very feminine sitting room along a short corridor into the main hall. Monk glanced around as much as was possible in the brief time as Shelburne paced ahead of him towards one of the several fine doorways. The walls were paneled to shoulder height in wood, the floor parqueted and scattered with Chinese carpets of cut pile and beautiful pastel shades, and the whole was dominated by a magnificent staircase dividing halfway up and sweeping to left and right at either end of a railed landing. There were pictures in ornate gold frames on all sides, but he had no time to look at them.
Shelburne opened the withdrawing room door and waited impatiently while Monk followed him in, then closed it. The room was long and faced south, with French windows looking onto a lawn bordered with herbaceous flowers in brilliant bloom. Rosamond Shelburne was sitting on a brocaded chaise longue, embroidery hoop in her hand. She looked up when they came in. She was at first glance not unlike her mother-in-law: she had the same fair hair and good brow, the same shape of eye, although hers were dark brown, and there was a different balance to her features, the resolution was not yet hard, there was humor, a width of imagination waiting to be given flight. She was dressed soberly, as befitted one who had recently lost a brother-in-law, but the wide skirt was the color of wine in shadow, and only her beads were black.
"I am sorry, my dear." Shelburne glanced pointedly at Monk. "But this man is from the police, and he thinks you may be able to tell him something about Joscelin that will help." He strode past her and stopped by the first window, glancing at the sun across the grass.
Rosamond's fair skin colored very slightly and she avoided Monk's eyes.
"Indeed?" she said politely. "I know very little of Jos-celin's London life, Mr.-?"
"Monk, ma'am," he answered. "But I understand Major Grey had an affection for you, and perhaps he may have spoken of some friend, or an acquaintance who might lead us to another, and so on?"
"Oh." She put her needle and frame down; it was a tracery of roses around a text. "I see. I am afraid I cannot think of anything. But please be seated, and I will do my best to help.''
Monk accepted and questioned her gently, not because he expected to learn a great deal from her directly, but because indirectly he watched her, listening to the intonations of her voice, and the fingers turning in her lap.
Slowly he discovered a picture of Joscelin Grey.
"He seemed very young when I came here after my marriage," Rosamond said with a smile, looking beyond Monk and out of the window. "Of course that was before he went to the Crimea. He was an officer then; he had just bought his commission and he was so"-she searched for just the right word-"so jaunty! I remember that day he came in in his uniform, scarlet tunic and gold braid, boots gleaming. One could not help feeling happy for him." Her voice dropped. "It all seemed like an adventure then."
"And after?" Monk prompted, watching the delicate shadows in her face, the search for something glimpsed but not understood except by a leap of instinct.
"He was wounded, you know?" She looked at him, frowning.
"Yes," he said.
"Twice-and ill too." She searched his eyes to see if he knew more than she, and there was nothing in his memory to draw on. "He suffered very much," she continued. "He was thrown from his horse in the charge at Balaclava and sustained a sword wound in his leg at Sebastopol. He refused to speak much to us about being in hospital at Scutari; he said it was too terrible to relate and would distress us beyond bearing." The embroidery slipped on the smooth nap of her skirt and rolled away on the floor. She made no effort to pick it up.
"He was changed?" Monk prompted.
She smiled slowly. She had a lovely mouth, sweeter and more sensitive than her mother-in-law's. "Yes-but he did not lose his humor, he could still laugh and enjoy beautiful things. He gave me a musical box for my birthday." Her smile widened at the thought of it. "It had an enamel top with a rose painted on it. It played 'Fur Elise'-Beethoven, you know-"
"Really, my dear!" Lovel's voice cut across her as he turned from where he had been standing by the window. "The man