William Monk 06 - Cain His Brother

heaven, no! How can you even ask?” The words choked him. He looked as if he could never forgive her for the question. He was shaking with fury, his body so tensed he was even now at the edge of violence, simply to release what was becoming unbearable.
    “Because I know you,” she answered, feeling increasingly that perhaps she did not. “If someone angered you enough, you might—”
    “A woman!” The cry strangled in his throat. “Assault a woman? Force myself on her?”
    She was stunned. It was so absurd it was almost funny.
    Except that he was obviously serious, and profoundly frightened. Such a charge would ruin him, she knew that only too well. Her own professional existence also rested on reputation, and she knew how nearly she had once lost that. It had been Monk who had fought for her, worked night and day to prove her innocence.
    “That’s ridiculous,” she said gravely. “Obviously she cannot prove it to be so, but equally obviously you cannot prove it not to be, or you would not be here. Who is she, and what happened? Is she someone you rejected? Or has she some other reason for such a charge? Do you suppose she is with child, and needs to blame someone for it to claim her own innocence in the matter?”
    “I don’t know.” At last he sat down as well, staring at the patched carpet on the floor. “I don’t know why she hasdone it, except that it was deliberate. We were in a hansom, going home after an evening”—he hesitated, still looking down—“an evening of mild entertainment, a pleasant dinner. She suddenly tore open the bodice of her dress, then glared at me with the most violent hatred, screamed, and threw herself out of the carriage with it under way, in front of a score of guests leaving a party in North Audley Street!”
    She felt a chill of fear touch her also. Such behavior held an element of madness. The woman had risked not only Monk’s reputation but a good deal of her own as well. However innocent she claimed to be, there would be talk, speculation, tongues willing to be unkind.
    “Who is she?” she asked again.
    “Drusilla Wyndham,” he said very quietly, still not looking at her.
    She said nothing. A curious mix of emotions filled her mind: relief that after all he could not now love Drusilla, that Drusilla had failed him in every way, and her own hatred of Drusilla of a quite different nature from before, because now the woman threatened him. There was also fear for the injury Drusilla would do him, and anger for the injustice of it. She did not even think of curiosity as to why.
    “Who is she?” she asked. “I mean socially. Where does she come from?”
    He looked up at her, meeting her eyes for the first time.
    “I don’t know more than I could judge from her manner and her speech, which was enough. But what does it matter? Whoever she is, she can ruin me by the suggestion. She doesn’t have to be related to anyone important.” His voice rose again with impatience that she did not understand the point. “Any woman making the charge, except perhaps a servant or a prostitute—”
    “I know that.” She cut across him just as sharply, jerking her hand to dismiss the notion. “I’m not thinking of that, I’m thinking how to fight her. Know your enemy!”
    “I can’t fight her!” His voice rose in fury and desperation.“If she takes it to court I can deny it, but not if she simply does it by whisper and innuendo. What do you suggest? That I sue her for slander? Don’t be absurd! Even if I could, which I couldn’t, my reputation would still be ruined. In fact, the very act of calling her a liar would make it worse.” He looked like a man on the edge of an abyss, staring destruction in the face.
    “Of course not,” she said quietly. “Who’s your adviser? Lord Cardigan?”
    “What in the hell are you talking about?”
    “The charge of the Light Brigade,” she answered bitterly.
    She saw a glimmer of comprehension in his face.
    “So what do you suggest?” he said, but without hope.
    “I’m not sure,” she replied, rising to her feet and walking to the one small window. “But certainly not a head-on charge at the enemy’s guns. If they are dug into the high ground with breached cannons pointing at us, then we must either move them out of it or come at them by some other means.”
    “Stop playing soldiers,” he said quietly. “Just because you nursed in the Crimea doesn’t mean you know the first damn thing about warfare.”
    “Yes