William Monk 08 - The Silent Cry

on the things she felt most passionate about. He had been courteous, he always would be, his own dignity would forbid anything else. But she had been aware of the coolness in him, always a certain distance, as if he wanted to be sure his friends did not assume too much about his regard for her, or that their relationship to each other was more than slight. His conventionality deplored her outspokenness, as if it admired her courage and fought in different ways for the same end.
    But since then he had defended Zorah Rostova and nearly ruined his career. He had learned in an acutely real way the boundaries of judgment and intolerance of his own profession, and how quickly society could reverse its loyalties when certain borders were crossed. Compassion and belief did not excuse. He had spoken from conviction and without weighing the results first. Suddenly he and Hester were on the same side of the gulf which had separated them before.
    Was that what he was aware of and which at once alarmed and exhilarated him?
    She turned to look at him again and found he was also looking at her. She had remembered how dark his eyes were, in spite of his fair brown hair, but still she was startled at their warmth. She smiled, then swallowed and turned back to the stage. She must pretend she was interested, that at least she knew what was going on. She had not the faintest idea. She could not even have identified the hero or the villain, presuming there was one.
    When the interval came she found she was ridiculously self-conscious.
    “Are you enjoying it?” he asked as he followed behind her up to the foyer, where refreshments were served.
    “Yes, thank you,” she answered, hoping he would not press her as to the plot.
    “And if I told you I have not been paying close attention to it, that my mind was elsewhere, could you tell me what I have missed?” he said gently. “So I may understand the second act.”
    She thought quickly. She must concentrate on what he wassaying, not on what he might mean—or might not! She must not leap to conclusions and perhaps embarrass them both. Then she would never be able to resume their friendship. It would be over, even if neither of them acknowledged it, and that would hurt. She realized with surprise how very much it would hurt.
    She looked at him with a smile, quite a casual one, but not so slight as to appear cool or studied.
    “Have you a case which troubles you, a new one?”
    Would he retreat into that excuse, or was it the truth anyway? She had left the way open for him.
    “No,” he said quite directly. “I suppose in a sense it has to do with law, but it was most certainly not the legal aspect of it which was on my mind.”
    This time she did not look at him. “The legal aspect of what?”
    “Of what concerns me.” He put his hand on her back to guide her through the throng of people, and she felt the warmth of it ripple through her. It was a safe feeling, disturbingly comfortable. Why should comfort disturb her? That was ridiculous.
    Because it would be so easy to get used to. The gentleness, the sweetness of it was overwhelmingly tempting. It was like coming into sunlight and suddenly realizing how chilled you had been.
    “Hester?”
    “Yes?”
    “Perhaps this is not really the best place, but …”
    Before he could finish what he was about to say, he was accosted by a large man with sweeping silver hair and an avuncular manner.
    “My goodness, Rathbone, you are miles away, man! I swear I have seen you pass half a dozen acquaintances as if you were unaware of their existence. Do I credit that to your charming companion or a particularly challenging case? You do seem to select the very devil of the lot of them.”
    Rathbone blinked slightly. It was something very few situations had ever caused him to do.
    “To my companion, of course,” he replied without hesitation.“Hester, may I introduce Mr. Justice Charles? Miss Hester Latterly.”
    “Ah!” Charles said with satisfaction. “Now I recognize you, ma’am. You are the remarkable young lady who uncovered such damning evidence in the Rostova case. In the Crimea, weren’t you? Extraordinary! How the world is changing. Not actually sure I care for it, but no choice, I suppose. Make the best of it, eh?”
    At another time she would have challenged him as to what he meant. Did he disapprove of women having the opportunity to make such a contribution as Florence Nightingale had? Their freedom? Their use of knowledge