Dark Assassin

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I am! It's at eight o'clock tomorrow evening, and we can both go."

Hester was alarmed. It was a superb idea, far too good to miss, but it was years since she had been to such a function, and she most certainly had nothing suitable to wear. "Rose, I…" It was embarrassing to admit, and it might even look as if she had lost her nerve and were making excuses.

Rose looked at her, then suddenly understood. "Short notice to get a gown," she said tactfully. "Borrow one of mine. I'm taller than you are, but my maid can take it up this afternoon. We must make a plan of action."

Thus it was that Hester accompanied Rose Applegate to the memorial service for the late Sir Edwin Roscastle. It was an extremely formal affair with a large number of people attending, including the cream of society. They arrived at the church and alighted from their carriages in magnificent blacks, purples, grays, and lavenders, according to the degree of mourning they wished to display and the color they believed most became them. Some were deeply mistaken as to the latter, as Rose observed to Hester in a whisper as she pointed out who they were. Rose herself was wearing lavender and dark gray. With her fair hair and pale skin, she cut an extremely elegant figure.

"There she is!" Hester interrupted as she saw Je

Rose shivered convulsively. "We can go in now. Why on earth do they always seem to hold these things at the bitterest time of the year? Why can't people die with some consideration, in the summer?"

"It will be warmer at the reception afterwards," Hester replied. "I hope to heaven the Argylls stay for it!"

"Of course they will!" Rose assured her. "That is where one can curry favor, make useful acquaintances, and generally show off. Which, of course, is what everyone is here for."

"Isn't anyone here to remember Sir Edwin?"

Rose gave her a startled glance. "Certainly not!" she retorted. "He was awful! The sooner he can be forgotten, the better. Dying was the best thing he did, and he did that far too slowly."

Hester thought the judgment rather harsh, but she liked Rose too much to say so. And by the time they had sat through the eulogies and she heard what kind of people admired the deceased and why, she was inclined to take a similar view.

The reception afterwards was a different matter. Everyone else seemed to be just as physically cold and emotionally bored as she and Rose were. They walked rapidly up the hundred yards or so of dark and windy street to the hall where sausages, pies, and delicate hot pastries awaited them, along with various wines. Hester accepted a mulled claret with gratitude. She was surprised when Rose took a lemonade instead, but she made no comment.

They began to move among the other guests, intent upon approaching Je

"I'm so pleased you came," Rose said warmly to Je

Je

Hester remained standing back a few steps, as if Rose was alone. Je

Suddenly Alan Argyll was at Hester's elbow, a plate of savory pastries in his hand.

"Excuse me." He brushed past her, his attention focused on his wife, his face tight and angry. It was almost as if he was frightened that she would in some way betray him. He spoke to Rose, but his words were lost to Hester in the general babble of conversation. He put his hand on Je

Rose spoke again, her eyes wide and tense.

Hester moved closer. She wanted to catch the words, the inflection of the voices. Was Je

Rose turned and saw Hester and introduced them. She hesitated a moment over Hester's name, knowing that Monk would produce powerful and conflicting emotions in both Je

"How do you do," Hester said as calmly as she could, looking first at Je

Was evil really masked by so ordinary a face? Or was Hester simply blind to it?

Rose was making some trivial conversation. They were waiting for Hester to play her part.

"Yes, of course," she said, hoping it was a reasonably appropriate response.

Argyll was looking at her, his eyes cold and guarded.

Je

They were a little crowded. There was no room for the footman to pass between them. Argyll took the tray from him and offered it to Hester. Considering the potency of the mulled wine she had drunk on entering, she decided that lemonade might be wiser this time.

"Thank you," she said, accepting a glass.

Because of the way they were standing, Je

Rose took the lemonade, as before. She lifted her glass. "To the brave men who pioneer social reform.'" she said, and drank deeply.

The rest of them echoed the sentiment. More food was offered. This time it was sweet pastries filled with crushed dried fruit, or delicate custards with unusual flavors.

A portly man with heavy side whiskers took Argyll's attention.

A three-piece musical ensemble began playing a slow, solemn tune.

Rose turned to Je

Je

Suddenly Rose giggled. It was a rich, absurdly happy sound. "Not the food! The music, if you can call it that. Why on earth can't we be honest? Nobody feels like playing a dirge because the old fool is dead. Most of them couldn't wait for him to go. Death is about the only thing that finally made him hold his tongue."