William Monk 02 - A Dangerous Mourning

discussing the parlormaid who was dismissed two years ago.”
    “Whatever for?” Romola’s voice was heavy with disbelief. “Surely that can hardly matter now?”
    “Probably not,” Beatrice agreed.
    “Then why are you wasting time discussing it?” Romola came over to the center of the room and sat down in one of the smaller chairs, arranging her skirts gracefully. “You all look as if it were fearful. Has something happened to her?”
    “I have no idea,” Beatrice snapped, her temper broken at last. “I should think it is not unlikely.”
    “Why should it?” Romola was confused and frightened; this was all too much for her. “Didn’t you give her a character? Why did you dismiss her anyway?” She twisted around to look at Araminta, her eyebrows raised.
    “No, I did not give her a character,” Beatrice said flatly.
    “Well why not?” Romola looked at Araminta and away again. “Was she dishonest? Did she steal something? No one told me!”
    “It was none of your concern,” Araminta said brusquely.
    “It was if she was a thief! She might have taken something of mine!”
    “Hardly. She charged that she had been raped!” Araminta glared at her.
    “Raped?” Romola was amazed, her expression changedfrom fear to total incredulity. “You mean—
raped!
Good gracious!” Relief flooded her, the color returning to her beautiful skin. “Well if she was of loose morals of course you had to dismiss her. No one would argue with that. I daresay she took to the streets; women of that sort do. Why on earth are we concerned about it now? There is nothing we can do about it, and probably there never was.”
    Hester could contain herself no longer.
    “She was raped, Mrs. Moidore—taken by force by someone heavier and stronger than herself. That does not stem from immorality. It could happen to any woman.”
    Romola stared at her as if she had grown horns. “Of course it stems from immorality! Decent women don’t get violated—they don’t lay themselves open to it—they don’t invite it—or frequent such places in such company. I don’t know what kind of society you come from that you could suggest such a thing.” She shook her head a little. “I daresay your experiences as a nurse have robbed you of any finer feelings—I beg your pardon for saying such a thing, but you force the issue. Nurses have a reputation for loose conduct which is well known—and scarcely to be envied. Respectable women who behave moderately and dress with decorum do not excite the sort of passions you are speaking of, nor do they find themselves in situations where such a thing could occur. The very idea is quite preposterous—and repulsive.”
    “It is not preposterous,” Hester contradicted flatly. “It is frightening, certainly. It would be very comfortable to suppose that if you behave discreetly you are in no danger of ever being assaulted or having unwelcome attentions forced upon you.” She drew in her breath. “It would also be completely untrue, and a quite false sense of safety—and of being morally superior and detached from the pain and the humiliation of it. We would all like to think it could not happen to us, or anyone we know—but it would be wrong.” She stopped, seeing Romola’s incredulity turning to outrage, Beatrice’s surprise and a first spark of respect, and Araminta’s extraordinary interest and something that looked almost like a momentary flicker of warmth.
    “You forget yourself!” Romola said. “And you forget who we are. Or perhaps you never knew? I am not aware what manner of person you nursed before you came here, but Iassure you we do not associate with the sort of people who assault women.”
    “You are a fool,” Araminta said witheringly. “Sometimes I wonder what world it is you live in.”
    “Minta,” Beatrice warned, her voice on edge, her hands clenched together again. “I think we have discussed the matter enough. Mr. Monk will pursue whatever course he deems appropriate. There is nothing more we can offer at the moment. Hester, will you please help me upstairs? I wish to retire. I will not be down for dinner, nor do I wish to see anyone until I feel better.”
    “How convenient,” Araminta said coldly. “But I am sure we shall manage. There is nothing you are needed for. I shall see to everything, and inform Papa.” She swung around to Monk. “Good day, Mr. Monk. You must have enough to keep you busy for some time—although whether it will serve any