Cain His Brother Read online

  “Why do you believe your brother-in-law might have harmed your husband, Mrs. Stonefield?” he said aloud. “After all the long years of relationship between them, and your husband’s loyalty, why should he now hate so deeply as to commit violence against him? What has changed?”

  “Nothing that I know,” she said unhappily, staring now at the fire. There was no doubt in her voice, no lessening of the emotion.

  “Did your husband threaten him in any way, financially or professionally?” Monk went on. “Is it likely that he became aware of some misdemeanor, or even crime, that Caleb may have been involved with? And if he did, would he have reported it?”

  Her eyes flickered up quickly, meeting his with sudden light. “I don’t know, Mr. Monk. You must think me very vague, and most uncharitable to a man I don’t even know. Of course what you suggest is possible. Caleb lives in a way which would make it likely he is involved in many crimes. But it is not that which causes my fear.”

  Had she said anything else he would have known she lied. He had seen the spark of realization in her eyes, and the doubt.

  “What is it?” he said with a gentleness unusual to him.

  “I wish I could tell you more precisely,” she answered with a tiny, self-deprecating smile. Then she looked up at him and her expression was startlingly intense. “My husband was not a cowardly man, Mr. Monk, neither morally nor physically, but he lived in dread of his brother. For all that he pitied him, and tried all the years I have known him to bridge the gulf between them, he was deeply afraid.”

  Monk waited for her to continue.

  She looked into the distances within her own mind. “I have seen the change come over his face when he spoke of Caleb, how his eyes darkened and his mouth showed lines of pain.” She took a deep breath and he could see that she was shaking very slightly, as if mastering a deep shock within herself. “I am not exaggerating, Mr. Monk. Please believe me, Caleb is both evil and dangerous. My worst fear is that his hatred has finally driven him mad and he has killed Angus. Of course, I hope he is alive … and yet I am terrified it is already too late. My heart tells me one thing, and my mind another.” At last she looked at him, her eyes wide and direct. “I need to know. Please leave no effort untried for as long as I have any means with which to recompense you. For my children’s sake, as well as my own, I have to know what has happened to Angus.” She stopped. She would not repeat herself or beg for pity beyond his labor that she could hire. She stood very straight in the room he still merely observed only as a kind of elegance behind her. He was unaware even of the ash settling in the fire.

  Not only for her, but for the man whose wife and home this was, he had no hesitation in accepting the task wholeheartedly.

  “I will do everything in my power, Mrs. Stonefield, I promise you,” he answered. “May I continue by speaking to some of your servants who may have noticed letters or callers?”

  She looked puzzled, and a flicker of disillusion shadowed her eyes.

  “How will that help?”

  “It may not,” he conceded. “But without some kind of indication that some of the more obvious answers are untrue, I cannot request the help I shall need from the River Police to conduct a search of the docks or of the quarter where you say Caleb lives. If he has indeed killed his brother, it will not be easy to prove.”

  “Oh …” She let out her breath in a jerky little sigh. “Of course.” She was very pale. “I had not thought of that. I’m sorry, Mr. Monk. I shall not interfere again. Whom would you like to see first?”

  He spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening questioning the staff from the butler and the cook through to the between-maid and the bootboy, and learned nothing to contradict his first impression that Angus Stonefield was a diligent and prosperous man of excellent taste and very ordinary habits, with a wife to whom he was devoted, and five children ranging in age from three to thirteen years.

  The butler had heard of the brother, Caleb, but had never seen him. He knew only that Mr. Stonefield would go quite regularly to the East End to meet with him, that he seemed nervous and unhappy prior to going and sad on his return. On almost every occasion he had sustained both personal injury and severe damage to his clothes, sometimes beyond repair. Mr. Stonefield had refused to call a doctor, insisting that the matter not be reported, and Mrs. Stonefield had cared for him herself. None of it helped to explain where Angus Stonefield was now or what had happened to him. Even his effects, and the few letters in the top drawer of his tallboy, were precise, each in its place, and exactly what Monk would have expected.

