William Monk 06 - Cain His Brother

question was so plain it needed no speech. She was afraid the crisis was coming, and Enid might not survive the night.
    Hester had no answer. Anything she could say would be only a guess, and a hope.
    Genevieve let out her breath slowly. The ghost of a smile returned to her face, but it was only a reaching across pain in a moment’s closeness; there was no happiness in it. Whatever comfort or ray of light Titus Niven had been able to give, it was gone again. Even the gentleness with which she had spoken his name seemed forgotten.
    “There is no point in your remaining,” Hester told her honestly. “It might be tonight, it might not be until tomorrow. There’s nothing you can do, except be ready to take over in the morning.” She tried to smile, and failed.
    “I will,” Genevieve promised, touching her lightly on the shoulder. Then she turned and went out of the door, closing it behind her with barely a click.
    The early evening was dark, rain battering against the windows behind the thick drawn curtains. The clock on the mantel was the only other sound except for the soft hissing of the gas, and every now and again a moan or whimper from Enid.
    A little after half past seven, Lord Ravensbrook knocked on the door and immediately came in. He looked worn and there was a flicker of fear in the back of his eyes, thinly masked by pride.
    “How is she?” he asked. Perhaps it was a pointless question, but he knew of nothing else to say, and it was expected. He needed to say something.
    “I think the crisis may be tonight,” she answered. She saw his face pinch, almost as if she had struck him. She regretted for a moment that she had been so forthright. Maybe it was brutal. But what if Enid died tonight, and she had not told him? There was nothing he could do for her, but afterwards his grief would be allied with guilt. She would have treated him as if he were a child, not able to stand the truth, not worthy to be told it. The healing would be harder, and perhaps never completed.
    “I see.” He stood still in the middle of the room, with its shadows and florals, its femininity, isolated by his inability to speak, the social conventions that bound them to their separate roles. He was a peer of the realm, a man expected to have courage both physical and moral, absolute mastery of his emotions. She was a woman, the weaker vessel, expected to weep, to lean on others, and above all she was an employee. The fact that he did not actually pay her was irrelevant. He was as incapable of crossing the chasm between them as she. Very possibly it had not even occurred to him. He simply stood still and suffered.
    When he turned slowly, his eyes were very dark and there was almost an opaque look in them, as if he could not focus his gaze. He took a deep breath.
    “You mean would I like to be here at the end? Yes … yes, of course I would. You must send for me.” He stopped, uncertain whether to offer to remain now. He looked across the bed. It had been changed only two hours ago, but it was badly rumpled now, in spite of Hester’s frequent straightening of it. He drew in his breath sharply. “Does … does she know I am here?”
    “I don’t know,” Hester said honestly. “Even if she doesn’t seem to, she may. Please don’t think it is futile. She might be much comforted.”
    His hands were clenched by his sides. “Should I remain?” He did not move towards the bed, but looked at Hester.
    “It is not necessary,” she said with instant certainty.“Better to rest, then you will have the strength when it is needed.”
    He breathed out slowly. “You will call me?”
    “Yes, as soon as there is any change, I promise you.” She inclined her head towards the bell rope near the bed. “As long as there is someone awake to answer, they will come to you within moments.”
    “Thank you. I’m most obliged, Miss … Latterly.” He went to the door and turned again. “You … you do a very fine work.” And before she had time to respond, he was gone.
    Some twenty minutes later Enid began to be more troubled. She tossed and turned in the bed, crying out in pain.
    Hester touched her brow. It was burning hot, even hotter than before. Her eyes were open, although she did not seem to be aware of the room but stared beyond Hester, as if there were someone behind her.
    “Gerald?” she said huskily, “…  not here.” She gasped and was silent for a moment. “My dear, you really must not come—Papa will …”