Funeral In Blue Part 27

"He must have attacked her," Monk said in the fitful light as they moved from lamp to lamp. "But why? In what way could she possibly have threatened him? And don't say to blame him for Elissa. He's not that big a fool. Elissa was gambling from her own need. It had nothing to do with anyone else at all!"

"Imogen was in Swinton Street on the night of the murders," Hester replied. "We know she saw Allardyce ' "Pendreigh?" he said in astonishment. "Why?"

"I don't know..." The cab pulled up abruptly and after telling her to wait, Monk leaped out and ran across the wet pavement and pushed open the outer door. He went up the stairs two at a time to reach Runcorn's apartments. He lifted his fist and banged so hard the door itself rattled against the frame.

"Runcorn!" he shouted. "Runcorn!" The door opened and Runcorn stared at him. "What is it?" he said almost calmly.

Monk swallowed. "Pendreigh took Imogen Latterly out of the courthouse and through the fog to Blackfriars' Bridge. They quarrelled about something." He all but pushed Runcorn inside, looking around for his coat to hand it to him. "We found her senseless and covered with blood, but no injury on her. Her umbrella point was used to stab someone, and Pendreigh's nowhere to be seen. We've got to find him.

Come on!" Runcorn opened a cupboard, took out his hat and coat and made for the door still carrying them in his hand.

Monk ran down the stairs again on Runcorn's heels, and across the pavement into the hansom, calling out Pendreigh's address in Ebury Street as he went. Runcorn showed a moment's amazement that Hester was with them, but there was no point in arguing about it now.

Once again the cab started forward and picked up speed. The fog was drifting in patches and the hiss of tyres on the wet roads was m.u.f.fled as they swung through the alternating light of each lamp and into the s.p.a.ces between.

It was several moments before Runcorn spoke, and when he did it was with intense feeling.

"What are you not telling me, Monk? Why was she there? What did she know about Fuller Pendreigh and his daughter that we don't? Or any rate, that I don't?"

"I'm working it out!" Monk said tartly, looking sideways at Runcorn's face in the glare of lamplight. He saw no hostility, only puzzlement.

"She was the woman in Swinton Street that night," he began his reply.

"At the gambling house." He heard Runcorn's quick intake of breath.

"She must have seen Pendreigh there too. That's about the only thing that would make him take her down to the river and, we presume, attack her. She must have been at least half prepared for it, and she went for him with the spike of her umbrella. In spite of his clothes, she must have given him a fearful blow, from the blood all over her. Don't know how she managed it." Runcorn muttered a blasphemy under his breath, or perhaps it was not.

He might even have been praying.

The hansom careered its way through the streamers of fog and sudden glittering lights. The wind was rising.

"Will she be all right?" Runcorn said at last.

"I don't know," Monk admitted.

Runcorn drew in his breath to say something, then could not make up his mind.

Monk could feel the warmth of his body beside him. In the intermittent light he could see the indecision, the waiting to offer some kind of pity, and all the memory flooding back of envy and distrust, all the petty un kindnesses of the past.

The cab stopped at Ebury Street and they both got out, Monk then turning to help Hester. Runcorn paid the driver and then went up the front steps. He pulled the doorbell hard, and then again. They stood impatiently for what seemed an age until the butler came.

"Yes, sir, madam?" he enquired with just a hint of disappointment for the lateness of the hour.

"Superintendent Runcorn, of the police," Runcorn said icily. "And Mr.

William Monk, and Mrs. Monk."

"I'm afraid Mr. Pendreigh is not receiving at this hour, sir. If you come to ' "I'm not asking, I'm telling you," Runcorn snapped. "Now be so good as to step aside, rather than oblige me to arrest you for obstructing the police in their duty. Do I make myself plain?" The butler quailed. "Yes, sir, if But he was elbowed aside as Runcorn walked in with Monk on his heels.

"Where is Mr. Pendreigh?" Runcorn asked. "Upstairs?"

"Mr. Pendreigh is not well, sir. He was attacked by robbers in the street. If you ' "Yes or no?" Runcorn snapped.

