William Monk 04 - A Sudden Fearful Death

question.
    “Certainly ma’am,” he replied stiffly, taking the card without reading it. “But Lady Stanhope is not receiving at present.”
    “This is not a social call,” Callandra replied. “It is a matter of medical emergency.”
    “Is—is Sir Herbert ill?” The man’s face paled.
    “Not so far as I am aware.”
    He hesitated, in spite of experience, uncertain what best to do. Then he met her eyes; something in him recognized power and authority and a strength of will which would not be overridden or gainsaid.
    “Yes, ma’am. If you would be good enough to wait in the morning room.” He opened the door wider to allow her in, and then showed her to a very formal room, at present devoid of flowers and bleak in its sense of being unused. It was like a house in mourning.
    Philomena Stanhope came after only a few moments, looking pinched and anxious. She regarded Callandra without apparent recognition. Society had never meant anything to her, and the hospital was only a place where her husbandworked. Callandra was touched by pity for the ruinous disillusion she was about to inflict on her. Her comfortable family and home were about to be ripped apart.
    “Lady Callandra?” Philomena said questioningly. “My footman says you have some news for me.”
    “I am afraid I have. I profoundly regret it, but further tragedy may occur if I do not.”
    Philomena remained standing, her face even paler.
    “What is it?” She was so shaken already that the rules of etiquette were totally ignored. This was in a way worse than death. Death was expected, and there were procedures to follow; whatever the grief, one knew what to do. And death visited all households; there was no shame or peculiarity about it. “What has happened?”
    “It is not a simple thing to tell,” Callandra replied. “I should prefer to do so seated.” She was about to add that it would be easier, but the words were absurd. Nothing could make this easier.
    Philomena remained where she was. “Please tell me what has happened, Lady Callandra.”
    “Nothing new has happened. It is simply knowledge of old sins and sadness which must be known in order to prevent them happening again.”
    “To whom?”
    Callandra took a breath. This was every bit as painful as she had foreseen—perhaps even worse.
    “To your children, Lady Stanhope.”
    “My children?” There was no real alarm in her, only disbelief. “What have my children to do with this—this ordeal? And what can you possibly know about it?”
    “I am one of the governors of the Royal Free Hospital,” Callandra replied, sitting down, whether Philomena chose to or not. “Your daughter Victoria consulted a surgeon there some time ago, when she first knew she was with child.”
    Philomena was very pale, but she kept her composure and she did not sit down.
    “Indeed? I did not know that, but it does not seem to meto be of importance now. Unless—unless you are saying that it was he who marred her?”
    “No—it was not.” Thank God she could say that. “Her pregnancy was too far advanced. He refused to operate.”
    “Then I cannot see how raising the matter now can serve any purpose whatsoever, except to open old wounds.”
    “Lady Stanhope …” Callandra hated this. She could feel her stomach clenching so hard her whole body hurt. “Lady Stanhope—do you know who was the father of Victoria’s child?”
    Philomena’s voice was strangled. “That is hardly your concern, Lady Callandra.”
    “You do know!”
    “I do not. Nothing I could say would persuade her to tell me. The very fact that I pressed her seemed to drive her to such terror and despair I feared she would take her own life if I continued.”
    “Please sit down.”
    Philomena obeyed, not because Callandra asked her but because her legs threatened to give way if she did not. She stared at Callandra as at a snake about to strike.
    “She did tell the surgeon,” Callandra went on, hearing her own voice in the still room with its dead atmosphere and loathing it. “Because it was one of the circumstances in which he might have considered the operation, had he been consulted sooner.”
    “I don’t understand—Victoria was in excellent health—then …”
    “But the child was a result of incest. The father was her brother Arthur.”
    Philomena tried to speak. Her mouth opened, but no sound came. She was so pale Callandra was afraid she was going to faint, even sitting as she was.
    “I wish I could have