William Monk 09 - A Breach of Promise

understood himself.
    “If we want to help, we will listen to him,” she answered, equally levelly. “Grief for the death of a friend should not be smothered. You wouldn’t say that if James Lovat had died in an accident here in England instead of from gangrene in Cawnpore.”
    “I should not encourage dwelling on it!” Athol argued, his face pink. “But that is beside the point. He didn’t die here, poor fellow. The whole matter of the Indian Mutiny is better notdwelt upon, and the siege of Cawnpore and its atrocities especially so.” His voice was final, as if what he said were an order, but he did not move away. Suddenly Monk realized Athol depended upon Hester. He might condescend to her, his conscious mind might think of her as a woman and necessarily of inferior intellect and ability in almost everything, but he knew there was a strength in her to meet and deal with the horror and tragedies of life greater than anything within himself.
    A ripple of ridiculous pride surged through Monk.
    “Mr. Sheldon”—Hester let go of Gabriel gently and rose to her feet, straightening her rumpled skirts with one hand—“if it had been Gabriel who had died in Cawnpore, or a wife or child of yours—and there were hundreds of women and children among the dead—what would you think of their friends who chose to forget them?”
    “Well, I—I think I would understand if it was to save their own minds from nightmare—” Athol began to answer.
    “Oh, it’s not to save Gabriel,” she interrupted. “It is because you don’t wish to hear about it … and because you think we don’t.”
    “Nonsense!” he said too quickly. “I want Gabriel to get well, to be able to take up his life again here at home—at least … at least, as much as he can. And I want to protect Perdita from horrors no woman should have to know about. Really, Miss Latterly.” His voice was growing stronger, his confidence gathering. He squared his shoulders. “We have discussed this before. I thought we had reached an understanding. This house is to be a refuge from the ugliness and violence of the world, a place where Gabriel, above all, will be at peace, may heal his mind and body from the tragedies of war and its barbarities, where he may feel utterly safe….” He was becoming enthusiastic now; his face was composed again, his body easily balanced. He even had the shadow of a smile on his lips. “It is Perdita’s calling most properly to establish and master that, and ours to be of whatever assistance to her we may.” He swung around and looked at Perdita, his lips parted, his eyes brighter. “And you may rest assured, my dear, we shall be equal to it!”
    “Thank you, Athol,” she said helplessly. It was impossible to judge from her expression whether she was relieved or terrified.
    The maid beyond her was still looking at Hester.
    Monk swiveled back to her.
    The man in the bed was sitting up, turned towards them. His skin was flushed, his face appallingly disfigured. Monk felt a rush of pity for him that was almost physical.
    “I know you will, Mr. Sheldon.” Hester’s voice was soft but very clear, very insistent. “And it will be a very safe place….”
    “Good—good….” he began.
    “But it will not help if you try to force Gabriel into it before he is ready,” she continued. “A prison is simply a place you don’t want to be and from which you cannot escape.”
    “Really! Miss Latterly—” Athol protested.
    “Stop speaking about me as if I am not here, Athol.”
    Gabriel had spoken for the first time. His face was damaged beyond healing, but his voice was still beautiful, clear and of unusual character and timbre.
    “I’ve lost an arm, not my wits. I don’t want wrapping away from reality as if I were a case of nervous collapse or hysteria. Pretending Cawnpore never happened isn’t going to take the nightmares out of my sleep, and I don’t want to forget my friends as if they never lived or died. It would be a betrayal. They don’t deserve that. God knows, they don’t!” Suddenly the anger and the overwhelming pain drenched his voice and was raw in the room, silencing even Athol.
    Only Hester had seen war as he had. Monk knew even he was excluded, for all the poverty and death and daily intolerable misery he had seen in the city slums not more than a mile from where they stood. But he felt grateful for it, not angry, not put aside.
    He looked at Hester, not smiling at her with his lips, but