"Yes, sir, but... Mr. Pendreigh is ill, sir. I beg you ' "Come on!" Runcorn ordered, ignoring the butler and gesturing to Monk as he began to climb the stairs, again two at a time. They met a startled maid at the head of the flight, carrying a pile of towels.

"Mr. Pendreigh's room?" Runcorn asked. "Is he in there? Answer me, girl, or I'll arrest you." She yelped and dropped the towels. "Yes... sir!"

"Well, where is it?"

"There, sir. Second door... sir!" She put her hands up to her face as if to stop herself from screaming.

Runcorn strode to the door indicated and banged on it once and threw it open. Monk was at his shoulders.

The room was very masculine, all panelled wood and deep colours, but it was extraordinarily beautiful. They barely had time for more than an impression. Fuller Pendreigh was lying on the bed, his face grey and his eyes already sunken. He clutched a folded towel around his throat and neck but the scarlet blood was seeping through it and the stain spreading.

Hester moved forwards to him and then stopped. She had seen too much death to mistake it easily. He had more stamina than most men to have made it this far. There was nothing she could do for him, even were it in mercy rather than a prolonging of pain.

"She saw you in Swinton Street the night of Elissa's death, didn't she?" Monk asked softly. "She didn't know who you were then, but she recognised you in court, and when you saw her looking at you, you knew it! It was there in her face, and it was only moments before she would tell someone. What were you hoping to do? Make her look like a suicide? Another gambler driven beyond sanity? But she's not dead. We got to her in time."

"Why did you kill Elissa, sir?" Runcorn asked in the silence. "She was your own daughter!" Very slowly, as if he barely had strength to lift it, Pendreigh let go of the towel and put one hand up to his face, trying to waken himself from a nightmare. "For G.o.d's sake, man, I didn't mean to kill her!" he said in a whisper. "She flew at me, lashing out with her fists, clawing at my face and screaming. I only wanted to fend her off, but she wouldn't stop." He struggled for breath. "I didn't want to strike her. I put my hands on her shoulders and pushed her away, but she kept on. She wouldn't listen." He stopped, his face filled with horror as if a h.e.l.l of reliving it over and over again had opened up in front of him, always with the same, terrible inescapable end, worse now because he knew it was coming.

"I stepped back and she lunged forward and slipped. I tried to catch her as her feet went from under her. She turned and I caught her face in my hands. I couldn't hold her. I meant to take her weight... I...

she broke her neck as she went sideways..." Hester wet a corner of the sheet in the pitcher on the table beside the bed and touched Pendreigh's lips with it.

"Why did she attack you?" Monk asked.

"What?" Pendreigh stared at him.

"Why did she attack you?" Monk repeated. "Why were you there anyway?" Runcorn looked at Hester, his eyes wide with question.

"Why were you there?" Monk said again.

"I had an appointment to see Allardyce," Pendreigh said hoa.r.s.ely. "I was going to give him an interim payment for the picture. I know he needed it. But I was delayed. I was late." He gasped and was silent for a moment.

Hester bent forward, then looked at Monk, shaking her head minutely.

Seconds ticked by. Pendreigh opened his eyes again. "He'd grown tired of waiting for me, and angry, and he'd gone out. But I wasn't going to pay him without seeing the picture first." His voice faded to a whisper. The scarlet stain was soaking through the towels. His face was grey. "It was beautiful!" Runcorn drew his brows together. "So why was Mrs. Beck lashing out at you?" Pendreigh's face was a mask of horror. "When I got there his model answered the door to me. She was alone, half dressed, and staggering around with drink. She fell over and her robe slid off leaving her half naked. I tried to help her up. I ... I was sorry for the woman." He stopped while Hester wet his lips again.

