William Monk 02 - A Dangerous Mourning

that trust completely,” she said quickly. “I expected you to do all you could—I did not expect a miracle. I can see how passion is rising among the public. Perhaps we never had a chance. It was simply necessary thatwe try everything within our power. I am sorry I spoke so foolishly. Of course you could not have suggested Myles—or Araminta. It would only have turned the jury even more against Percival; I can see that if I free my mind from frustration and apply a little intelligence.”
    He smiled at her, his eyes bright. “How very practical.”
    “You are laughing at me,” she said without resentment. “I know it is considered unwomanly, but I see nothing attractive in behaving like a fool when you don’t have to.”
    His smile broadened. “My dear Hester, neither do I. It is extremely tedious. It is more than enough to do so when we cannot help ourselves. What are you going to do now? How will you survive, once Lady Moidore no longer considers herself in need of a nurse?”
    “I shall advertise for someone else who does—until I am able to search for a job in administration somewhere.”
    “I am delighted. From what you say you have not abandoned your hope of reforming English medicine.”
    “Certainly not—although I do not expect to do it in the lifetime your tone suggests. If I initiate anything at all I will be satisfied.”
    “I am sure you will.” His laughter vanished. “A determination like yours will not be thwarted long, even by the Pomeroys of the world.”
    “And I shall find Mr. Monk and go over the whole case again,” she added. “Just so I am sure there is nothing whatever we can still do.”
    “If you find anything, bring it to me.” He was very grave indeed now. “Will you promise me that? We have three weeks in which it might still be possible to appeal.”
    “I will,” she said with a return of the hard, gray misery inside her. The moment’s ineffable warmth was gone, Percival remembered. “I will.” And she bade him good-bye and took her leave to seek Monk.
       Hester returned to Queen Anne Street light-footed, but the leaden feeling was at the edge of her mind waiting to return now that she was forced to think of reality again.
    She was surprised to learn from Mary, as soon as she was in the house, that Beatrice was still confining herself to her room and would take her evening meal upstairs. She had goneinto the ironing room for a clean apron, and found Mary there folding the last of her own linen.
    “Is she ill?” Hester said with some concern—and a pang of guilt, not only for what might be dereliction of her duty but because she had not believed the malady was now anything but a desire to be a trifle spoilt, and to draw from her family the attention she did not otherwise. And that in itself was something of a mystery. Beatrice was not only a lovely woman but vivid and individual, not made in the placid mold of Romola. She was also intelligent, imaginative and at times capable of considerable humor. Why should such a woman not be the very heartbeat of her home?
    “She looked pale,” Mary replied, pulling a little face. “But then she always does. I think she’s in a temper, myself—although I shouldn’t say that.”
    Hester smiled. The fact that Mary should not say something never stopped her, in fact it never even made her hesitate.
    “With whom?” Hester asked curiously.
    “Everyone in general, but Sir Basil in particular.”
    “Do you know why?”
    Mary shrugged; it was a graceful gesture. “I should think over what they said about Miss Octavia at the trial.” She scowled furiously. “Wasn’t that awful! They made out she was so tipsy she encouraged the footman to make advances—” She stopped and looked at Hester meaningfully. “Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”
    “Was that not true?”
    “Not that I ever saw.” Mary was indignant. “She was tipsy, certainly, but Miss Octavia was a lady. She wouldn’t have let Percival touch her if he’d been the last man alive on a desert island. Actually it’s my belief she wouldn’t have let any man touch her after Captain Haslett died. Which is what made Mr. Myles so furious. Now if she’d stabbed him, I’d have believed it!”
    “Did he really lust after her?” Hester asked, for the first time using the right word openly.
    Mary’s dark eyes widened a fraction, but she did not equivocate.
    “Oh yes. You should have seen it in his face. Mind, she was very pretty, you know, in a