Wiliam Monk 01 - The Face of a Stranger

the bone was satisfactorily coated with it and passed down his throat.
    "Thank you," he said freezingly, and then took the water also.
    "I am happy to be of assistance," Hester replied sweetly. "It is most unpleasant to swallow a bone, and so easily done, even in the best of fish—and this is delicious."
    Fabia muttered something blasphemous and inaudible under her breath and Rosamond launched into a sudden and overenthusiastic recollection of the Vicar's midsummer garden party.
    Afterwards, when Fabia had elected to remain with Ursula and the general, and Rosamond hurried Hester out to the trap to resume their visiting of the poor, she whispered to her rapidly and with a little self-consciousness.
    "That was awful. Sometimes you remind me of Josce-lin. He used to make me laugh like that."
    "I didn't notice you laughing," Hester said honestly,
    climbing up into the trap after her and forgetting to arrange her skirts.
    "Of course not." Rosamond took the reins and slapped the horse forward. "It would never do to be seen. You will come again some time, won't you?"
    "I am not at all sure I shall be asked," Hester said ruefully.
    "Yes you will—Aunt Callandra will ask you. She likes you very much—and I think sometimes she gets bored with us here. Did you know Colonel Daviot?"
    "No." For the first time Hester regretted that she had not. She had seen his portrait, but that was all; he had been a stocky, upright man with a strong-featured face, full of wit and temper. "No, I didn't."
    Rosamond urged the horse faster and they careered along the track, the wheels bouncing over the ridges.
    "He was very charming," she said, watching ahead. "Sometimes. He had a great laugh when he was happy-he also had a filthy temper and was terribly bossy—even with Aunt Callandra. He was always interfering, telling her how she ought to do everything—when he got the whim for it. Then he would forget about whatever it was, and leave her to clear up the mess."
    She reined in the horse a little, getting it under better control.
    "But he was very generous," she added. "He never betrayed a friend's confidence. And the best horseman I ever saw—far better than either Menard or Lovel—and far better than General Wadham." Her hair was coming undone in the wind, and she ignored it. She giggled happily. "They couldn't bear each other."
    It opened up an understanding of Callandra that Hester had never imagined before—a loneliness, and a freedom which explained why she had never entertained the idea of remarriage. Who could follow such a highly individual man? And perhaps also her independence had become more precious as she became more used to its pleasures. And perhaps also there had been more unhappiness there
    than Hester had imagined in her swift and rather shallow judgments?
    She smiled and made some acknowledgment of having heard Rosamond's remark, then changed the subject. They arrived at the small hamlet where their further visiting was to be conducted, and it was late in the afternoon, hot and vividly blue and gold as they returned through the heavy fields past the reapers, whose backs were still bent, arms bare. Hester was glad of the breeze of their movement and passing beneath the huge shade trees that leaned over the narrow road was a pleasure. There was no sound but the thud of the horse's hooves, the hiss of the wheels and the occasional bird song. The light gleamed pale on the straw stalks where the laborers had already passed, and darker on the ungathered heads. A few faint clouds, frail as spun floss, drifted across the horizon.
    Hester looked at Rosamond's hands on the reins and her quiet, tense face, and wondered if she saw the timeless beauty of it, or only the unceasing sameness, but it was a question she could not ask.
    * * * * *
    Hester Spent the evening with Callandra in her rooms and did not dine with the family, but she took breakfast in the main dining room the following morning and Rosamond greeted her with evident pleasure.
    "Would you like to see my son?" she invited with a faint blush for her assumption, and her vulnerability.
    "Of course I would," Hester answered immediately; it was the only possible thing to say. "I cannot think of anything nicer." Indeed that was probably true. She was not looking forward to her next encounter with Fabia and she certainly did not wish to do any more visiting with General Wadham, any more "good works" among those whom Fabia considered "the deserving poor," nor to walk in the