in the Crimea were so fearful that they affected her mind and destroyed her judgment to some extent. It is really very tragic." As she said it her face was very sober.
"Very," Monk agreed tersely. "It is also tragic that someone should have killed her. Did she ever say anything to you about anyone who might have threatened her or wished her ill?" It was an ingenuous question, but there was always the remote chance she might give a surprising answer.
Nanette shrugged very slightly, a delicate, very feminine gesture of her shoulders.
"Well, she was very forthright, and she could be highly critical," she said reluctantly. "I fear it is not impossible that she offended someone sufficiently that he became violent, which is a fearful thought. But some men do have ungovernable tempers. Perhaps her insult was very serious, threatening his professional reputation. She did not spare people, you know."
"Did she mention anyone by name, Miss Cuthbertson?"
"Oh not to me. But then their names would mean nothing to me even if I heard them."
"I see. What about admirers? Were there any men, do you know, who might have felt rejected by her, or jealous?"
The blush on her cheek was very slight, and she smiled as if the question were of no consequence to her.
"She did not confide that sort of thing to me, but I gathered the impression that she had no time for such emotions." She smiled at the absurdity of such a nature. "Perhaps you had better ask someone who knew her from day to day."
"I shall. Thank you for your candor, Miss Cuthbertson. If everyone else is as frank with me, I shall be very fortunate."
She leaned forward in her chair a little. "Will you find out who killed her, Mr. Monk?"
"Yes." He was quite unequivocal, not because he had any conviction, still less any knowledge, but he would not admit the possibility of defeat.
"I am so glad. It is most comforting to know that in spite of tragedy, there are people who will see that at least justice is done." Again she smiled at him, and he wondered why on earth Geoffrey Taunton had not wooed this woman, who seemed so excellently suited to his life and his personality, but had chosen instead to waste his time and his emotion on Prudence Barrymore. She could never have made either him or herself happy in such an alliance, which to him would have been fraught with tension and uncertainty, and to her would have been at once barren and suffocating.
But then he had imagined himself so in love with Hermione Ward, who would have hurt and disappointed him at every turn and left him in the bitterest loneliness. Perhaps in the end he would even have hated her.
He finished his tea and excused himself. Thanking her again, he took his leave.
* * * * *
The return journey to London was hot and the train crowded. He was suddenly very tired and closed his eyes, leaning back against the seat. The rattle and sway of the carriage was curiously soothing.
He woke up with a start to find a small boy staring at him with intense curiosity. A fair-haired woman pulled at the child's jacket and ordered him to mind his manners and not to be so rude to the gentleman. Then she smiled shyly at Monk and apologized.
"There is no harm in it, ma'am," he replied quietly, but his mind was suddenly jolted by a vivid fragment of memory. It was a sensation he had felt many times since his accident, and more and more frequently in the last few months, but it never ceased to bring with it a frisson of fear. So much of what he learned of himself showed him only actions, not reasons, and he did not always like the man he discovered.
This memory was sharp and bright, and yet distant. He was not the man of today, but very much of yesterday. The picture in his mind was full of sunlight, and for all its clarity there was a sense of distance. He was younger, far younger, new at his job with all the eagerness and the need to learn that comes with being a novice. His immediate senior was Samuel Runcorn, that was perfectly clear. He knew it as one knows things in dreams; there is no visible evidence, and yet the certainty is unquestionable. He could picture Runcorn as sharply as the young woman on the seat opposite him in the clanking