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“That’s appalling!” Hester was angry, a flush spreading up her cheeks. “Nobody’s even been charged yet, let alone tried!”
“We can’t fight from here,” Monk said sharply. He could hear his own voice rising as he thought of how quickly the situation could become violent. He was afraid for Hester. H
er indignation could make her careless of her own safety, and a mob would distinguish little between their victim and someone who chose to protect him.
Lanyon said exactly the same. “You come now, quickly,” he ordered, looking at Breeland. “Don’t get any fancy ideas of causing a riot and hoping you’ll get away in it. You won’t! You’ll just get beaten, like as not, and Miss Alberton along with you.”
Breeland hesitated a moment, as if he actually weighed such a plan in his mind, then looked at Merrit’s white face and the misery in her eyes, and abandoned the idea. As if surrendering, he lowered his head a fraction and walked obediently between Lanyon and the constable.
Merrit followed a few paces behind, with the second constable, leaving Monk, Hester and Philo Trace on the platform.
“We must go to Mrs. Alberton,” Trace said anxiously. “She will be distracted with worry. I wish to heaven there were something we could do to clear Merrit of this crime. Surely we can prevent her from being charged?” His words were positive, but his voice belied them. He looked at Monk as if he hoped for help beyond his own power to conceive. “Surely they wouldn’t really think …” He trailed off. He turned to Hester as if to say more, then saw her face.
They all knew Merrit was in love with Breeland, and loyal. That alone would have forbidden her from abandoning him, whatever the truth of the murder. She would see excusing herself as betrayal, which was to her a sin of even greater evil than the original crime. Perhaps, too late, she would regret it, but in any foreseeable future she would not separate herself from Breeland or her fate from his.
“We’ll go straightaway,” Monk agreed.
They were tired after the long train journey in the oppressive heat of early August. Hester was acutely aware of being stained with smuts from the engine fires and that at least the lower foot of her traveling dress was grimed with dust, not to mention creased, but she did not demur. It was also nearly seven in the evening, and hardly the hour to make unannounced calls upon anyone. That too was irrelevant. Without further discussion they piled their cases upon the porter’s wagon and made for the exit, and the nearest cab to take them to Tavistock Square.
Judith Alberton received them without even a pretense of formality. Unconsciously, it was Philo Trace to whom she looked first.
“We have Merrit,” he responded, his eyes softening as they met hers. “She is very tired, and much distressed by all that has happened, but she is unhurt and quite well.”
Her face flooded with relief, but she hesitated.
As if reading her thoughts he answered, “She is not married to Breeland, and she knew nothing of her father’s death … but then you cannot have imagined that she did.”
“No … no, of course not.” She gazed straight back at him, as if to emphasize her words. She was waiting for something else, something so far unsaid. She recollected herself, and that Monk and Hester were still awaiting her acknowledgment. She flushed slightly, turning to them. “I cannot say how grateful I am to you for your courage and skill in bringing back my daughter. I confess, I thought I was asking the impossible. I–I hope you sustained no injury? I cannot believe there was no hardship. I … I wish there were some way I could reward you more than in words, or money, because what you have done is greater than either.”
“We succeeded this far,” Monk said simply. “That is a very considerable reward in itself. I don’t wish to sound graceless, Mrs. Alberton, but would you accept that we did it because we also believed it to be important, and not take upon yourself an additional burden of gratitude.”
Hester found herself smiling with a warmth of pride. It was a generous speech, and she knew it was said spontaneously. She reached out her hand and placed it very lightly on his arm, avoiding his gaze, and moved half a step closer to him. She knew he was aware of her by the slightest warmth up his cheek.
Judith Alberton was smiling also, but the fear had not left her eyes. She must have been far more aware than they of what the newspapers had written.
“Thank you. Please come and sit down. Are you hungry? Have you had any rest since you arrived?”
They accepted gratefully, without telling her exactly how arduous the journey had been. They were partway through an excellent dinner when Robert Casbolt arrived, coming straight into the dining room without waiting for the footman to announce him. He glanced at the assembled company around the table, but his eyes rested on Judith.
She looked up at him without surprise, as if he frequently appeared in such a way.
Hester saw the glint of anger in Trace’s expression, masked the moment later, but she thought she understood it.
If Casbolt saw it also, he gave no sign.
“She is safe and well,” Judith said in answer to his unspoken question.
Something in him darkened, and he could not hide the foreboding in it. “Where is she?”
Judith’s mouth tightened. “The police have arrested her, and of course Breeland.”
“They have Breeland!” He was startled. For the first time he looked fully at Monk, but still ignored Philo Trace. “You brought him back? I commend you! How did you persuade him?”
“At gunpoint,” Monk said dryly.
Casbolt made no attempt to hide his admiration. “That is truly remarkable! I apologize for underestimating you. I admit, I had little hope you could succeed.” He seemed overwhelmed. He pulled out one of the empty chairs and sat down. He waved away the footman’s offer of food or wine with a smile, not taking his eyes from Monk. “Please tell me what happened. I am most eager to know.” He did not ask Judith’s permission, but perhaps he already understood that she would care even more than he.
Monk began to recount their adventures, condensing the tale as much as he could, but frequently both Casbolt and Judith interrupted him, asking for more detail and offering praise or expressing alarm at their danger. Judith particularly was distressed at the plight of the American people caught up in a terrible war. It seemed there were vivid, fragmented reports of the battle at Bull Run in the newspaper already. They said the slaughter had been fearful.
