Read William Monk 06 - Cain His Brother for Free Online

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.”
    “Thank you,” Monk accepted before Ravensbrook could interpose any objection. “That would be extremely helpful. If I am to trace his movements, it would make it immeasurably easier.”
    She went to the bureau over at the far side of the room,opened it and took out a pencil and a sheet of notepaper, then sat down to draw. After about five minutes, during which time both Monk and Ravensbrook remained in silence, she returned and proffered it to Monk.
    He took it and looked at it, then stared more closely with surprise and considerable interest. It was not the rough, tentative impression he had expected, but a face which leaped out at him, executed in bold lines. The nose was long and straight, the brows winged, the eyes narrow but bright with intelligence. The jaw was broad under the ears, but going to a pointed chin, the mouth wide, poised between humor and gravity. Suddenly Angus Stonefield was real, a man of flesh and blood, of dreams and passions, someone he would grieve to find destroyed in a wanton act of violence and thrown into some dockyard sewer or passageway to the river.
    “Thank you,” he said softly. “I shall begin again at first light, tomorrow. Good night my lady, my lord.”

  2  
    M
ONK SPENT
a restless night and was up early the next morning to resume his search for Angus Stonefield, although he realized grimly that he had already assumed Genevieve was right in her fears, and what he was truly seeking was proof of his death. But whatever he found, it was unlikely to bring her any happiness. If Angus had absconded with money, or another woman, that would not only rob her of the future but, in a sense, of the past as well, of all that was good and she had believed to be true.
    The hansom set him down on the Waterloo Road.
    The rain had stopped and it was a brisk, chilly day with fast scudding clouds. A cutting east wind came up from the river with a smell of salt from the incoming tide, and the soot and smoke of countless chimneys. He stepped smartly out of the way of a carriage and leaped for the footpath.
    He pulled his coat collar a little higher and strode out towards Angus Stonefield’s place of business. The domestic servants yesterday evening had told him nothing of use. No one had noticed any behavior out of the very ordinary routine of rising at seven and taking breakfast with his wife while his children ate in the nursery. After reading the newspaper, and any post that may have been delivered, he left in sufficient time to arrive at his office by half past eight. He did not keep a carriage but traveled by hansom cab.
    The day of his disappearance he had followed exactly that pattern. The morning’s post had contained a couple of small household bills, an invitation, and a polite letter from an acquaintance. No one had called at the house other than the usual tradesmen and a woman friend of Genevieve’s who came for afternoon tea.
    Monk arrived at Stonefield’s offices too early, and was obliged to wait a quarter of an hour before Mr. Arbuthnot appeared walking along the pavement from the north, carrying an umbrella in his hand and looking hurried and unhappy. He was a small man with thick gray hair and a gray, immaculately trimmed mustache.
    Monk introduced himself.
    “Ah!” Arbuthnot said anxiously. “Yes. I suppose it was inevitable.” He took out a key from the pocket of his coat and inserted it into the outer door. He turned it with some effort.
    “You believe so?” Monk said with some surprise. “You foresaw such a thing?”
    Arbuthnot pushed the door