"She was heavy and kept sliding away," he went on, determined now to talk. "I had her in my arms when Elissa came in. She misunderstood and a.s.sumed she had interrupted some s.e.xual a.s.signation. She worshipped me ... as I did her! She couldn't bear it..." Monk could picture it easily. Elissa's own shame of her appet.i.te beyond control, suddenly finding her adored father, whom she believed had so perfectly mastered his own life and virtue, in the arms of a drunken, half-naked woman. "She flew at you in rage for shattering her ideal of you, for betraying her dreams. The idol was clay all the way up to the waist!" Pendreigh's voice was no more than a sigh. "Yes."

"And you killed her accidentally?"

"Yes!"

"But you killed Sarah Mackeson on purpose!" Runcorn burst out, his face ravaged by fury and an anguish he did not know how to express.

"You killed that woman only because she'd seen you! You took hold of her and you twisted her neck until you broke it!" Pendreigh stared at him. "I had to! She would have told Allardyce, and it would have ruined me! She would have prevented all the good I could have done!" Runcorn shook his head. "No it wouldn't. Any real friends would have stood by you." Pendreigh seemed to find a last strength. "Friends! You imbecile. I would have made Parliament! I would have changed the laws. Do you know how easy it is for a greedy man to take everything and leave a woman dest.i.tute? Do you?" Runcorn blinked at him. "That's got nothing to do with it."

"It's got everything!" Pendreigh sighed and his breathing grew more laboured, his chest rattling. The shadow of death was on his face.

"One woman sacrificed ... I wouldn't have chosen it, but it was unavoidable ... to get justice for millions!"

"And Kristian?" Monk asked. "Is it worth it for him to hang too ...

for murders he had not committed? What about all the sick he could have cured? What about the discoveries he might make that could heal millions? What about the fact that he was innocent? What about truth?"

"I could have..." Pendreigh began. He did not finish. He let out his breath in a long sigh and his eyes ceased to focus.

Absolute silence filled the room, and Hester leaned over and pa.s.sed her hand over his face, closing the lids gently.

"G.o.d help us," Runcorn said in a whisper. He swallowed hard and turned to Monk. "I'll go and tell them... and... and get a constable."

"Thank you," Monk acknowledged. He reached across and touched Hester's arm. He felt an ease inside that resolution always brought, but no victory yet. Kristian would be freed, of course, but he still had shattering truths to accept. He himself was not who he had believed he was. His heritage, his very blood was different. He was one of the people he had been brought up to think of as outsiders, somehow inferior, and yet a race who had given the Western World the core of its soul, and so of its culture also. The thought was almost too big to grasp, but he would have to.

As he turned it over in his mind Monk became aware of an intense need within himself to know his own roots, the meaning of his ident.i.ty that hung only in shadows and pieces in his own mind. Who were his people?

Where did they fit in the history of his land? What had they believed, lived for or died for? What had they given anyone?

It was not enough to ask, he must begin to look for the answers. The truth about everyone else was important. It was his job. But of the truth about himself? Who were the people he should have felt the bond with that Hester felt for Charles? Where was his blood-tie to the past?

Runcorn came back, closing the door behind him. He looked first at Hester, then at Monk.

"You all right?" he asked.

"Yes, of course," Monk replied, tightening his grip on Hester's arm.

"Good," Runcorn replied. "I've got a constable with me, and another coming." He glanced at the figure on the bed. "What a terrible waste," he said, shaking his head a little. "He could have done so much." He turned back to Monk. "Cook's got up and made us a pot of tea," he added. "Look like you could take a cup." Monk saw kindness in his face, even a flash of the old friendship.

"Thank you," he said, smiling, although he had not meant to. "That's a very good idea. Let's do that." And guiding Hester in front of him he went out of the room and along the pa.s.sage side by side with Runcorn.

BY ANNE PERRY.

Published by The Random House Publishing GroupFEATURING WILLIAM MONKThe Face of a Stranger

A Dangerous Mourning

Defend and Betray

A Sudden, Fearful Death

The Sins of the Wolf

Cain His Brother

Weighed in the Balance

The Silent Cry

A Breach of Promise

The Twisted Root

Slaves of Obsession

Funeral in Blue

Death of a Stranger

The Shifting Tide

Dark a.s.sa.s.sin