  “Did you learn anything?” Genevieve asked when he returned to the withdrawing room to take his leave.

  He would have disliked disappointing her, but there was no hope in her face.

  “No,” he confessed. “It was simply an avenue I dared not leave unexplored.”

  She looked down at her hands, twisting together in front of her dress, the only betrayal of the emotion within her.

  “I received a letter today from Angus’s guardian, Lord Ravensbrook, offering to assist us until we can … until … You might care to see if he can … help … with information, I mean.” She looked up at him. “I have written his address for you. I am sure he will receive you whenever you care to call.”

  “You are going to accept his offer?” he said urgently.

  The moment he asked he saw her face shadow, and knew he had been intrusive. It was not his concern. She had promised to pay him, and he wondered now if she assumed that concern for money was the reason he had asked.

  “No,” she said, before he could apologize and find some excuse to moderate his discourtesy. “I would very much prefer not to be”—she hesitated—“indebted to him, if it can be avoided. He is a good man, of course!” She went on quickly. “He raised Angus and Caleb when their own parents died. They are only distant relatives. He had no real obligation, but he gave them every opportunity, as if they were his own. His first wife died very young. He has married again now. I am sure he would give you any assistance he can.”

  “Thank you,” he accepted, grateful that she had apparently taken no more offense at his clumsiness. “As soon as I learn anything, I promise I will let you know.”

  “I am most obliged,” she said quietly. She seemed about to add something, then changed her mind. He wondered if it had been about the depth of her fears for her husband, or the urgency with which she needed an answer. “Good evening, Mr. Monk.”

  It was not a courteous time to call upon Lord and Lady Ravensbrook, but Genevieve’s plight struck deep into him, and he was perfectly prepared to disturb them at dinner, or draw them away from guests if need be, and offer the truth as explanation.

  As it was, when the hansom dropped him at Ravensbrook House in the rain and he splashed across the footpath through the arc of the streetlight and up the marble steps, he was prepared for whatever battle faced him. But his forethought proved unnecessary. The door was opened by a footman in livery who accepted his card and the letter Genevieve had given him, leaving him in the hall while he went to present them to his master.

  Ravensbrook House was magnificent. Monk judged it to date back to Queen Anne, a far more elegant period of architecture than that of the present queen. Here nothing was overcrowded. Ornamentation was simple, giving an air of space and perfect proportion. There were rather good portraits, presumably of the past Ravensbrooks, on three of the four walls. They all either had been of handsome appearance or had been highly flattered by the various artists.

  The staircase was gray marble, like the front steps, and swept in a curve up the right-hand wall to a landing balustraded in the same stone. A chandelier of at least eighty candles illuminated the whole, and hothouse hyacinths flowered in a blue delft bowl, scenting the air.

  It occurred to Monk that perhaps Angus Stonefield had been given an excellent start in his business, both financially and socially. It was a peculiar and rather harsh pride of Genevieve’s that would not allow her to ac
cept help now, at least for her children’s sake, if not her own. Or did she really believe, in spite of what she said, that Angus would somehow return?

  The footman came back, showing only the mildest surprise by the lifting of an eyebrow, and conducted Monk to the library. Lord Ravensbrook awaited him, apparently having left his dinner to receive this unexpected guest.

  The door closed behind the retreating footman.

  “I apologize, my lord, for the unseemliness of the hour,” Monk said immediately.

  Ravensbrook dismissed it with a wave of his hand. He was a tall man, perhaps an inch or two taller than Monk, and extremely handsome. His face was lean and narrow, but with fine, dark eyes, a long nose and a chiseled mouth. Apart from his features, there was a quickness of intelligence in him, lines of wit and laughter around his mouth and a hint of temper between his brows. It was the face of a proud man of unusual charm and, Monk guessed, a considerable ability to command others.

