William Monk 07 - Weighed in the Balance

Lincoln’s Inn Fields to Berkeley Square and Hill Street, and he settled back in his seat for the ride. It had been exciting to be in Europe, to see different sights, smell the utterly different smells of a foreign city, hear the sounds of other languages around him, but there was a unique pleasure in being home again amongst what was familiar. He realized only then how tense he had been when he did not understand most of what was being said and he had to concentrate for the occasional word which made sense and to deduce from actions and expressions what was meant. He had been very dependent upon the goodwill of others. There was a great freedom in being back in the surroundings where he had knowledge—and the power that gave.
    He had very little idea of what he wanted to say to Hester. Itwas a turmoil in his mind, a matter of emotion rather than thought. It would fall into order when he needed it to. He was not ready yet.
    The cab reached Hill Street, and the driver pulled up the horse and waited for Monk to alight and pay him.
    “Thank you,” Monk said absently, handing over the coins and tuppence extra. He walked across the footpath and went up the steps. It crossed his mind that it might be inconvenient for Hester to receive callers, especially a man. It might even be embarrassing if her employers misunderstood. But he did not even hesitate in his stride, much less change his mind. He pulled the bell hard and waited.
    The door opened, and a footman faced him.
    “Good afternoon, sir?”
    “Good afternoon.” Monk did not feel like exchanging pleasantries, but experience had taught him that it was frequently the fastest way to obtain what he wished. He produced a card and laid it on the salver. “Is Miss Hester Latterly still residing in this house? I have just returned from abroad and must leave again this evening for the country. There is a matter of urgency concerning a mutual friend about which I would like to inform her and perhaps ask her advice.” He had not lied, but his words implied a medical emergency, and he was happy to leave the misunderstanding.
    “Yes, sir, she is still with us,” the footman replied. “If you care to come in, I will inquire if it is possible for you to see her.”
    Monk was shown to the library, a most agreeable place to wait. The room was comfortably furnished in a rather old-fashioned manner. The leather upholstery was worn where arms had rested on the chairs, and the pattern in the carpet was brighter around the edges, where no one had trodden. A fire burned briskly in the grate. There were hundreds of books from which he could have chosen to read, had he wished, but he was too impatient even to open one, let alone concentrate on thewords inside. He paced back and forth, turning sharply every seven paces.
    It was over ten minutes before the door opened and Hester came in. She was dressed in deep blue, which was unusually becoming to her. She looked nothing like as tired as the last time he had seen her. In fact, she looked very fresh; there was color in her complexion and a rich sheen on her hair. He was instantly annoyed. Did she not care that Rathbone was on the brink of disaster? Or was she too stupid to appreciate the magnitude of it?
    “You look as if you are to have the day off,” he said abruptly.
    She surveyed his perfectly cut jacket and trousers, his immaculate cravat and extremely expensive boots.
    “How nice to see you safely home,” she said with a sweet smile. “How was Venice? And Felzburg? That was where you were, was it not?”
    He ignored that. She knew perfectly well that it was.
    “If your patient is recovered, what are you doing still here?” he asked. His tone of voice made it a challenge.
    “He is better than he was,” she replied very gravely, looking straight at him. “He is not recovered. It takes some time to accustom yourself to the fact that you will not walk again. There are times when it is very hard. If you cannot imagine the chronic difficulties of someone who is paralyzed from the waist downwards, I shall not violate what is left of his privacy by explaining them to you. Please stop indulging your temper and tell me what you learned that will help Oliver.”
    It was like a slap in the face, swift and hard, the reminder that she had been dealing with one of the most painful of realities while he was away, the end of a major part of the life and hope of a young man. And yet harder still, and more personal, was the hope in her