Slaves of Obsession

  “METICULOUSLY CONSTRUCTED …

  Perry’s images of the carnage and confusion of battle are relentless in their intensity, unflinching in their truth-telling detail.”

  —The New York Times Book Review

  “[Perry’s] concern for pressing social issues and her ability to set a scene are always strong—never more so than when depicting the terrifying battle of Manassas.”

  —The Seattle Times

  “Pure, hearty escapism enhanced by a rich tapestry of period details … Perry keeps up the suspense right to the end.”

  —The Baltimore Sun

  “A welcome and entertaining read … Perry writes with a deft sense of history and place. Her dialogue, suitable for the drawing room, sheds much light on the manners and codified pursuit of Victorian life.”

  —The Cincinnati Post

  “Slaves of Obsession combines all the action of a modern thriller with an enjoyable look at a time when people took all day to travel a few miles and there were no phones, fingerprints, or databases to help catch killers.”

  —The Orlando Sentinel

  By Anne Perry

  Published by The Random House Publishing Group:

  Featuring William Monk:

  THE 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 ASSASSIN

  EXECUTION DOCK

  Featuring Thomas and Charlotte Pitt:

  THE CATER STREET HANGMAN

  CALLANDER SQUARE

  PARAGON WALK

  RESURRECTION ROW

  BLUEGATE FIELDS

  RUTLAND PLACE

  DEATH IN THE DEVIL’S ACRE

  CARDINGTON CRESCENT

  SILENCE IN HANOVER CLOSE

  BETHLEHEM ROAD

  HIGHGATE RISE

  BELGRAVE SQUARE

  FARRIERS’ LANE

  THE HYDE PARK HEADSMAN

  TRAITORS GATE

  PENTECOST ALLEY

  ASHWORTH HALL

  BRUNSWICK GARDENS

  BEDFORD SQUARE

  HALF MOON STREET

  THE WHITECHAPEL CONSPIRACY

  SOUTHAMPTON ROW

  SEVEN DIALS

  LONG SPOON LANE

  BUCKINGHAM PALACE GARDENS

  The World War I Novels:

  NO GRAVES AS YET

  SHOULDER THE SKY

  ANGELS IN THE GLOOM

  AT SOME DISPUTED BARRICADE

  WE SHALL NOT SLEEP

  The Christmas Novels:

  A CHRISTMAS JOURNEY

  A CHRISTMAS VISITOR

  A CHRISTMAS GUEST

  A CHRISTMAS SECRET

  A CHRISTMAS BEGINNING

  A CHRISTMAS GRACE

  A CHRISTMAS PROMISE

  Books published by The Random House Publishing Group are available at quantity discounts on bulk purchases for premium, educational, fund-raising, and special sales use. For details, please call 1-800-733-3000.

  A Ballantine Book

  Published by The Random House Publishing Group

  Copyright © 2000 by Anne Perry

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Fawcett Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.

  FAWCETT is a registered trademark and the Fawcett colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  eISBN: 978-0-345-44689-3

  www.ballantinebooks.com

  v3.1

  To

  Moreen, James and Nesta, née MacDonald,

  for their friendship

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Books by This Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Books by Anne Perry

  1

  “WE ARE INVITED to dine with Mr. and Mrs. Alberton,” Hester said in reply to Monk’s questioning gaze across the breakfast table. “They are friends of Callandra’s. She was to go as well, but has been called to Scotland unexpectedly.”

  “I suppose you would like to accept anyway,” he deduced, watching her face.

  He usually read her emotions quickly, sometimes with startling accuracy, at others misunderstanding entirely. On this occasion he was correct.

  “Yes, I would. Callandra said they are charming and interesting and have a very beautiful home. Mrs. Alberton is half Italian, and apparently Mr. Alberton has traveled quite a lot as well.”

  “Then I suppose we had better go. Short notice, isn’t it?” he said less than graciously.

  It was short notice indeed, but Hester was not disposed to find unnecessary fault with something which promised to be interesting, and possibly even the beginning of a new friendship. She did not have many friends. The nature of her work as a nurse had meant that her friendships were frequently of a fleeting nature. She had not been involved with any gripping cause for quite some little time. Even Monk’s cases, while financially rewarding, had over the last four months of spring and early summer been most uninteresting, and he had not sought her assistance, or in most of them her opinion. She did not mind that; robberies were tedious, largely motivated by greed, and she did not know the people concerned.

  “Good,” she said with a smile, folding up the letter. “I shall write back immediately saying that we shall be delighted.”

  His answering look was wry, only very slightly sarcastic.

  They arrived at the Alberton house in Tavistock Square just before half-past seven. It was, as Callandra had said, handsome, although Hester would not have thought it worth remarking on. However, she changed her mind as soon as they were in the hallway, which was dominated by a curving staircase at the half turn of which was an enormous stained-glass window with the evening sun behind it. It was truly beautiful, and Hester found herself staring at it when she should have been paying attention to the butler who had admitted them, and watching where she was going.

