Cardman greeted Monk with courtesy. He stood in the morning room to answer Monk's questions, and if his mask slipped, it was only to show a swift anger that Mary Havilland was regarded by the church as a sinner who, by the finality of death, had forfeited her chance of repentance.

Monk felt helpless to reach out to the man's hard, isolated grief. Cardman was intensely private; perhaps it was his only armor. Monk had no wish to breach it. Instead he asked if he might see the housekeeper, and was conducted along the corridor and, after a brief enquiry, shown into her room.

"Good morning, Mrs. Kitching," he began.

"Hmph," she replied, her back straight as a ruler as she sat opposite him in her small, neat sitting room. She looked him up and down, noting his police uniform jacket-a sartorial burden he bore with difficulty- and then his white shirt collar and beautiful leather boots. "Police officer, is it? More of the officer, and less of the police, maybe? And what is it you're wanting now? I'll not say ill of Miss Havilland, so you can save your time. I'll go to my own grave saying she was a good woman, and I'll tell the good Lord so to his face."

"I'm investigating why she died, and who was the cause of it, Mrs. Kitching. I'd like to know a little more about the other people concerned in her life. For example, did you know Mr. Toby Argyll? I imagine he called here to see her quite often, especially after her father's death?"

"And before," she said quickly.

"Were they very close?"

"Depends what you mean." It was not a prevarication; she wished to be exact. Her eyes were more direct than those of any servant he had questioned before, at least as long as he could remember.

A thought flashed across his mind. "Will you be looking for another position after this, Mrs. Kitching?"

"I've no need to. I've saved a bit. I'm going to live with my brother and his wife, in Dorking. I'm just staying here till matters are settled."

He smiled. She was exactly the witness he was looking for, and so he returned to his earlier question. "What I mean, Mrs. Kitching, was he in love with her, and she with him?"

She gave a little sigh. "She certainly wasn't in love with him, but she started out liking him well enough. He was very personable, and he had wit and intelligence."

"And how did he feel about her?"

"Oh, she was handsome, Miss Mary." She blinked and took a deep breath. It was very clearly difficult for her to govern her distress. She glared at him, as if waking her grief were his fault. "That's what most gentlemen like, until they know you a little better."

"And then?" He kept his expression perfectly bland.