Weighed in the Balance by Anne Perry

waisted, showing off her slenderness. “How wonderful to see you,” she went on. “And this must be your friend Mr. Monk.” She looked at Monk with great interest, eyeing his smooth, high-boned cheeks, slightly aquiline nose and sardonic mouth. He had seen that look of surprise in women’s eyes before, as if they saw in him something they had not expected, but against their judgment could not dislike.
    He inclined his head.
    “How do you do, Lady Wellborough. It was most generous of you to permit me to join you this weekend. Already I am more than rewarded.”
    She smiled widely. It was a most engaging expression and entirely unstudied.
    “I hope you will find yourself much more so before you leave.” She turned to Stephan. “Thank you, you have done particularly well this time, my dear. Allsop will show you upstairs, although I’m sure you know the way.” She looked back at Monk. “Dinner is at nine. We shall all be in the withdrawing room by about eight, I should imagine. Count Lans-dorff and Baron von Seidlitz went out walking, towards the weekend shoot, I think. See the lie of the land. Do you shoot, Mr. Monk?”
    Monk had no memory of ever having shot, and his social position made it almost impossible that he would have had the opportunity.
    “No, Lady Wellborough. I prefer sports of a more equal match.”
    “Oh, my goodness!” She laughed in high good humor. “Bare-knuckle boxing? Or horse racing? Or billiards?”
    He had no idea if he had skill in any of these either. He had spoken too quickly, and now risked making a fool of himself.
    “I shall attempt whatever is offered,” he replied, feeling the color burn up his cheeks. “Except where I am likely to endanger the other guests by my lack of proficiency.”
    “How original!” she exclaimed. “I shall look forward to dinner.”
    Monk already dreaded it.
    It turned out to be every bit as testing to his nerves as he had expected. He looked well. He knew that from the glass. As far as he was aware, he had spent much of his professional life in the police force and he had always been personally vain. Hiswardrobe and his tailor’s, bootmaker’s and shirtmaker’s bills attested to that. He must have spent a great deal of his salary on his appearance. He had no need to borrow in order to present himself at this house respectably attired.
    But conducting himself at table was another matter. These people all knew each other and had an entire lifestyle in common, not to mention hundreds of acquaintances. They would know within ten minutes that he was an outsider in every sense. What conceivable excuse could he find, not only to preserve his pride, but to fulfill his purpose and save Rathbone’s extraordinarily stupid neck?
    There were only nine of them at the dinner table, an extremely small number for a country house party, although it was early September, and therefore still the tail end of the London season, and too early for the great winter house parties where guests frequently stayed for a month or more, coming and going as they pleased.
    Monk had been introduced to them all, quite casually, as if one might have expected him to be here and it needed no explanation. Opposite him at the table sat Friedrich’s uncle, Queen Ulrike’s brother, Count Rolf Lansdorff. He was a fairly tall man with military bearing, dark hair smoothed close to his head and receding a little at the front. His face was agreeable, but there was no mistaking the power in the thin, delicate lips or the broad nose. His diction was precise, his voice beautiful. He regarded Monk with only the very mildest interest.
    Klaus von Seidlitz was utterly different. He was physically very large, several inches taller than the others, broad shouldered, rather shambling. His thick hair fell forward a little, and he had a habit of pushing it back with his hand. His eyes were blue and rather round, and his brows tilted down at the outer edges. His nose was crooked, as if it had been broken