A Sudden, Fearful Death

"Indeed, you might say they had been from childhood," Mrs. Waldemar was saying. "But Miss Cuthbertson was with us at the ball all evening. Quite lovely she looked, and so full of spirits. She had a real fire in her eyes, if you know what I mean, Mr. Monk? Some women have a certain"-she shrugged suggestively-"vividness to them that others have not, regardless of circumstance."

Monk looked at her with an answering smile. "Of course I know, Mrs. Waldemar. It is something a man does not overlook, or forget." He allowed his glance to rest on her a fraction longer than necessary. He liked the taste of power, and one day he would push his own to find its limits, to know exactly how much he could do. He was certain it was far more than this very mild, implied flirtation.

She lowered her eyes, her fingers picking at the fabric of the sofa on which she sat. "And I believe she went out for a walk very early," she said clearly. "She was not at breakfast. However, I would not wish you to read anything unfortunate into that. I am sure she simply took a little exercise, perhaps to clear her head. I daresay she wished to think." She looked up at him through her lashes. "I should have in her position. And one must be alone and uninterrupted for such a thing."

"In her position?" Monk inquired, regarding her steadily.

She looked grave. She had very fine eyes, but she was not the type of woman that appealed to him. She was too willing, too obviously unsatisfied.

"I-I am not sure if this is discreet; it can hardly be relevant____________________"

"If it is not relevant, ma'am, I shall immediately forget it," he promised, leaning an inch or two closer to her. "I can keep my own counsel."

"I am sure," she said slowly. "Well-for some time poor Nanette has been most fond of Geoffrey Taunton, whom you must know. And he has had eyes only for that unfortunate girl Prudence Barrymore. Well, lately young Martin Hereford, a most pleasing and totally acceptable young man…" She invested the words with a peculiar emphasis, conveying her boredom with everything so tediously expected. "… has paid considerable attention to Nanette," she concluded. "The night of the ball he made his admiration quite apparent. Such a nice young man. Far more suitable really than Geoffrey Taunton."

"Indeed?" Monk said with exactly the right mixture of skepticism, to entice her to explain, and encouragement, so she would not feel slighted. He kept his eyes on hers.

"Well…" She lifted one shoulder, her eyes bright. "Geoffrey Taunton can be very charming, and of course he has excellent means and a fine reputation. But there is more to consider than that."

He watched her intently, waiting for her to elaborate.

"He has a quite appalling temper," she said confidently. "He is utterly charming most of the time, of course. But if he is really thwarted, and cannot bear it, he quite simply loses all control. I have only seen him do it once, and over the silliest incident. It was a weekend in the country." She had Monk's attention and she knew it. She hesitated, savoring the moment.

He was becoming impatient. He could feel the ache in his muscles as he forced himself to sit, to smile at her, when he would like to have exploded in temper for her stupidity, her vacuous, meaningless flirting.

"A long weekend," she continued. "Actually, as I recall, it was from Thursday until Tuesday, or something like that. The men had been out shooting, I think, and we ladies had been sewing and gossiping all day, waiting for them to return. It was in the evening." She took a deep breath and stared around the room as if in an effort to recollect. "I think it was Sunday evening. We'd all been to church early, before breakfast, so they would have the whole day outside. The weather was glorious. Do you shoot, Mr. Monk?"

"No."

"You should. It's a very healthy pastime, you know."

He choked back the answer that came to his lips.

"I shall have to consider it, Mrs. Waldemar."

"They were playing billiards," she said, picking up the thread again. "Geoffrey had lost all evening to Archibald Purbright. He really is such a cad. Perhaps I shouldn't say that?" She looked at him inquiringly, her smile very close to a simper.

He knew what she wanted.

"I'm sure you shouldn't," he agreed with an effort. "But I shan't repeat it."

"Do you know him?"

"I don't think I care to, if he is a cad, as you say."

She laughed. "Oh dear. Still, I'm sure you will not repeat what I tell you?"

"Of course not. It shall be a confidence between us." He despised himself as he was doing it, and despised her the more. "What happened?"

"Oh, Archie was cheating, as usual, and Geoffrey finally lost his temper and said some perfectly terrible things…"

Monk felt a rage of disappointment. Abuse, however virulent, was hardly akin to murder. Stupid woman! He could have hit her silly, smiling face.

"I see," he said with distinct chill. It was a relief not to have to pretend anymore.