Monk realized how achingly hungry he was. Orme must be also. Perhaps that was at least in part why he was still cold.

"Thank you," he accepted. "We've come straight from the river. A sandwich and a glass of ale would be very gracious of you."

The butler looked faintly uncomfortable, as if realizing he should have thought of it himself "Immediately, sir," he acknowledged. "Would cold roast beef and a spot of mustard be right?"

"It would be perfect," Monk answered.

Orme thanked him warmly as soon as the door was closed. " 'Ope it comes afore Mr. Argyll gets back," he added. "Wouldn't be decent to eat it in front of 'im, specially if Mrs. Argyll comes too. Don't reckon as she will, though. Most ladies take bad news 'ard."

The sandwiches arrived and were consumed ravenously, just before Argyll returned. But Orme was mistaken in his second guess: Jenny Argyll chose to see them. She came in ahead of her husband, a handsome woman with eyes and mouth startlingly like those of her dead sister, but darker hair and not the same high cheekbones. Now she too was bleached of color and her eyelids were puffy from weeping, but she was remarkably well composed, given the circumstances. She was wearing a dark red woollen dress with a wide skirt and her hair was elaborately coiffed in a style that must have taken her lady's maid at least half an hour to accomplish. She regarded Monk with civility but no interest at all.

Argyll closed the door behind them and waited until his wife was seated.

Monk expressed his condolences again.

"Thank you," Mrs. Argyll said briefly. "My husband says that Mary fell off Westminster Bridge. Toby was with her. Perhaps he tried to stop her and failed. Poor Toby. I think he still loved her, in spite of everything." The tears filled her eyes again but she ignored them and her face remained under control. It was impossible to tell what the effort cost her. She did not look at her husband, nor did she reach to touch him.