him or any evidence that might lead to his identity.”
“Someone may have seen him,” she insisted. “He did not materialize from nowhere. Maybe he was not a tramp of any sort, but a guest of someone in the neighborhood. Have you thought of that?” Now there was challenge in her voice and in her eyes.
“Who climbed over the wall in the chance of finding mischief?” he asked with as little sarcasm as was possible to the words.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said tartly. “He must have come in through the herb garden when Rodwell was not there. Maybe he mistook the house and thought it was that of someone he knew.”
“And found Miss Gillespie in the summerhouse and assaulted her?”
“It would seem so. Yes,” she agreed. “I daresay he indulged in some sort of conversation first, and she cannot remember it because the whole episode was so appalling she has cut it all from her mind. Such things happen.”
He thought of his own snatches of memory and the cold sweat of horror, the fear, the rage, the smell of blood, confusion, and blindness again.
“I know that,” he said bitterly.
“Then please continue to pursue it, Mr. Monk.” She looked at him with challenge, too consumed in her own emotion to hear his. “Or if you are unable or unwilling to, then perhaps you can recommend me the name of another person of inquiry who will.”
“I believe you have no chance of success, Mrs. Penrose,” he said a little stiffly. “Not to tell you so would be less than honest.”
“I commend your integrity,” she said dryly. “Now you have told me, and I have heard what you say, and requested you to continue anyway.”
He tried one more time. “You will learn nothing!”
She stood up from her desk and came toward him. “Mr. Monk, have you any idea how appalling a crime it is for a man to force himself upon a woman? Perhaps you imagine it is merely a matter of modesty and a little reluctance, and that really when a woman says no she does not truly mean it?”
He opened his mouth to argue, but she rushed on. “That is a piece of meretricious simplicity men use to justify to themselves an act of brutality that can never be excused. My sister is very young, and unmarried. It was a violation of the very worst nature. It has introduced her to—to bestiality—instead of to a—a …” She blushed but did not avoid his eyes. “A sacred relationship which she—oh—really.” She lost patience with herself. “No one has a right to behave toward anyone else in such a way, and if your nature is too insensitive to appreciate that, then there is no way for me to tell you.”
Monk chose his words carefully. “I agree with you that it is a base offense, Mrs. Penrose. My reluctance to continue has no relation to the seriousness of the crime, only to the impossibility of finding the offender now.”
“I suppose I should have come to you sooner,” she conceded. “Is that what you are saying? Marianne did not tell me the true nature of the event until several days after it had happened, and then it took me some little while to make up my mind what was best to do. After that it took me another three days to locate you and inquire something of your reputation—which is excellent. I am surprised that you have given in so quickly. That is not what people say of you.”
The anger hardened inside him and only Marianne’s anguish stopped him retaliating.
“I shall return tomorrow and we shall discuss it further,”he said grimly. “I will not continue to take your money for something I believe cannot be done.”
“I will be obliged if you will come in the morning,” she replied. “As you have observed, my husband is not aware of the situation, and explanations are becoming increasingly difficult.”
“Perhaps you should give me a letter to your cousin Mr. Finnister,” he suggested. “In case anything is said, I shall post it, so there will be no unfortunate repercussions in the future.”
“Thank you.
“Someone may have seen him,” she insisted. “He did not materialize from nowhere. Maybe he was not a tramp of any sort, but a guest of someone in the neighborhood. Have you thought of that?” Now there was challenge in her voice and in her eyes.
“Who climbed over the wall in the chance of finding mischief?” he asked with as little sarcasm as was possible to the words.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said tartly. “He must have come in through the herb garden when Rodwell was not there. Maybe he mistook the house and thought it was that of someone he knew.”
“And found Miss Gillespie in the summerhouse and assaulted her?”
“It would seem so. Yes,” she agreed. “I daresay he indulged in some sort of conversation first, and she cannot remember it because the whole episode was so appalling she has cut it all from her mind. Such things happen.”
He thought of his own snatches of memory and the cold sweat of horror, the fear, the rage, the smell of blood, confusion, and blindness again.
“I know that,” he said bitterly.
“Then please continue to pursue it, Mr. Monk.” She looked at him with challenge, too consumed in her own emotion to hear his. “Or if you are unable or unwilling to, then perhaps you can recommend me the name of another person of inquiry who will.”
“I believe you have no chance of success, Mrs. Penrose,” he said a little stiffly. “Not to tell you so would be less than honest.”
“I commend your integrity,” she said dryly. “Now you have told me, and I have heard what you say, and requested you to continue anyway.”
He tried one more time. “You will learn nothing!”
She stood up from her desk and came toward him. “Mr. Monk, have you any idea how appalling a crime it is for a man to force himself upon a woman? Perhaps you imagine it is merely a matter of modesty and a little reluctance, and that really when a woman says no she does not truly mean it?”
He opened his mouth to argue, but she rushed on. “That is a piece of meretricious simplicity men use to justify to themselves an act of brutality that can never be excused. My sister is very young, and unmarried. It was a violation of the very worst nature. It has introduced her to—to bestiality—instead of to a—a …” She blushed but did not avoid his eyes. “A sacred relationship which she—oh—really.” She lost patience with herself. “No one has a right to behave toward anyone else in such a way, and if your nature is too insensitive to appreciate that, then there is no way for me to tell you.”
Monk chose his words carefully. “I agree with you that it is a base offense, Mrs. Penrose. My reluctance to continue has no relation to the seriousness of the crime, only to the impossibility of finding the offender now.”
“I suppose I should have come to you sooner,” she conceded. “Is that what you are saying? Marianne did not tell me the true nature of the event until several days after it had happened, and then it took me some little while to make up my mind what was best to do. After that it took me another three days to locate you and inquire something of your reputation—which is excellent. I am surprised that you have given in so quickly. That is not what people say of you.”
The anger hardened inside him and only Marianne’s anguish stopped him retaliating.
“I shall return tomorrow and we shall discuss it further,”he said grimly. “I will not continue to take your money for something I believe cannot be done.”
“I will be obliged if you will come in the morning,” she replied. “As you have observed, my husband is not aware of the situation, and explanations are becoming increasingly difficult.”
“Perhaps you should give me a letter to your cousin Mr. Finnister,” he suggested. “In case anything is said, I shall post it, so there will be no unfortunate repercussions in the future.”
“Thank you.
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