The Twisted Root

Начало книги

The young man stood in the doorway, his face pale, his fingers clenched on his hat, twisting it around and around.

"Mr. William Monk, agent of enquiry?" he asked. He looked to be in his early twenties.

"Yes," Monk acknowledged, rising to his feet. "Come in, sir. How can I assist you?"

"Lucius Stourbridge." He held out his hand, coming farther into the room. He did not even glance at the two comfortable armchairs or the bowl of flowers pleasantly scenting the air. These had been Hester’s idea. Monk had been perfectly happy with the sparse and serviceable appearance the rooms had presented before.

"How can I help you, Mr. Stourbridge?" Monk asked, indicating one of the chairs.

Lucius Stourbridge sat uncomfortably on the edge of it, looking as if he did so more because he had been instructed to than from any desire. He stared at Monk intently, his eyes filled with misery.

"I am betrothed to be married, Mr. Monk," he began. "My future wife is the most charming, generous and noble-minded person you could wish to meet." He glanced down, then up at Monk again quickly. The ghost of a smile crossed his face and vanished. "I am aware that my opinion is prejudiced, and I must sound naive, but you will find that others also regard her most highly, and my parents have a sincere affection for her."

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