  The withdrawing room also was unusual. There was less furniture in it than was customary, and the colors were paler and warmer, giving an illusion of light even though in fact the long windows which overlooked the garden faced the eastern sky. The shadows were already lengthening, although it would not be dark until after ten o’clock at this time so shortly after midsummer.

  Hester’s first impression of Judith Alberton was that she was an extraordinarily beautiful woman. She was taller than average, but with a slender neck and shoulders which made more apparent the lush curves of her figure, and lent it a delicacy it might otherwise not have possessed. Her face, when looked at more closely, was totally wrong for conventional fashion. Her nose was straight and quite prominent, her cheekbones very high, her mouth too large and her chin definitely short. Her eyes were slanted and of a golden autumn shade. The whole impression was both generous and passionate. The longer one looked at h
er the lovelier she seemed. Hester liked her immediately.

  “How do you do,” Judith said warmly. “I am so pleased you have come. It was kind of you on so hasty an invitation. But Lady Callandra spoke of you with such affection I did not wish to wait.” She smiled at Monk. Her eyes lit with a flare of interest as she regarded his dark face with its lean bones and broad-bridged nose, but it was Hester to whom she addressed her attention. “May I introduce my husband?”

  The man who came forward was pleasing rather than handsome, far more ordinary than she was, but his features were regular and there was both strength and charm in them.

  “How do you do, Mrs. Monk,” he said with a smile, but when courtesy was met he turned immediately to Monk, behind her, searching his countenance steadily for a moment before holding out his hand in welcome and then turning aside so the rest of the company could be introduced.

  There were three other people in the room. One was a man in his mid-forties, his dark hair thinning a little. Hester noticed first his wide smile and spontaneous handshake. He had a natural confidence, as if he were sure enough of himself and his beliefs that he had no need to thrust them upon anyone else. He was happy to listen to others. It was a quality she could not help but like. His name was Robert Casbolt, and he was introduced not only as Alberton’s business partner and friend since youth, but also Judith’s cousin.

  The other man present was American. As one could hardly help being aware, that country had in the last few months slipped tragically into a state of civil war. There had not as yet been anything more serious than a few ugly skirmishes, but open violence seemed increasingly probable with every fresh bulletin that arrived across the Atlantic. War seemed more and more likely.

  “Mr. Breeland is from the Union,” Alberton said courteously, but there was no warmth in his voice.

  Hester looked at Breeland as she acknowledged the introduction. He appeared to be in his early thirties, tall and very straight, with square shoulders and the upright stance of a soldier. His features were regular, his expression polite but severely controlled, as if he felt he must be constantly on guard against any slip or relaxation of awareness.

  The last person was the Albertons’ daughter, Merrit. She was about sixteen, with all the charm, the passion and the vulnerability of her years. She was fairer than her mother, and had not the beauty, but she had a similar strength of will in her face, and less ability to hide her emotions. She allowed herself to be introduced politely enough, but she did not make any attempt to pretend more than courtesy.

  The preliminary conversation was on matters as simple as the weather, the increase in traffic on the streets and the crowds drawn by a nearby exhibition.

  Hester wondered why Callandra had thought she and Monk might find these people congenial, but perhaps she was merely fond of them and had discovered in them a kindness.

  Breeland and Merrit moved a little apart, talking earnestly. Monk, Casbolt and Judith Alberton discussed the latest play, and Hester fell into conversation with Daniel Alberton.

  “Lady Callandra told me you spent nearly two years out in the Crimea,” he said with great interest. He smiled apologetically. “I am not going to ask you the usual questions about Miss Nightingale. You must find that tedious by now.”

  “She was a very remarkable person,” Hester said. “I could not criticize anyone for seeking to know more about her.”

  His smile widened. “You must have said that so many times. You were prepared for it!”

  She found herself relaxing. He was unexpectedly pleasant to converse with; frankness was always so much easier than continued courtesy. “Yes, I admit I was. It is …”

  “Unoriginal,” he finished for her.

  “Yes.”

  “Perhaps what I wanted to say was unoriginal also, but I shall say it anyway, because I do want to know.” He frowned very slightly, drawing his brows together. His eyes were clear blue. “You must have exercised a great deal of courage out there, both physical and moral, especially when you were actually close to the battlefield. You must have made decisions which altered other people’s lives, perhaps saved them, or lost them.”

  That was true. She remembered with a jolt just how desperate it had been, how remote it was from this quiet summer evening in an elegant London withdrawing room, where the shade of a gown mattered, the cut of a sleeve. War, disease, shattered bodies, the heat and flies or the terrible cold, all could have been on another planet with no connection to this world at all except a common language, and yet no words could ever explain one to the other.

  She nodded.

