"I am sorry to disturb your evening, Mrs. Kynaston," he said sincerely. "But I need to ask you to cast your mind back to the night before Christmas Eve. Can you tell me if you were at home, and if so, who was with you, and until what hour?”
"Certainly," she said with a shadow of puzzlement in her eyes. "I was at home, and my sons were here, and Rhys Duff, and Lady Sandon and her son, Mr. Rufus Sandon. We played cards, and talked a great deal about all manner of things, Egyptian exploration in particular. Rufus Sandon was most enthusiastic about Monsieur Champollion and his deciphering of the Rosetta Stone. Rhys was fascinated. I think he would willingly have listened all night.”
"What time did he leave, Mrs. Kynaston?”
"About two o'clock, I believe," she replied. "It was very late indeed.
But the following day was Christmas Eve, and they intended to lie in, and be late the evening aft eras well. I remember them saying so.
Marmaduke retired to bed earlier. He was less interested, but the rest of us remained long into the night. May I ask why you wish to know, Mr. Monk? Can it in some way help Rhys now?" There was no need to ask if that was something she wished, it was plain in her entire bearing.
"I don't know, ma'am," he answered frankly. "It is not what I had expected you to say. I admit, this throws me into some confusion. You have no doubt whatsoever about the date?”
"None at all. We were discussing the fact that it was Christmas Eve the following day," she affirmed.
"Thank you. I appreciate your courtesy.”
"Then we will not detain you any further, Mr. Monk," Kynaston said abruptly just as Fidelis was about to speak again.
Monk bowed and took his leave, thoroughly puzzled. If Rhys had been at the Kynastons' until two in the morning, then it could not have been he with whom Leighton Duff had fought in St. Giles shortly after midnight. He did not doubt Fidelis, but it would be simple to check with Lady Sandon. He had not asked for her address, but a woman of title would not be difficult to locate.
As soon as he reached his rooms he went to his desk and took out all his notes on the times, dates and places of the rapes he had investigated. They were in chronological order, and it took him only moments to ascertain that his memory was correct. There had been a particularly brutal rape and beating on the night before Christmas Eve, as near as the victim could tell, shortly before midnight, probably two men rather than three.
The conclusion was startling, and inescapable. Rhys could not have been guilty of this one. Leighton Duff had been there, and had been involved in a struggle of some sort. Marmaduke Kynaston could have been there. Arthur Kynaston, like Rhys, could not. He must be absolutely certain. There were more facts to check, with Lady Sandon, and with Sylvestra Duff, and for extra certainty, with the servants in the Duff house.
Had Leighton Duff followed and confronted Marmaduke Kynaston, and his companion in rape, whoever that was… or was he himself the companion? And had Rhys, usually the third, on this occasion been more spellbound by something else, and remained in the Kynaston home, listening to tales of Egypt and the Rosetta Stone?
Was it even possible that the three men who committed the rapes were not always the same ones?
He went to bed with his mind racing, and slept fitfully, haunted by dreams.
In the morning he arose, dressed, and aft era hasty breakfast went out barely feeling the cold. By two in the afternoon he had ascertained his facts. Rhys Duff had been at the Kynaston house until two in the morning, and had returned straight to his own home where he had remained until midday of Christmas Eve. He could not have been in St.
Giles.
Leighton Duff had gone out at half past nine in the evening and had returned at an unknown hour. The footman had not waited up for him.
Mr. Duff was always most considerate and never required the servants to remain out of their beds on his account.
It was confirmed that Duke Kynaston had retired before the end of the party, but whether he had then gone out or not, no one could say. While he was at the Kynaston house, Monk took the opportunity to deliver a warning. He had doubted whether to do so, or to leave justice to fortune. Now as the picture grew even less certain in his mind, the doubt vanished. He asked to see both brothers, and learned that Arthur was out, but Marmaduke could give him a few moments if he cared to come to the morning room.
Duke looked at him with a mixture of interest and scorn.
"A private agent of enquiry, eh?" he said with a lift of the eyebrow.
"What a curious way to make one's living. Still, I suppose it is better than catching rats, or repossessing the furniture of debtors.”
"There are times when it bears a closer resemblance to catching rats than one might wish," Monk answered with a corresponding sneer.
"I hear you were the one who caught up with Rhys Duff," Duke said quickly, cutting across him a little. "Do you think the court will find him guilty?”
"Is that why you consented to see me," Monk asked with amusement.
"Because you think I might know what the outcome will be!”
There was a faint flush on Duke's cheeks. "Do you?" he demanded.
Monk was surprised. Under the bravado, was it possible Duke actually felt some concern, and some responsibility, or guilt?
"No, I don't," Monk said more gently. "I thought I knew the answer without doubt, but I have since discerned some information which makes me less sure.”
"Why did you come here?" Duke frowned. "What do you want from us?”
"When you left the party on the night before Christmas Eve, where did you go?”
"To bed! Why? What does that matter?”
"You did not go to St. Giles with Leighton Duff?”
His utter amazement was too profound to disbelieve.
"What?”
Monk repeated what he had said.
"With Leighton Duff? Have you lost your wits? I've been whoring in St. Giles, certainly, with Rhys, for mat matter, and my brother Arthur. But Leighton Duff. That pompous, dry-as-dust old stick!" He started to laugh, and it was harsh, critical, but as far as Monk could tell, perfectly genuine.
"I take it you think it unlikely Mr. Duff would have gone to St. Giles in search of a prostitute?”
"About as likely as Her Majesty appearing on the stage of the music halls, I should think," Duke replied bitterly. "Whatever gave you that notion? You must be very out of touch with the case. You really have not the least idea, have you!”
Monk took the picture of Leighton Duff out of his pocket.
"Is that a good likeness of him?”
Duke considered it for a moment. "Yes, it is, actually. It is extremely good. He had just that rather patronising air of self-righteousness.”
"You did not like him," Monk observed.
"A crashing remark of the obvious." Duke raised his eyebrows. "Do you really make a living at this, Mr. Monk?”
"You would be surprised how people betray themselves when they imagine themselves safe, Mr. Kynaston," Monk said with a smile. "But thank you for your concern on my behalf. It is not necessary. What I came for was to warn you, and your brother, that the people of St. Giles, and of Seven Dials as well, are aware of who committed the recent rapes in their areas, and if either of you should return there, it is very probable you will meet with most unpleasant ends. You have been there.
You know or can imagine how easily that could be accomplished, and your bodies never found… at least not recognisable ones.”
Duke stared at him with a mixture of shock and incomprehension, but there was markedly fear in it as well.
"Why do you care if I get murdered in St. Giles?" he said truculently, then passed his tongue over dry lips.
"I don't," Monk replied with a smile, but even as he said it, it was not entirely true. He disliked Marmaduke Kynaston less than when he had come in, for no reason that he would have been prepared to explain.
"I don't want the people of St. Giles to be pursued by a murder enquiry.”