of all to those in the Mediterranean. You have met Judith. You must have some sense of what a remarkable woman she is, how … how …” It was obvious in his face that he could find no words adequate to name the qualities he saw in her. “Daniel adored her!” he said fiercely, his voice thick with emotion. “He would have lived out his days in debtors’ prison rather than break her trust by doing such a thing. He was a most honorable man, and … and she loved him for it. He … this is difficult for me to say, Mrs. Monk.” He shook his head very slightly, as if to dismiss some cloud around him. “He did not have great passion or wit, great imagination … but he was a man you could trust with anything and everything you possessed. Could you not sense that for yourself, even in the brief time you knew him?” His smile was twisted with pain. The agony in him seemed to fill the room. “Or am I thinking you could see in a few hours what I saw in half a lifetime?”
She was embarrassed for her thoughts, and ashamed of having allowed him to see them.
“I imagine it will prove as absurd as you say.” She made it half an apology, in tone if not in words. “Perhaps if we could find Mr. Shearer it would give us the solution.”
A strange bitterness filled his face for a moment, then vanished.
“I have no doubt that that is true. Who knows what hungers drive a man to the betrayal of those who trust him? Please just do what you can to save Merrit, Mrs. Monk, for Judith’s sake. It is something I cannot do.” He swallowed. “I don’t have the skill. I can care for her in many other ways, ways of business affairs and seeing that she is provided for and that she always has the respect of society. But …”
“Of course,” she promised quickly, rising to her feet. “I shall do it for Merrit’s sake also. We worked side by side for a little while on the battlefield. I know her courage. And I like her.”
He relaxed a little. “Thank you,” he said quietly, standing also. “Please God that Monk will find Shearer, or at least proof of his part in this.”
When she spoke of her thoughts to Monk he found the idea of Alberton’s having connived to sell guns to the pirates repellent, but he was obliged to consider the possibility. She saw the wince of pain in his face as they sat over Mrs. Patrick’s excellent supper, which included a rhubarb pie whose pastry melted in the mouth.
She saw the darkness in his face. It had been there the previous evening also, and she wondered if the same fear had occurred to him then, and he had been unwilling to say so. He had liked Alberton instinctively, more than most clients, and his death had left a sense of loss as well as anger. But there was no way to blunt the thought. Only the truth could banish it … perhaps.
“What did Casbolt say?” he asked her.
“He denied that it was possible. He said Alberton adored Judith and would rather have gone to debtors’ prison than deal with pirates.” She hesitated.
“But …” he prompted.
“But he was Alberton’s closest friend and he could not bear to think he would betray Judith like that. Or that he was … so much less than they all believed him. He’s very loyal. And …” She smiled very faintly at the memory of Casbolt’s face in the beautiful, glowing room, the intensity of the emotion filling his body as he sat on the edge of his seat. “And he is pretty devoted to Judith himself. He would do anything to protect her from further hurt.”
“Including lying to hide Alberton’s guilt?” he pressed.
“I should think so,” she answered frankly, weighing her words and aware that she believed them true. “It would also be a matter of protecting the reputation of a dead friend, for Judith’s sake too. I can understand that, even if I don’t know whether I would do it myself or not.”
His eyes widened. “At the expense of the truth? You!”
She looked back at him, trying to read his expression, but not with any intent to moderate how she answered.
“I don’t know. Not all truths need to be told. Some shouldn’t. I just don’t know which they are.”
“Yes, you do.” There was a black shadow in his face. “They are those which cause the innocent to suffer, and create a divide between people because of lies … even lies of silence.”
She did not understand the depth of feeling behind his words. It was as if he were angry with her, as he had been when they had first known each other and he had thought her hypocritical, even cold. Perhaps then there had been parts of her that were locked away, too quick to condemn what she did not understand and was afraid of, but not now!
She did not know how to break through the barrier. She could not find it, touch it, but she knew absolutely that it was there. What had she said that had created it? Why did he not know her better than to misunderstand? Or love her enough to break it himself?
“I don’t know what the truth is,” she said quietly, looking down at the table. “I think it more likely it had to do with
Shearer, whether he meant to sell the guns to the pirates, or Trace, or Breeland, or just anyone who wanted them.”
“I can’t find Shearer.” His voice was flat. “No one has seen him since before the murders.”
“Doesn’t that say a great deal in itself?” she asked. “If he were not involved somehow, wouldn’t he still be here? Wouldn’t he be doing all he could to help, and perhaps improve his own position in the business? He might even hope to be some sort of manager.”
He pushed his chair away from the table and stood up, moving about the small room restlessly.
“It isn’t enough,” he said grimly. “You can see it, and I can, but we can’t rely on a jury. Breeland had the guns. He was involved. He might have persuaded Shearer actually to commit the murders, probably for the price of the guns, which could be enough to corrupt many men. I admit, I don’t care if Breeland hangs for it. To corrupt another man to betrayal and murder is an even deeper sin than doing it yourself. But it won’t help Merrit because it doesn’t prove she had no knowledge of it.”
“But …” She started to protest, then realized with a crushing weight that he was right. Not only would the jury be less likely to believe it because of her closeness to Breeland, and the fact that she had gone willingly with him, dropping her watch in the warehouse yard, but she herself, in her misguided loyalty to him, would not deny it.
“There are dark places in everybody,” he said in the silence. “People you believe you know have violence and ugliness it is hard to accept, and impossible to understand.” There was anger in his voice and a pain she heard only too clearly. She wished to ask what he had discovered that he had not told her, but she knew from the angle of his body, the part of his face she could see, half turned away from her as it was, that he would not tell her.
She stood up to clear away the dishes and carry them through to the kitchen. She would not mention it again, at least not tonight.