Read Online William Monk 07 - Weighed in the Balance by Anne Perry - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Anne Perry
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sideboard laden with chafing dishes filled with eggs, meat, vegetables and various baked pastries and breads. On the table were frequently renewed pots of tea, dishes of preserves, butter, fresh fruit and even sweetmeats.
The only other diners present when Monk arrived were Stephan, Florent and Lord Wellborough. The conversation was unremarkable. When they had finished, Stephan offered to show Monk around the nearer parts of the estate, and Monk accepted with alacrity.
“What are you going to do to help Zorah?” Stephan asked as he conducted Monk around the orangery, pointing towards various features while saying nothing about them at all. “We were all here after Friedrich’s fall, but he was confined to his rooms, and Gisela wouldn’t allow anyone else to visit him except Rolf, and even he went only twice, so far as I know. But anyone at all could have visited the kitchens or waylaid a servant on the stairs who was carrying a tray.”
“Is that why you think it was Gisela?” Monk asked.
Stephan seemed genuinely surprised. “No, of course not. It’ll be the devil’s own job to prove he was murdered at all! I believe it was Gisela because Zorah says it was. And she is absolutely right about him always believing he could return, and Gisela knowing he couldn’t … not with her.”
“Not very convincing,” Monk observed.
They walked around the edge of the orangery and along a path between graceful hedges of close-clipped hornbeam. At the end of the way, about forty yards, there was a stone urn dripping scarlet with late geraniums, and behind that a dark yew hedge.
“I know,” Stephan said with a sudden smile. “But if youknew those people it would make sense to you. If you had seen Gisela …”
“Tell me about the day before the accident,” Monk said quickly. “Or if you prefer, the day you remember most vividly, even the week before.”
Stephan thought for several minutes before he began. They moved slowly down the path towards the urn and the yew hedge, then turned left along an elm avenue that stretched for half a mile.
“Breakfast was always much the same,” he said, knitting his brows in concentration. “Gisela was not down. She ate in her room, and Friedrich took his with her. He usually did. It was one of the rituals of the day. I think, actually, he liked to watch her dress. No matter what time or season, she always looked superb. She had a genius for it.”
Monk made no reply to that. “What did everyone else do, after?” he asked, slowing the pace a trifle.
Stephan smiled. “Florent flirted with Zorah—in the orangery, I think. Brigitte went walking alone. Wellborough and Rolf talked business in the library. Lady Wellborough did something domestic. I spent the morning playing golf with Friedrich and Klaus. Gisela and Evelyn walked roughly where we are now, and quarreled over something. They came back separately, and both in a temper.”
They were moving away from the house, still under the elms. A gardener passed them pushing a wheelbarrow. He raised his cap respectfully and mumbled something. Stephan acknowledged him with a nod. Monk felt rude, but he did not wish to distinguish himself as different by speaking to the man. It was not expected.
“And the afternoon?” he pressed.
“Oh, we all had luncheon rather early and everyone disappeared to plan the evening, because we were having a party and there were to be amateur theatricals. Gisela was terribly good at it, and she was to take the lead.”
“Was that unusual?”
“Not at all. She often did. One of her great gifts is the ability to enjoy herself completely, and to do it in such a way that everyone around her enjoys themselves also. She can be totally impulsive, think of the most entertaining ideas, and then simply do them. Without making a fuss or getting weighed down in preparations, which kill the fun. She is the most spontaneous person I ever have known. I think after all the rigid formality of court, when
The only other diners present when Monk arrived were Stephan, Florent and Lord Wellborough. The conversation was unremarkable. When they had finished, Stephan offered to show Monk around the nearer parts of the estate, and Monk accepted with alacrity.
“What are you going to do to help Zorah?” Stephan asked as he conducted Monk around the orangery, pointing towards various features while saying nothing about them at all. “We were all here after Friedrich’s fall, but he was confined to his rooms, and Gisela wouldn’t allow anyone else to visit him except Rolf, and even he went only twice, so far as I know. But anyone at all could have visited the kitchens or waylaid a servant on the stairs who was carrying a tray.”
“Is that why you think it was Gisela?” Monk asked.
Stephan seemed genuinely surprised. “No, of course not. It’ll be the devil’s own job to prove he was murdered at all! I believe it was Gisela because Zorah says it was. And she is absolutely right about him always believing he could return, and Gisela knowing he couldn’t … not with her.”
“Not very convincing,” Monk observed.
They walked around the edge of the orangery and along a path between graceful hedges of close-clipped hornbeam. At the end of the way, about forty yards, there was a stone urn dripping scarlet with late geraniums, and behind that a dark yew hedge.
“I know,” Stephan said with a sudden smile. “But if youknew those people it would make sense to you. If you had seen Gisela …”
“Tell me about the day before the accident,” Monk said quickly. “Or if you prefer, the day you remember most vividly, even the week before.”
Stephan thought for several minutes before he began. They moved slowly down the path towards the urn and the yew hedge, then turned left along an elm avenue that stretched for half a mile.
“Breakfast was always much the same,” he said, knitting his brows in concentration. “Gisela was not down. She ate in her room, and Friedrich took his with her. He usually did. It was one of the rituals of the day. I think, actually, he liked to watch her dress. No matter what time or season, she always looked superb. She had a genius for it.”
Monk made no reply to that. “What did everyone else do, after?” he asked, slowing the pace a trifle.
Stephan smiled. “Florent flirted with Zorah—in the orangery, I think. Brigitte went walking alone. Wellborough and Rolf talked business in the library. Lady Wellborough did something domestic. I spent the morning playing golf with Friedrich and Klaus. Gisela and Evelyn walked roughly where we are now, and quarreled over something. They came back separately, and both in a temper.”
They were moving away from the house, still under the elms. A gardener passed them pushing a wheelbarrow. He raised his cap respectfully and mumbled something. Stephan acknowledged him with a nod. Monk felt rude, but he did not wish to distinguish himself as different by speaking to the man. It was not expected.
“And the afternoon?” he pressed.
“Oh, we all had luncheon rather early and everyone disappeared to plan the evening, because we were having a party and there were to be amateur theatricals. Gisela was terribly good at it, and she was to take the lead.”
“Was that unusual?”
“Not at all. She often did. One of her great gifts is the ability to enjoy herself completely, and to do it in such a way that everyone around her enjoys themselves also. She can be totally impulsive, think of the most entertaining ideas, and then simply do them. Without making a fuss or getting weighed down in preparations, which kill the fun. She is the most spontaneous person I ever have known. I think after all the rigid formality of court, when
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