William Monk 11 - Slaves of Obsession

livelihood. But armaments arouse more emotions than most other things, and seem to depend upon so many reverses of fortune that cannot be foreseen.”
    “Do they?” Hester was surprised. “I would have thought governments at least could see the probability of war long before it became inevitable.”
    “Oh, usually, but there are times when it comes right out of nowhere at all,” Judith replied. “Naturally my husband, and Mr. Casbolt as well, study the affairs of the world very closely. But there are events that take everyone by surprise. The Third Chinese War just last year was a perfect example.”
    Hester had no knowledge of it, and it must have been clear in her face.
    Judith laughed. “It was all part of the Opium Wars we have with the Chinese every so often, but this one took everybody by surprise. Although how the Second Chinese War began was the most absurd. Apparently there was a schooner called
Arrow
, built and owned by the Chinese, although it had once been registered in British Hong Kong. Anyway, the Chinese authorities boarded the
Arrow
and arrested some of the crew, who were also Chinese. We decided that we had been insulted—”
    “What?” Hester said in amazement. “I mean … I beg your pardon?”
    “Precisely,” Judith agreed wryly. “We took offense, and used it as a pretext to start a minor war. The French discovered that a French missionary had been executed by the Chinese a few months before that, so they joined in as well. When the war finished various treaties were signed and we felt it safe to resume business with the Chinese as usual.” She grimaced. “Then quite unexpectedly the Third Chinese War broke out.”
    “Does it affect armament sales?” Hester asked. “Surely only to the advantage, at least for the British?”
    Judith shook her head very slightly. “Depends upon whom you were selling to! In this instance, not if you were sellingto the Chinese, with whom we were going through a period of good relations.”
    “Oh … I see.”
    “Then perhaps we should be more careful to whom we sell guns?” Merrit said fiercely. “Instead of just to the highest bidder!”
    Judith looked for a moment as if she were about to argue, then changed her mind. Hester formed the opinion that her hostess had had some variation of this conversation several times before, and on each of them failed to make any difference. It was eminently none of Hester’s business, and better left alone, yet the impulse in her, which so often Monk told her was arbitrary and opinionated, formed the words on her lips.
    “To whom should we sell guns?” she asked with outward candor. “Apart from the Unionists in America, of course.”
    Merrit was impervious to sarcasm. She was too idealistic to see any moderation to a cause.
    “Where there is no oppression involved,” she said without hesitation. “Where people are fighting for their freedom.”
    “Who would you have sold them to in the Indian Mutiny?”
    Merrit stared at her.
    “The Indians,” Hester answered for her. “But perhaps if you had seen what they had done with them, the massacres of women and children, you might have felt … confused, at the least. I know I am.”
    Merrit looked suddenly very young. The gaslight on her cheeks emphasized their soft curve, almost childlike, and the fair hair where it curled on her neck.
    Hester felt a surge of tenderness towards her, remembering how ardent she had been at that age, how full of fire to better the world, and sure that she knew how, without the faintest idea of the multitudinous layers of passion and pain intertwined with each other, and the conflicting beliefs, all so reasonable if taken alone. If innocence were not reborn with each generation, what hope was there that wrongs would ever be fought against?
    “I am not happy about the morality of it either,” she said contritely. “I would rather have something relatively uncomplicated, like medicine. People’s lives are still in your hands, you can still make mistakes, terrible ones, but you have no doubt as to what you are trying to do, even if you don’t know how to do it.”
    Merrit smiled tentatively. She recognized an olive branch and took it. “Aren’t you afraid sometimes?” she asked softly.
    “Often. And of all sorts of things.”
    Merrit stood still in the fading light. Only the very top of the aspen beyond her still caught the sun. She was fingering a rather heavy watch which had been tucked down her bosom, and