William Monk 06 - Cain His Brother

the final act, but I shall wait, knowing it will not be forever, and that soon, soon my darling, you will cut the ties that bind you to your wife now, and we shall be free to be together for ever.
    Your one true love,
    Drusilla
    There now! If that did not make the man squirm, then he was a rake and a cad and possessed of no decency at all!
    Naturally she had chosen only married men, or those about to be.
    She reread what she had written. Perhaps it was a bit extreme? What Drusilla had done was appalling, but such a letter might damage her irreparably, several almost certainly would, which would make Hester morally no better than Drusilla herself. And she realized with a wave of misery that even Monk was not sure that he had not somehow caused her hatred.
    She tore up the letter and put the little pieces into the wastebasket, and began again.
    This one was much more moderate, inviting misinterpretation, but phrased in such a manner that it could, at a stretch of the imagination, and with a great deal of charity, be explained reasonably innocently.
    That was better. Please heaven she had not softened it too much, and it would still cause the necessary misgivings, and mistrust of anything Drusilla might say, the flickers of personal fear, the fellow feeling with another man who had had his words or his actions misconstrued by a vain and overeager woman.
    She wrote several more. By the time she put her pen down at a quarter to ten, her hand ached and her eyes were stinging.
    Two days later Lord Fontenoy opened his mail at the breakfast table. It appeared the usual collection of bills, invitations and polite letters of one sort or another. There was none which occasioned any unusual interest, and certainly no alarm … until he came to the last one.
    Lady Fontenoy, who had been reading a letter from her cousin in Wales, heard him splutter, and looked up, then with some anxiety forgot her own mail entirely.
    “My dear, are you all right? You look quite unwell. Is it distressing news?”
    “No!” he said overloudly. “No, not at all,” he amended.“It is something quite trivial.” He strove to invent a plausible lie, something to account for his pale face and shaking hands, and yet not excite her curiosity so that she expected to read the wretched thing … which of course he could refuse, but he did not wish her suspicion aroused. He had a really most agreeable domestic life, and desired intensely to keep it so. “No, my dear, it is simply a most foolish letter from someone who desires to make trouble in a quarter I had not foreseen. It’s unpleasant, but nothing to cause undue worry. I shall deal with it.” Perhaps he was reacting too strongly. He recalled the phrases used. They had initially appalled him, but on second thought, they were ambiguous, capable of less demanding intent.
    “Are you sure?” Lady Fontenoy pressed. “You do look very pale, Walter.”
    “I swallowed my tea a little hastily,” he replied. “I fear it did not go quite the right way. Uncomfortable. Please don’t distress yourself. How is Dorothea? That is a letter from Dorothea, is it not?”
    She realized that was the end of the conversation. She accepted that he would not mention it again, but she knew perfectly well that the letter he had received had shaken his composure very thoroughly, and she was not at ease for the rest of the day.
    Sir Peter Welby was also highly upset by his morning mail. Being still a bachelor, now on the brink of a very fortunate marriage, he breakfasted alone, apart from the distant presence of his manservant.
    “Good God!” he expostulated, when he had read the alarming missive. If that should fall into the wrong hands, it could be very damagingly misconstrued. It could all become very ugly indeed, if read by someone unkindly disposed.
    “Sir?” his manservant said questioningly.
    His reaction was to tear it up, into many pieces, and those as small as possible, then put it all on the breakfastroom fire. He remembered the woman quite clearly. He had danced with her, several times. She was very comely and had an air about her which was highly attractive. She had wit and, he had thought, intelligence. But she must be out of her senses to have perceived his very slight flirtation as anything more, and supposed that he had even the remotest intent to pursue the relationship, now of all times!
    If she really did mean what she seemed to, then he must convince her he had no such thought in mind, nor