  However, on this occasion he made no attempt to impress.

  “I gather from Mrs. Stonefield’s letter that she has sought your help to discover what has happened.” He made it a statement, not a question. “I admit, I am close to my wits’ end to think what can have befallen him, and would be glad of any assistance you can give.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” Monk acknowledged. “I have been to his offices and they appear to know nothing, although I have not yet been able to question Mr. Arbuthnot, whom I am told is in charge and would have the authority to speak more frankly to me. However, if there is any financial hardship, it is certainly not evident—”

  Ravensbrook’s black eyebrows rose fractionally. “Financial hardship? Yes—I suppose you have to consider that. To one who does not know Angus, it would seem a possibility. However …” He walked over to the mantelshelf, where two exquisite Georgian silver candlesticks sat on either end and an Irish crystal vase a little to the left of center held a spray of golden winter jasmine. “As Mrs. Stonefield will have told you,” he continued, “I have known Angus since he was a child. He was five when his parents died. He has always been ambitious, and prudent, and he had the skill to bring dreams into reality. He has never been one to seek shortcuts to success, or easy paths. He would not have gambled.”

  He turned to face Monk, his eyes very dark, absolutely level. “He was of a nature which hated risks, and was totally honest down to the slightest detail. I happen to know that his business is flourishing. Of course, if you wish to satisfy yourself in the matter, it will be perfectly possible for you to examine the accounts, but it will be a waste of time, as far as finding him is concerned.”

  His voice was tight with emotion, but his expression was unreadable. “Mr. Monk, it is of the utmost urgency that you learn the truth, whatever it may be. The business requires his presence, his judgments.” He took a deep breath. Behind him the fire roared up the chimney. “When it becomes known that he is missing, not merely on some journey, then confidence will crumble. For his family’s sake, if something … appalling has happened to him, the business must be sold or a new manager appointed before it is known, and prestige and the value of his reputation are squandered. I have already offered Genevieve and her children my protection, here in my home, as I did Angus before them, but so far she has declined. But the time will come, and quite shortly, when she can no longer manage.”

  Monk made a rapid decision as to whether he should be candid. He regarded Ravensbrook’s lean, intelligent face, the sophisticated taste in the room, the slight drawl in his voice, the steadiness of his gaze.

  “After financial difficulty, the other most obvious possibility is another woman,” he said aloud.

  “Of course,” Ravensbrook agreed with a slight down-turning of his lips and the barest flicker of distaste. “You have to consider it, but you have met Mrs. Stonefield. She is not a woman a man would leave out of boredom. I rather wish I could believe it was something … forgive me”—a muscle twitched in his jaw—“so pedestrian. Then you could find him, bring him to his senses, and return him home. It would be most unpleasant, but in the end it would make no permanent difference, except perhaps to his wife’s regard for him. But she is a sensible woman. She would get over it. And of course she would be discreet. No one else need know.”

  “But you think it unlikely, sir?” Monk was not surprised. He found it less easy to believe than he would were it any other woman than Genevieve Stonefield. But then he did not know her. The warmth and the imagination which seemed to lie behind her eyes might be an illusion. And perhaps Angus had gone seeking the reality.

  Ravensbrook shifted his weight. The heart of the fire fell in with a shower of sparks and the heat from it grew more intense. “I do. Let me be frank, Mr. Monk. This is not a time for euphemisms. I fear some serious harm has come to him. He has long been in the habit of going to the most insalubrious parts of the East End of the city, down by the docks … Ide, Limehouse and Blackwall regions. If he has been attacked and robbed he may be lying injured, insensible or worse.” His voice dropped. “It will take all your skill to find him.” He moved a step away from the fire, but still did not invite Monk to sit, nor did he sit himself.

  “Mrs. Stonefield says that he goes to visit his twin brother, Caleb,” Monk continued, “who she says is of a totally different nature, and both hates him and is uncontrollably jealous. She believes that he may have murdered her husband.” He watched Ravensbrook’s face intensely. He saw a fear cross it, and deep distress. He could not believe it was feigned.

