No one else had any reason or motive to harm Verona Stourbridge, and there was no physical evidence to implicate any of them. Miriam was already deeply involved in the murder of James Treadwell. And strangely enough, she had not defended herself in any coherent way. Any jury would find it easy enough to believe that she had set out deliberately to charm Lucius, a wealthy and naive young man. He was handsome and intelligent enough, but not worldly wise, and might be easily duped by a woman older than he and well practiced in the ways of pleasing.
Then she had seen the luxury of the life she could expect, but through an unforeseeable misfortune, the coachman knew something of her past which was so ugly it would have spoiled her dream. He had blackmailed her.
Her mentor and accomplice, also blackmailed for theft by the same wretched coachman, either helped her kill him or hid her afterwards and obscured the evidence of the crime. He had no choice but to charge her.
The family was shattered. Harry stood white-faced, stammering incoherent assurances that he would do all he could to help her. He looked as if he hardly knew what he was saying or doing. He kept turning to Lucius as if he would protect him, and then realized he was helpless to make any difference at all.
Monk had never felt more pity for any man, but he did not believe that even Oliver Rathbone could do anything to relieve this tragedy. The most compassionate thing would be to deal with it as quickly as possible. To prolong the suffering was pointless.
Miriam herself seemed the least surprised or distressed. She accepted the situation as if she had expected it, and made no protest or appeal for help. She did not even deny the charge. She thanked Harry Stourbridge for his behavior towards her, then walked uprightly, quite firmly, a step or two ahead of Robb out to the front door. She hesitated as if to speak to Lucius, then changed her mind.
At the doorway, Monk looked back at the three men as they stood in the hall. Harry and Lucius were paralyzed. Aiden Campbell put his arm around Lucius as if to support him.
It was after seven in the morning by the time Monk returned home. It was broad daylight, and the streets were full of traffic, the hiss of wheels, the clatter of hooves and people shouting to each other.
He went in at his own door and closed it behind him. All he wanted to do was wash the heat and grime off himself, then sink into bed and sleep all day.
He was barely across the room when Hester appeared, dressed in blue-and-white muslin and looking as if she had been up for hours.
"What happened?" she said instantly. "You look terrible. The kettle is on. Would you like breakfast, or are you too tired?"
"Just tea," he answered, following her into the kitchen and sitting down. His legs ached and his feet were hot and so tired they hurt. His head throbbed. He wanted somewhere cool and dark and as quiet as possible.
She made the tea and poured it for him before asking any further, and then it was by a look, not words.
"She was struck once, with a croquet mallet," he told her. "There was enough evidence to prove it had to be one of the family ... or Miriam Gardiner. There was no reason for any of the servants to do it."
She sat across the small table from him, her face very solemn. "And for her?" she asked.
"The obvious. Whatever Treadwell knew of her, Verona Stourbridge knew it as well... or else she deduced it from something Miriam said. I'm sorry. The best you can say of her is that she has lost her mind, the worst that she deliberately planned to marry Lucius and assure herself of wealth and social position for the rest of her life... and indirectly, of course, for Cleo Anderson as well. When Treadwell threatened that plan, either alone or with Cleo's help, she killed him. And then later when Verona threatened it, she killed her, too. It makes a hideous sense."
"But do you believe it?" she asked, searching his face.
"I don't know. Not easily. But logic forces me to accept it." That was the truth, but he was reluctant to say it. When Miriam had denied it he had more than believed her. He had liked her, and felt compelled to go farther