Death of a Stranger A William Monk Novel

by Perry, Anne

• ISBN13: 9780345514165
• ISBN10: 0345514165
• Format: Paperback
• Copyright: 2010-09-28
• Publisher: Ballantine Books

Summary

The tragic death of a railway magnate in a sleazy brothel has shocked high society. Meanwhile, private investigator William Monk acquires a mysterious new client who asks him to ascertain beyond the shadow of a doubt whether or not her fianceacute;, a railway-firm executive, has become enmeshed in fraudulent practices. And so Monk embarks upon a journey that will revive memories stripped from his consciousness by amnesia-as a past almost impossible to bear returns, eerily paralleling a fresh tragedy that has already begun its inexorable unfolding.

Author Biography

Among Anne Perry’s other novels featuring investigator William Monk are Funeral in Blue, Slaves of Obsession, The Twisted Root, and A Breach of Promise. She also writes the popular novels featuring Thomas and Charlotte Pitt, including The Whitechapel Conspiracy, Half Moon Street, Bedford Square, and Brunswick Gardens. Her short story “Heroes” won an Edgar Award. Anne Perry lives in Scotland. Visit her Web site at www.anneperry.net.


From the Hardcover edition.

Excerpts

There was a noise outside the women's clinic in Coldbath Square.
Hester was on night duty. She turned from the stove as the street
door opened, the wood still in her hand. Three women stood in the
entrance, half supporting each other. Their cheap clothes were torn
and splattered with blood, their faces streaked with it, skin yellow
in the light from the gas lamp on the wall. One of them, her fair
hair coming loose from an untidy knot, held her left hand as if she
feared the wrist were broken.

The middle woman was taller, her dark hair loose, and she
was gasping, finding it difficult to get her breath. There was blood
on the torn front of her satin dress and smeared across her high
cheekbones.

The third woman was older, well into her thirties, and there
were bruises purpling on her arms, her neck, and her jaw.

"Hey, missus!" she said, urging the others inside, into the warmth
of the long room with its scrubbed board floor and whitewashed
walls. "Mrs. Monk, yer gotter give us an 'and again. Kitty 'ere's in a
right mess. An' me, an' all. An' I think as Lizzie's broke 'er wrist."

Hester put down the wood and came forward, glancing only
once behind her to make sure that Margaret was already getting hot
water, cloths, bandages, and the herbs to steep, which would make
cleaning the wounds easier and less painful. It was the purpose of
this place to care for women of the streets who were injured or
ill, but who could not pay a doctor and would be turned away
from more respectable charities. It had been the idea of her friend
Callandra Daviot, and Callandra had provided the initial funds before
events in her personal life had taken her out of London. It was
through her also that Hester had met Margaret Ballinger, desperate
to escape a respectable but uninteresting proposal of marriage. Her
undertaking work like this had alarmed the gentleman in question
so much he had at the last moment balked at making the offer, to
Margaret's relief and her mother's chagrin.

Now Hester guided the first woman to one of the chairs in the
center of the floor beside the table. "Come in, Nell," she urged. "Sit
down." She shook her head. "Did Willie beat you again? Surely you
could find a better man?" She looked at the bruises on Nell's arms,
plainly made by a gripping hand.

"At my age?" Nell said bitterly, easing herself into the chair.
"C'mon, Mrs. Monk! Yer mean well, I daresay, but yer feet in't on
the ground. Not unless yer offerin' that nice-lookin' ol' man o'
yours?" She leered ruefully. "Then I might take yer up one day. 'E's
got an air about 'im as 'e could be summat real special. Kind o'
mean but fun, if yer know wot I'm sayin'?" She gave a guffaw of
laughter which turned into a racking cough, and she bent double
over her knees as the paroxysm shook her.

Without being asked, Margaret poured a little whiskey out of a
bottle, replaced the cork, and added hot water from the kettle.
Wordlessly she held it until Nell had controlled herself sufficiently
to take it, the tears still streaming down her face. She struggled
for breath, sipped some of the whiskey, gagged, and then took a
deeper gulp.

Hester turned to the woman called Kitty and found her staring
with wide, horrified eyes, her body tense, muscles so tight her
shoulders all but tore the thin fabric of her bodice.

"Mrs. Monk?" she whispered huskily. "Your husband . . ."

"He's not here," Hester assured her. "There's no one here who
will hurt you. Where are you injured?"

Kitty did not reply. She was shuddering so violently her teeth
chattered.

"Go on, yer silly cow!" Lizzie said impatiently. "She won't 'urt
yer, an' she won't tell no one nuf

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Excerpted from Death of a Stranger by Anne Perry
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.