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“And with the horse you lent me, I felt the equal of any of them,” Miriam said, suddenly cheerful again, as if she could dismiss the past with a flick of her hand. “I am envious and grateful. With such a veil as you had, I doubt anyone recognized you. We must ride again. Please…”
Beata had no hesitation in agreeing. A weight had gone from her, not far perhaps, but gone nevertheless.
“Oh, certainly. I would like that very much.”
—
ACTUALLY, THE NEXT OCCASION on which Beata had any social contact at all was a brief visit to Dr. Finch’s chambers in Belgravia, regarding the university chair in Ingram’s name. She found the subject awkward because she did not really like Finch, and it was difficult to keep up the pretense that Ingram was an admirable man. She was relieved when Aaron Clive came into the room, interrupting a rather awkward conversation.
As soon as Aaron saw Beata he came over to her, smiling, taking both her hands in his and searching her face.
“How are you? You look wonderful, but you always do.”
She knew she looked tired. She saw her own face in the glass enough to understand what she should wear, whether a dash of color was needed.
“It gets easier every day.” It was a gracious answer that was also the truth.
She saw his candid smile and knew that he understood. How utterly different he was from Ingram!
“Are we progressing?” he asked Finch, turning to him with a smile of optimism.
“Most certainly,” Finch agreed. He was polite and kept a very slight distance, yet Beata had the powerful impression that his respect for Aaron came somewhere close to awe. Was it no more than Aaron’s money, and therefore his power to endow the university with the funds it needed to obtain the very best from its teaching? Or was it the aura of power, and even romance that surrounded a man who had traveled, observed, created, and sustained an estate the size of a small country, as Aaron had? And yet still kept his grace, and always his temper?
They concluded the business quickly. Beata had come in a hansom. It was not worth getting her own carriage out for such a comparatively short journey. Aaron offered to take her home, since he had his carriage, ready for a considerably longer journey back toward his offices down by the river. It was a pleasant afternoon for late November. Unusually, there was no wind.
“Thank you,” she said, accepting with pleasure.
As it was, it took longer than either of them had expected. There was no way to hurry traffic where a dray had turned too abruptly and lost some of its load. They were obliged to wait, since they could move neither back nor forward.
“Miriam told me how much she had enjoyed your ride in the park,” Aaron said conversationally. “I hope you feel free to go again.”
From his tone of voice she was not certain if he was being a little ironic. Had he any idea what Ingram had been like? Could Miriam have told him? Surely not! That thought was unbearable! Or possibly Ingram’s reputation was a good deal more accurate than he would have liked to think? She turned toward him, but there was no criticism in Aaron’s face, only a slight humor, as if he could see the joke, but thought it unkind to let her know that. Many wounds can be borne simply because we believe no one else knows.
“I enjoyed it myself,” she replied. “I find the enforced silence and lack of any theater, opera, concert, even exhibition of anything that might be considered beautiful or frivolous, to be an addition to grief rather than a respite from it.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure that is not what it is meant to be? This is London, yo
u know? Ancient, and magnificent, the complicated heart of empire where manners and conventions are like an enamel on the surface of power. So elegant, but crack it, and you see the raw steel beneath. Your husband was a judge, my dear, one of the arbiters of judgment.”
She looked straight at him, meeting his eyes. “I notice you say ‘of judgment,’ not ‘of justice.’?”
“I did,” he agreed. “Do you fault me for it?” He had been smiling; now suddenly he was totally serious.
“Not at all; I am only surprised you are so candid,” she replied.
As if changing the subject, he looked out at the passing street. “I like London. It surely is the heart of things. One might turn a corner and bump into a man from anywhere on earth, and it would all seem perfectly natural.” He hesitated only a second. “Take this policeman, Monk, who is investigating the wretched escape of the man from Customs, and the drowning of their own man, practically on my doorstep. He would be equally at home in San Francisco. Many of the conditions are similar, and the rules. He seems to know cargoes and seamen, as well as thieves and opportunists, and he is able to measure them up pretty quickly. At least that is my estimate of him. Is it correct, do you think?”
“He is a very good policeman,” she said with care. She did not know Monk personally, but she knew he was Oliver’s closest friend. He had been loyal when Oliver was in trouble. Nothing had been too arduous or too dangerous for him to risk in helping him. And Oliver held a higher regard for Hester Monk than for anyone else she had heard him speak of. That was a subject she used to find painful, if she allowed herself to think of it too closely. At least it was so until she had gone to the clinic and met her. Now Hester seemed remarkably human. But still from what Oliver had said of her, Hester would never have been weak enough to allow any man to ill-use her, let alone do some of the things that Ingram had done to Beata.
Now as Aaron Clive looked at her, she could feel the hot flush burn up her face at the memory.
“I don’t doubt it,” he agreed. “Was he a seaman before he joined the police?”
She had no idea. Oliver had never mentioned Monk’s youth or his upbringing in any way, let alone what other professions he might have followed. “I don’t know. It seems not impossible as he is in the River Police. Why do you ask?”
He smiled widely and leaned back a little. “Just curious. The man will hold part of my fate in his hands, if his suspicions are correct. I am wondering if there really is a plot to rob me, as he believes, and if so, if he is equal to catching those involved. If they are land-based thieves, then I am not concerned. But if they are operating from the river, then their escape would be straight down into the open sea, and I would probably never get any part of my goods back again, if Monk is basically a landsman.”
“Ask him,” she said with a smile in return, to rob the remark of any sting.
