She smiled ruefully, and began her tea at last. “He taught me how to carry myself, how to dress, how to conduct myself with others. I would never have passed for gentry, and have entertained in my own home, but over the years I have learned more confidence, and I don't believe I ever embarrassed him in front of his colleagues. You see, he was the opposite of Caleb, he had endless patience. I cannot remember him ever losing his temper. He would have considered it wrong, that he was betraying the best in himself.” “I wish I had known him,” Hester said sincerely. He might have been a trifle pompous, perhaps he lacked humor or imagination, but he must have been a man of immense kindness and an inner integrity which was both rare and beautiful. “Thank you for telling me so much.” She rose to take her leave.

“I am sorry to have had to ask you. It must have given you pain.” “And pleasure.” Genevieve rose also. “I like to talk about him. It is very sad when people cease to mention someone when he is dead. It is almost like denying he ever lived. I am glad you wanted to know.”

Monk already knew from Genevieve where Angus had grown up, and even before Ebenezer Goode had left his home, Monk was in a hansom bound for the railway station and the first train to the Berkshire village of Chilverley. It was a tedious journey, necessitating a number of changes and delays, moving from cozy waiting room with fire, to icy, wind-raked platforms, then chilly trains. It was quarter to eleven when he finally stepped off at Chilverley in a bright, hard wind.

“Chilverley Hall?” the stationmaster said obligingly. “Yes sir. About three miles north from here. That way.” He pointed half behind him. “Know Colonel Patterson, do you? You look like a military man, if I may say so.” Monk was astonished. Had it not been so contrary to his own interests, he would have let his temper have full rein.

“Colonel Patterson?” he said grimly. “This is Chilverley?”

“Yes sir, Chilverley, Berkshire.” He looked at Monk anxiously. “Who were you looking for, sir?”

“The family home of Lord Ravensbrook.”

“Oh, bless you, sir. It is the family home of the Ravensbrooks, but he don't live here no more. Sold it. Moved up to live in London, so they say.”

“I'm surprised it wasn't entailed,” Monk said irrelevantly.

“Daresay it might have been.” The stationmaster wagged his head. “But Lord Milo were the last o' the line. No reason why he shouldn't sell, if he wanted. Must have got a tidy sum for it.” He touched his cap respectfully as two gentlemen, one in a Norfolk jacket, the other in a greatcoat, went by and through the gate to the road.

“No brothers, or even cousins?” Monk had no reason to ask, it simply occurred to him.

The stationmaster turned back to him.