William Monk 09 - A Breach of Promise

Sheldon, should learn a little of Indian history, and then of this wretched Mutiny, in order to be able to understand what Gabriel has experienced. So he can share his feelings with her, you understand?” He watched Rathbone’s expression closely. “You see? Quite inappropriate. Perdita should never have to know about such things. And poor Gabriel will recover far more rapidly, and more completely, if he can spend his time with people who won’t keep reminding him. It is amazing, Sir Oliver, what an effort of will a man can make to live up to a woman’s expectations of him, and what he can do in his determination to guard her from ugly and degrading knowledge.” He shook his head, pursing his lips. “Miss Latterly does not seem persuaded of it. And of course I do not have the authority to command her.”
    Rathbone laughed. “Neither do I, believe me, Mr. Sheldon. But I shall certainly put the point to her, if you wish me to.”
    Athol’s face cleared. “Would you? I should be most obliged. Perhaps you had better come up and meet my brother. Miss Latterly will be with him. She is very good reading to him, and the like. An excellent woman, please never think that I mean otherwise!”
    “Of course not.” Rathbone smiled to himself and followed Athol out of the library, up the stairs and into a large bedroom where Hester was sitting in a rocking chair with a book open on her lap, and in the freshly made bed a young man was propped up on pillows, turned towards her. Rathbone did not immediately notice his empty sleeve; his nightgown almost camouflaged it. But the disfigurement to the left side of his face was horrifying and it took all the effort of will of which he was capable to keep it from showing in his expression, or even in his voice.
    He realized as the young man swung around at the entrance of a stranger how insensitive it was of Athol not to have asked first if he was welcome and to have warned them both, Gabriel of the intrusion, and Rathbone of what he would see.
    Anger flickered across Hester’s face and was disguised only with difficulty, and perhaps because it was superseded by surprise at recognizing Rathbone. Apparently it was Athol to whom the footman had delivered his message, and possibly Perdita.
    After the first shock, Hester seized the initiative. She rose to her feet, smiled briefly at Rathbone, then turned to the man in the bed.
    “Gabriel, this is my friend Sir Oliver Rathbone.” She looked at Rathbone, ignoring Athol. “Oliver, I should like to introduce you to Lieutenant Gabriel Sheldon. He was one of the four survivors of the siege of Cawnpore and was subsequently wounded while still serving in the Indian army. He has only been home a very short time.”
    “How do you do, Lieutenant Sheldon,” Rathbone said gravely. “It is very good of you to allow me to call upon Miss Latterly in your home and without the slightest warning. I would not have taken such a liberty were it not a matter ofurgency to me, and to my present client, who may face ruin if I cannot defend him successfully.”
    Gabriel was still overcoming his self-consciousness and sense of vulnerability. This was the first time since his return that he had been faced with a stranger.
    “You are welcome,” he said a little hoarsely, then coughed and cleared his throat. “It sounds a most serious matter.” It was not a question. He would not have been so inquisitive.
    “I am a barrister,” Rathbone replied, determined to keep a normal conversation going. “And in this have a present case of which I should like a woman’s view. I admit I am utterly confused.”
    Gabriel was interested. His eyes were intelligent and direct and Rathbone found himself meeting them very easily, without having to make a deliberate effort to avoid staring at the appalling scar and the lips pulled awry by it.
    “Is it a capital case?” Gabriel asked, then instantly apologized. “I’m sorry; I have no business to intrude. Forgive me.”
    “Not at all,” Rathbone replied quite spontaneously. “It is serious only in the damages if my client loses, but the offense is relatively slight. It is a suit for breach of promise.”
    “Oh!” Gabriel looked surprised and Rathbone felt as if he had disappointed him by dealing with anything so trivial. In comparison with what Gabriel had experienced, which Rathbone had read about only in newspapers, no doubt robbed of much of its horror and detail, a broken romance seemed an insult even to