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It also made her quite unlike the women whose lives were familiar to him, his own female relatives, the women he had courted in the past, or been drawn to, the wives of his friends and acquaintances. It made her somehow in another way unknown, even unknowable. It was not entirely a comfortable emotion.
The door opened and a large, ebullient man came in. He was dressed in a Norfolk tweed jacket of an indeterminate brown, and brownish gray trousers. His stance, his expression, everything about him was full of energy.
“Athol Sheldon!” he announced, holding out his hand. “I understand you’ve come to see Miss Latterly? Excellent woman. Sure she’ll care extremely well for my brother. Hideous experience, losing an arm. Don’t really know what to say to help.” For a moment he looked confused. Then by force of will and belief he assumed an air of confidence again. “Best a day at a time, what? Courage! Don’t meet tomorrow’s problems before they’re here. Too easy to get morbid. Good thing to have a nurse, I think. Family’s too close, at times.” He stood in the middle of the room, seeming to fill it with his presence. “Do you know Miss Latterly well?”
“Yes,” Rathbone said without hesitation. “We have been friends for some years.” Actually it was not as long as it seemed, if one counted the actual span of time rather than the hectic events which had crowded it. There were many other people he had known far longer but with whom he had shared little of depth or meaning. Time was a peculiarly elastic measurement. It was an empty space, given meaning only by what it contained, and afterwards distorted in memory.
“Ah … good.” Athol obviously wanted to say something else, but could find no satisfactory words. “Remarkable thing for a woman, what? Going out to the Crimea.”
“Yes,” Rathbone agreed, waiting for Athol to add whatever it was he really wanted to say.
“Don’t suppose it’s easy to settle down when you come back,” Athol continued, glancing at Rathbone curiously. He had very round, very direct eyes. “Not sure it’s entirely a good thing.”
Rathbone knew exactly what he meant, and thought so too. It had forced Hester to see and hear horror that no person should have to know, to experience violence and deprivation, and to find within herself not only strength but intelligence, skill and courage she might not have conceived, let alone exercised, at home in England. She had proved herself the equal of many men whose authority she would never have questioned in normal circumstances. Sometimes she had even shown herself superior, when the crisis had been great enough. It upset the natural, accepted order of things. One could not unlearn knowledge so gained. And she could not and would not pretend.
Rathbone agreed, but he found himself resenting the fact that Athol Sheldon should remark it. Instantly he was defensive.
“Not entirely painless, certainly; but if you consider the work of someone like Miss Nightingale, you cannot but be enormously grateful for the difference she will make to medical care. We may never count the millions of lives her methods will save, not to mention the sheer suffering relieved.”
“Yes …” Athol nodded, but there was no easing of the expression in his face. He pushed his hands into his pockets and then took them out again. “Of course. Admirable. But it changes one.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Changes one,” Athol repeated, moving restlessly around the room before turning to face Rathbone. “A woman is designed by God and by nature to create a gentle and safe place, a place of inner peace and a certain innocence, if you like, for those who are obliged to face horror or evil.” He frowned, looking intensely at Rathbone. “It changes a person, you know, the sight of real evil. We should protect women from it … so they in turn can protect us from ourselves.” He spread his large hands wide. “So they can renew us, revive our spirits, and keep a haven worth striving for, worth … fighting or dying in order to—to protect!”
“Has Miss Latterly done something that disturbs you, Mr. Sheldon?” Rathbone asked anxiously.
“Well …” Athol bit his lip. “You see, Sir Oliver, my brother Gabriel has seen some appalling sights in India, quite shocking.” He frowned and lowered his voice confidentially. “Unfortunately he cannot put them from his mind. He has spoken of them to Miss Latterly, and she is of the opinion that my sister-in-law, Mrs. Sheldon, should learn a little of Indian history, and then of this wretched Mutiny, in order to be able to understand what Gabriel has experienced. So he can share his feelings with her, you understand?” He watched Rathbone’s expression closely. “You see? Quite inappropriate. Perdita should never have to know about such things. And poor Gabriel will recover far more rapidly, and more completely, if he can spend his time with people who won’t keep reminding him. It is amazing, Sir Oliver, what an effort of will a man can make to live up to a woman’s expectations of him, and what he can do in his determination to guard her from ugly and degrading knowledge.” He shook his head, pursing his lips. “Miss Latterly does not seem persuaded of it. And of course I do not have the authority to comm
and her.”
Rathbone laughed. “Neither do I, believe me, Mr. Sheldon. But I shall certainly put the point to her, if you wish me to.”
Athol’s face cleared. “Would you? I should be most obliged. Perhaps you had better come up and meet my brother. Miss Latterly will be with him. She is very good reading to him, and the like. An excellent woman, please never think that I mean otherwise!”
“Of course not.” Rathbone smiled to himself and followed Athol out of the library, up the stairs and into a large bedroom where Hester was sitting in a rocking chair with a book open on her lap, and in the freshly made bed a young man was propped up on pillows, turned towards her. Rathbone did not immediately notice his empty sleeve; his nightgown almost camouflaged it. But the disfigurement to the left side of his face was horrifying and it took all the effort of will of which he was capable to keep it from showing in his expression, or even in his voice.
He realized as the young man swung around at the entrance of a stranger how insensitive it was of Athol not to have asked first if he was welcome and to have warned them both, Gabriel of the intrusion, and Rathbone of what he would see.
Anger flickered across Hester’s face and was disguised only with difficulty, and perhaps because it was superseded by surprise at recognizing Rathbone. Apparently it was Athol to whom the footman had delivered his message, and possibly Perdita.
After the first shock, Hester seized the initiative. She rose to her feet, smiled briefly at Rathbone, then turned to the man in the bed.
“Gabriel, this is my friend Sir Oliver Rathbone.” She looked at Rathbone, ignoring Athol. “Oliver, I should like to introduce you to Lieutenant Gabriel Sheldon. He was one of the four survivors of the siege of Cawnpore and was subsequently wounded while still serving in the Indian army. He has only been home a very short time.”
“How do you do, Lieutenant Sheldon,” Rathbone said gravely. “It is very good of you to allow me to call upon Miss Latterly in your home and without the slightest warning. I would not have taken such a liberty were it not a matter of urgency to me, and to my present client, who may face ruin if I cannot defend him successfully.”
Gabriel was still overcoming his self-consciousness and sense of vulnerability. This was the first time since his return that he had been faced with a stranger.
“You are welcome,” he said a little hoarsely, then coughed and cleared his throat. “It sounds a most serious matter.” It was not a question. He would not have been so inquisitive.
“I am a barrister,” Rathbone replied, determined to keep a normal conversation going. “And in this have a present case of which I should like a woman’s view. I admit I am utterly confused.”
Gabriel was interested. His eyes were intelligent and direct and Rathbone found himself meeting them very easily, without having to make a deliberate effort to avoid staring at the appalling scar and the lips pulled awry by it.
“Is it a capital case?” Gabriel asked, then instantly apologized. “I’m sorry; I have no business to intrude. Forgive me.”
“Not at all,” Rathbone replied quite spontaneously. “It is serious only in the damages if my client loses, but the offense is relatively slight. It is a suit for breach of promise.”
