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She was at a loss for words. He could not remember ever seeing that before. He wanted to say something to show he understood and felt the same anger and loss.
He also thought, against his will and with a curious, sharp hunger, of all the things she had said about joy and not being alone, of having the opportunity to share with someone the bonds of honesty and familiarity which are the deepest of all friendships, the losing of the barriers of fear, which divide.
He reached forward and took her hands and held them in his, quite gently, feeling after a moment her fingers respond. It was not a strong grasp, not a clinging, just a knowledge of the other’s being there, a gentleness for which there were no words, perhaps even a memory of many other times when they had felt the same but had remained separate.
It was a clatter of footsteps on the stairs which disturbed them. Hester pulled away slowly, turning to the door as Perdita came in.
“Oh!” she said, seeing Monk. “Oh, I’m sorry. Hester … I don’t know what to do. It’s just impossible. I can’t manage this!” She was obviously on the edge of tears, her face pink, and she was breathing rapidly. She behaved as if she had already forgotten Monk was there or simply was past caring.
Hester was on the very edge of losing her temper. Monk could see it in the rigidity of her body, especially her neck. When she spoke her voice was brittle.
“Well, if you really can’t, perhaps you had better give up,” she answered. “I don’t know quite what that means. I suppose you do or you wouldn’t have said it. Have the staff look after Gabriel, and you lead a separate life. I don’t know whether you could afford it financially. Maybe Athol would help? Or if you ask him, Gabriel would release you from the marriage altogether. He offered to before. You told me that when I first came. Only then, of course, you said you wouldn’t dream of it.”
Perdita looked as if she had been struck in the face. Her eyes were wide and her mouth slack.
“I’m sure you could marry again,” Hester went on ruthlessly, her voice getting harder and heavier. “You are very pretty—in fact, quite beautiful—and you have a very docile and agreeable nature … just what most men want—”
“Stop it!” Perdita shouted at her. “You mean I’m stupid and cowardly, and no use for anything but to do as I’m told! I’m fine when everything is all right. I can simper and smile and flatter people and be obedient. I can keep my place and make anyone feel comfortable … and superior. But when
something goes wrong, and you need a woman with courage and intelligence, I just run away. I don’t think of anybody but myself. How I feel … and what I want.” Her lips were trembling, but she did not stop. She gulped and swallowed, glaring at Hester. “Then you can step in, all brave and unselfish. You know what to do, what to say. You’re never afraid, never confused. Nothing ever revolts you or makes you want to run away and pretend it never happened!”
Her voice was rising high and becoming louder. The servants must have been able to hear her as far as the kitchen. “Well, I’ll tell you something, Miss Perfect Nurse! Nobody wants a woman who is never wrong. You can’t love somebody who doesn’t need you, who’s never vulnerable or frightened or makes mistakes. I may not be half as clever as you are, or as brave, or know anything about Indian history or soldiers or what it is like to see real war … but I know that.”
Hester stood very stiff, her back like a ramrod, her shoulders clenched so tight Monk felt as if he could see the bones of them pulling against her dress. He was not certain, but he thought she was shivering. This was what she had wanted, what she had intended to happen when she had provoked Perdita … at least he thought it was. But that did not stop it from hurting. There was too much truth in it, and yet it was also so terribly wrong.
“You are lashing out in anger, Mrs. Sheldon,” he said in a low, controlled voice. “And you don’t know what you are talking about. You know nothing of Miss Latterly except what you have seen in this house. There are many kinds of men and many kinds of love. Sometimes we imagine what we must hunger for is a sweet and clinging creature who will feed our vanity and hang upon our words, dependent upon our judgment all the time.” He took a breath. “And then we meet the harder realities of life, and a woman who has the courage, the fire and the intelligence to be our equal, and we discover that those joys far outweigh the irritations and discomforts.” He stared at her very hard. “You must be true to the best in yourself, Mrs. Sheldon, but you have no grounds and no right to insult where you do not know the facts. Miss Latterly may not be loved widely, but she is loved very deeply indeed, more than most women can aspire to or dare to accept.”
The color burned up in Perdita’s cheeks. She was furious and overwhelmed with embarrassment. She did not know what to say, and the rage boiling inside her was only too apparent in her eyes.
Hester, on the other hand, stood as if frozen.
Monk could barely believe he had said what he had. His first instinct, almost taking his breath away, was to deny it, somehow qualify it all so it did not apply to him. The desire to escape was so urgent it was like a physical compulsion.
He saw Hester’s back and shoulders, the dress still pulled tight, her neck muscles stiff. As clearly as if he could see her eyes, he knew she was waiting for him to deny his words, to withdraw or disclaim.
If he did, would it be because they were untrue or because he was an emotional coward?
She would not know the answer to that, but he did. What he had revealed was not untrue.
“If you offer Miss Latterly an apology, I am sure she will accept it,” he said more stiffly than he intended.
Hester took a deep breath.
“Oh …” Perdita sighed. “Oh … yes. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m behaving very badly.” Her eyes filled with tears.
Hester moved forward. “Not nearly as badly as you think. And you are at least partly right. We do love people for their vulnerabilities as well as their strengths. We must have both, even to understand each other, never mind anything more. Just keep trying. Remember how important it is.” Her voice dropped. “Killian Melville is dead. It was probably suicide. Last night.”
Perdita stared at her in horror, then her eyes flew to Monk’s.
“Oh … I’m so sorry! Because of the case? Because of what he was, and because it is illegal?”
“More than that,” he answered her. “Actually, Melville wasn’t a man at all; her name was Keelin, and she was a woman. She dressed as a man and behaved as one in all respects, except towards Isaac Wolff, because it was the only way she would be allowed to practice her profession and use the talents God gave her.” He used the word God without thinking about it until he had said it. Then it was too late to take it back, and perhaps it was what he meant.
Perdita did not move. Her face was filled, and changed with growing realization of what he had said, and something of what it meant. Then she shook her head, at first minutely, then a little more, then more again. Then she turned around and went to the door.
“I’m going back to Gabriel. I’ll tell him. He’ll be terribly sorry. It really is so—so final. It’s too late to get anything back now, to … say anything, mend anything.” And she went out quickly, hand fumbling on the knob to turn it.
Hester finally turned to look at Monk. Her eyes searched his.
