William Monk 02 - A Dangerous Mourning

But that is small comfort if it is your husband. I can see the hurt of it in her face. Not often—but sometimes in repose, when she does not think of anyone looking at her, I see pain under the composure.” She turned back, frowning, a slow troubled expression not intended for Hester. “And sometimes I think a terrible anger.”
    “But Mr. Kellard is unhurt,” Hester said very gently, longing to be able to comfort her and knowing now beyond doubt that Percival’s arrest was by no means the beginning of healing. “Surely if Mrs. Kellard were thinking any violence it would be him she would direct it against? It is only natural to be angry, but in time she may forget the sharpness of it, and even think of the fact less and less often.” She nearly added that if Myles were to be tender enough with her, and generous, then it would eventually cease to matter. But thinking of Myles she could not believe it, and to speak such an ephemeral hope aloud might only add to the wound. Beatrice must see him at least as clearly as Hester, who knew him such a short while.
    “Yes,” Beatrice said without conviction. “Of course, you are right. And please, take what time you need this afternoon.”
    “Thank you.”
    As she turned to leave, Basil came in, having knocked so perfunctorily that neither of them heard him. He walked past Hester, barely noticing her, his eyes on Beatrice.
    “Good,” he said briskly. “I see you are dressed today. Naturally you are feeling much better.”
    “No—” Beatrice began, but he cut her off.
    “Of course you are.” His smile was businesslike. “I’m delighted, my dear. This fearful tragedy has naturally affected your health, but the worst of it is already over, and you will gain strength every day.”
    “Over.” She faced him with incredulity. “Do you really believe it is over, Basil?”
    “Of course it is.” He did not look at her but walked around the room slowly, looking at the dressing table, then straightening one of the pictures. “There will be the trial, of course; but you do not need to attend.”
    “I wish to!”
    “If it will help you to feel the matter is dealt with, I can understand it, although I think it would be better if you accepted my account.”
    “It is not over, Basil! Just because they have arrested Percival …”
    He swung around to face her, impatience in his eyes and mouth.
    “All of it is over that needs to concern you, Beatrice. If it will help you to see justice done, then go to the trial by all means, otherwise I advise you to remain at home. Either way, the investigation is closed and you may cease to think about it. You are much better, and I am delighted to see it.” She accepted the futility of arguing and looked away, her hands fiddling with the lace handkerchief from her pocket.
    “I have decided to help Cyprian to obtain a seat in Parliament,” Basil went on, satisfied her concern was over. “He has been interested in politics for some time, and it would be an excellent thing for him to do. I have connections that will make a safe Tory seat available to him by the next general election.”
    “Tory?” Beatrice was surprised. “But his beliefs are radical!”
    “Nonsense!” He dismissed it with a laugh. “He reads some very odd literature, I know; but he doesn’t take it seriously.”
    “I think he does.”
    “Rubbish. You have to consider such stuff to know how to fight against it, that is all.”
    “Basil—I—”
    “Absolute nonsense, my dear. It will do him excellently. You will see the change in him. Now I am due in Whitehall in half an hour. I will see you for dinner.” And with a perfunctory kiss on her cheek he left, again walking past Hester as if she were invisible.
    * * *
    Hester walked into the chocolate house in Regent Street and saw Monk immediately, sitting at one of the small tables, leaning forward staring into the dregs of a glass cup, his face smooth and bleak. She had seen that expression before, when he had thought the Grey case catastrophic.
    She sailed in with a swish of skirts, albeit only blue stuff and not satin, and sat down on the chair opposite him prepared to be angry even before he spoke. His defeatism reached her emotions the more easily because she had no idea how to fight any further herself.
    He looked up, saw the accusation in her eyes, and instantly his face hardened.
    “I see you have managed to escape the sickroom this afternoon,” he said with a heavy trace of sarcasm. “I