  “I deeply regret having to admit, Mr. Monk, that that is so. I have no reason to believe there is any other cause which takes Angus to the slums of the dockside. I have long begged him to desist, and leave Caleb to his own devices. It is quite futile to hope to change him. He hates Angus for his success, but he has no wish to be like him, only to have the profits of his labor. Angus’s affection and loyalty towards him is in no way returned.” He drew in his breath and let it out in a slow sigh. “But there is something in Angus which will not let go.”

  It was a painful subject. It must be especially bitter for a man who had watched the two brothers since childhood, but he did not equivocate or make excuses, and Monk admired him for that. It must have taken an iron self-discipline not to indulge in anger or a sense of injustice now.

  “Do you believe Mrs. Stonefield is right, and Caleb could have killed Angus, either intentionally or by accident in a struggle?”

  Ravensbrook met his eyes with a long, level stare.

  “Yes,” he said quietly. “I am afraid I believe it is possible.” His lips tightened. “Of course, I should prefer to think it is an accident, but murder is also believable. I am sorry, Mr. Monk. It is a bitter case we have given you, and one which may take you into some personal danger. You will not catch Caleb easily.” There was a harsh twist of his mouth, less than a smile. “Nor will you easily prove what has happened. Whatever help I can be, you have but to call upon me.”

  Monk was about to thank him when there was a light rap on the door.

  “Come!” Ravensbrook said with surprise.

  The door opened and a woman of extraordinary presence entered. She was of little more than average height, though her bearing made her seem taller. But it was her face which commanded Monk’s attention. She had high, wide cheekbones, a short, jutting aquiline nose and a wide, beautifully shaped mouth. She was not traditionally lovely, yet the longer he looked at her, the more she pleased him, because of the balance and honesty in her. She was every bit as candid as Genevieve, and more commanding. It was the face of a woman born to power.

  Ravensbrook lifted his hand very slightly.

  “My dear, this is Mr. Monk, whom Genevieve has engaged to help us find out—what has happened to poor Angus.” From the way he touched her and his expression as he regarded her, it was unnecessary to announce her identity.

  “How do you do, Lady Ravensbrook.” Monk bowed very slightly. It was not something he normally did, but it came to him without thought
when he spoke to her.

  “I am very glad.” She regarded Monk with interest. “It is time something was done. I should like to think otherwise, but I know Caleb may be at the root of it. I am sorry, Mr. Monk, we have asked of you a most unpleasant task. Caleb is a violent man, and will not welcome any attention from the police, or any other authority. And as you may already be aware, there is also a serious outbreak of typhoid fever in the south area of Limehouse at the moment. We are most grateful that you should have accepted the case.”

  She turned to her husband. “Milo, I think we should offer to meet Mr. Monk’s expenses, rather than allow Genevieve to do it. She is hardly in a position … The estate will be frozen, she will have only whatever funds—”

  “Of course.” He stopped her with a gesture. To speak of such things was indelicate in front of a hired person. He returned his attention to Monk. “Naturally we shall do so. If you submit whatever accounts you give, we shall see that they are met. Is there anything else we can do?”

  “Do you have a likeness of Mr. Stonefield?”

  Lady Ravensbrook frowned, thinking on the subject.

  “No,” Ravensbrook replied immediately. “Unfortunately not. Childhood likenesses would be of little use, and we have not seen Caleb in fifteen years or more. Angus did not care to have pictures made of him. He considered it vain, and always preferred to have such portraits as there were made of Genevieve or the children. He meant to have one done one day, but now it seems he may have left it too late. I’m sorry.”

  “I can make a sketch for you,” Lady Ravensbrook offered quickly, then the color flushed up her cheeks. “It would not be of any artistic merit, but it would give you some notion of his appearance.”