  “Do you not find it extraordinarily difficult to adjust from that life to this?” he asked. His voice was soft, but edged with a surprising intensity.

  How much had Callandra told Judith Alberton, or her husband? Would Hester embarrass her with the Albertons in future if she were to be honest? Probably not. Callandra had never been a woman to run from the truth.

  “Well, I came back burning with determination to reform all our hospitals here at home,” she said ruefully. “As you can see, I did not succeed, for several reasons. The chief among them was that no one would believe I had the faintest idea what I was talking about. Women don’t understand medicine at all, and nurses in particular are for rolling bandages, sweeping and mopping floors, carrying coal and slops, and generally doing as they are told.” She allowed her bitterness to show. “It did not take me long to be dismissed, having to earn my way by caring for private patients.”

  There was admiration as well as laughter in his eyes. “Was that not very hard for you?” he asked.

  “Very,” she agreed. “But I met my husband shortly after I came home. We were … I was going to say friends, but that is not true. Adversaries in a common cause, would describe it far better. Did Lady Callandra tell you that he is a private agent of enquiry?”

  There was no surprise in his face, certainly nothing like alarm. In high society, gentlemen owned land or were in the army or politics. They did not work, in the sense of being employed. Trade was equally unacceptable. But whatever family background Judith Alberton came from, her husband showed no dismay that his guest should be little better than a policeman, an occupation fit only for the least desirable element.

  “Yes,” he admitted readily. “She told me she found some of his adventures quite fascinating, but she did not give me any details. I presumed they might be confidential.”

  “They are,” she agreed. “I would not discuss them either, only to say that they have prevented me from missing any sense of excitement or decision that I felt in the Crimea. And for the most part my share in them has not required the physical privation or the personal danger of nursing in wartime.”

  “And the horror, or the pity?” he asked quietly.

  “It has not sheltered me from those,” she admitted. “Except for a matter of numbers. And I am not sure one feels any less for one person, if he or she is in desperate trouble, than one does for many.”

  “Quite.” It was Robert Casbolt who spoke. He came up just behind Alberton, putting a companionable hand on his friend’s shoulder and regarding Hester with interest. “There is just so much the emotions can take, and one gives all one has, I imagine? From what I have just overheard, you are a remarkable woman, Mrs. Monk. I am delighted Daniel thought to invite you and your husband to dine. You will enliven our usual conversation greatly, and I for one am looking forward to it.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “No doubt we shall hear more of it over dinner—it is totally inescapable these days—but I have had more than sufficient of the war in America and its issues.”

  Alberton’s face lightened. “So have I, but I would wager you a good carriage and pair that Breeland will regale us again with the virtues of the Union before the third course has been served.”

  “Second!” Casbolt amended. He grinned at Hester, a broad, shining expression. “He is a very earnest young man, Mrs. Monk, and fanatically convinced of the moral rightness of his cause.
To him the Union of the United States is a divine entity, and the Confederate desire to secede the work of the devil.”

  Any further comment was cut short by the necessity of removing to the dining room, where dinner was ready to be served.

  Monk found the house pleasing although he was not certain why. It was something to do with warmth of color and simplicity of proportion. He had spent the earlier part of the evening talking with Casbolt and Judith Alberton, with the occasional comment from Lyman Breeland, who seemed to find light conversation tedious. Breeland was too well mannered to show it overtly, but Monk at least knew that he was bored. He wondered why Breeland had come at all. It excited Monk’s curiosity. Looking around the room, including himself and Hester, it seemed an oddly disparate group of people. Breeland appeared to be in his early thirties, a year or two younger than Hester. The rest of them must have been in their middle to later forties, apart from Merrit Alberton. Why had she chosen to attend this dinner when she could surely have been in the company of other young girls, if not at a party?

  Yet he saw in her no sign of tedium or impatience. Was she remarkably well mannered, or was there something which drew her here by choice?

  The answer came at the end of the soup course and as the fish was served.

  “Where do you live in America, Mr. Breeland?” Hester asked innocently.

  “Our home is in Connecticut, ma’am,” he replied, ignoring his food and gazing at her steadily. “But at present we are in Washington, of course. People are coming in from all over the northern part of the Union to gather to the cause, as no doubt you know.” He raised his level eyebrows very slightly.

  Casbolt and Alberton glanced at each other, and away again.

  “We are fighting for the survival of an ideal of freedom and liberty for all men,” Breeland continued emphatically. “Volunteers are pouring in from every town and city and from the farms even far inland and to the west.”

  Merrit’s face was suddenly alight. She looked for a moment at Breeland, her eyes shining, then back to Hester. “When they win, there will be no more slavery,” she proclaimed. “All men will be free to come and go as they choose, to call no man master. It will be one of the greatest and noblest steps mankind has taken, and they will do it even at the cost of their lives, their homes, whatever it takes.”