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He arrived in Tavistock Square early in the afternoon and was admitted by Martha herself. The moment she recognized him, her face filled with eagerness, hope that he had come for her battling with fear that it was only to see Hester again and dread that he had something discouraging to tell her after all.
He wished he could free himself from caring about it. It was just another case—and one which he had known from the beginning could only end this way, or worse. And yet the feeling was sharp inside him, not only for Hester but for Martha herself, and above all for Sam Jackson’s children.
“I’m sorry, Miss Jackson,” he said quickly. He should not keep her in even a moment’s false hope. “I traced them as far as working in a public house kitchen in Putney, the Coopers Arms. But after that no one knows where they went, except it was to another job. They weren’t abandoned.” They might very well have been abandoned, but there was nothing to be served by telling her that.
The stiffness relaxed out of her body and her shoulders drooped. She blinked, for an instant fighting tears. Only then did he realize how much she had truly hoped, in spite of all his warnings. He felt painfully helpless. He tried to think of anything to say or do to ease her distress, and there was nothing.
She gulped once and swallowed.
“Thank you, Mr. Monk. It was very good of you to try for me.” She blinked several times more, then turned away, her voice thick with unreleased weeping. “I’m sure you’d like to see Miss Latterly. Please …” She did not finish, but led him wordlessly across the hall and up the stairs towards the sitting room which she and Hester shared. She opened the door and stood back for him to enter, retreating immediately.
Hester put down her book. He noticed it was on Indian history. She stood up, coming towards him, searching his face.
“You couldn’t find them,” she said softly. It was not a question, but her eyes were full of disappointment she could not hide.
He hated having let her down, even though she had never expected the impossible. He realized with a jolt how much her feelings mattered to him, and he resented it. It made him dependent upon her and hideously vulnerable. That was something he had tried all his life to avoid. It had not even happened in a way he could have foreseen and over which he had control. It should have been some gentlewoman in love with him, over whom he could exercise a decent influence
and whose effect upon him he could control.
“Of course I couldn’t find them!” he said sharply. “I told you that in the beginning. I tried hard, I questioned everyone who had anything to do with it, but there was never any reasonable chance of success. Dammit, it was twenty years ago. What did you expect?” He took a breath, looking at the pain in her eyes. “You were irresponsible leading Martha to hope,” he went on.
“I didn’t!” she retorted with a sudden flare of temper. “I always said there was very little chance. She can’t help hoping. Wouldn’t you? No—perhaps you wouldn’t. Sometimes I think you don’t understand ordinary feelings at all. You haven’t got any.” She turned away, her body rigid.
It was so untrue it was monstrous. As usual, she was being utterly unjust. He was about to say so when there was a heavy footstep in the corridor outside. A moment later, after the merest hesitation, the door opened and Athol Sheldon stood in the threshold. He was dressed in a smart checked jacket of a Norfolk style and his face was pink with fresh air and exertion. Apparently he had just arrived. As usual, he was oblivious of the emotions of those he had interrupted.
“Good afternoon, Miss Latterly. How are you this delightful day? Good afternoon, Mr. Monk. How are you, sir?” Apparently the expressions on their faces told him nothing. “Gabriel seems a little disturbed today.” He frowned slightly. “If I may say so, Miss Latterly, I think you should not have told him the news about Melville. It has distressed him unnecessarily. And, of course, poor Perdita should never have had to learn of such depravity. That was a grave misjudgment on your part, and I am disappointed in you.”
The blood rushed in a tide up Hester’s face. Monk’s emotion changed instantly from anger with her to a rage with Athol he could barely control. He made the effort only because he did not wish to speak without thinking and possibly make the matter worse for her. To his amazement, he found himself shaking.
“Mistaken or not,” Hester said between her teeth, “it is my judgment that Lieutenant Sheldon should be treated as an adult and told whatever he wishes to know. He was interested in the Melville case and concerned for both justice and the human tragedy involved.”
“And what about Mrs. Sheldon?” Athol demanded, staring at Hester angrily. “Have you given the slightest thought to her feelings, with your zeal to press what you see as your duty to my brother? Have you for an instant thought what irreparable damage you might be doing to her?” His eyes widened. “What about her innocence, her susceptibilities, even her ability to continue as the charming and gentle creature she is and for which he married her … eh?”
“It is not possible to protect anyone from the tragedies and misfortunes of life forever, Mr. Sheldon,” she replied stiffly. “I don’t think Mrs. Sheldon wishes to be locked away. She would be denying the chance to grow up, or to be any use to anyone. No person with a whit of courage wishes to remain a child forever….”
His face was mottled with purple and his eyes were now brilliant with outrage.
“Miss Latterly, you exceed yourself! You have shown much spirit and initiative in going to the Crimea to nurse soldiers, and I am sure much worthy devotion to duty, as you perceive it, but I am afraid you are not suitable for nursing in the home of a gentleman. You have picked up too much of the manner and beliefs of army life. It is most unfortunate, but I must recommend to my brother that you be released as soon as I can find someone to replace you.”
Hester was white-faced. For a moment she looked almost as if she might be about to crumple.
Monk was furious. Now he would intervene, whether she liked it or not.
But he was prevented by Perdita herself, who was standing in the doorway, also wide-eyed and extremely pale. She must have heard their raised voices. Now she was trembling as she steadied herself with one hand on the doorframe behind Athol.
“You will not be replaced, Hester,” she said huskily, and cleared her throat. “Athol, I appreciate that you no doubt have my welfare in mind, but you will not dismiss my staff, or indeed give them any instructions at all. Miss Latterly is in my employ, not yours, and she will stay here as long as I wish her to and she is willing.”
“You are upset, my dear,” Athol said after a moment’s hesitation in amazement at her outburst. “When you have had time to reconsider, you will realize that what I say is right.” He nodded several times to emphasize his certainty.
“It is not right!” she contradicted him, coming into the room and facing him squarely. “Certainly I am upset that Melville is dead, poor creature, and I am upset about the manner of his death—” She corrected herself. “Her death! The whole thing is a most tragic matter altogether. But I am plain angry that you should choose to dismiss my staff without reference to me or my wishes.”
“It is for your good, my dear Perdita—”
“I don’t care whose good it is for!” she shouted at him. “Or whose good you think it is! You will not make my decisions for me.” She took a deep breath and resumed in a normal voice. “And anyway, you are wrong. It is not for my good that I should be shut away from knowing what is going on. What use am I to anybody, especially myself, if life passes me by? Would you allow me to decide for you what you should know and what you shouldn’t?”
He laughed abruptly. “That is hardly comparable, my dear girl. I know an infinitely greater amount about the world and its ways than you do.”
“Of course you do!” she rejoined smartly. “Nobody told you you should stay in the nursery and drink milk for the rest of your life!”
