William Monk 11 - Slaves of Obsession

now she had taken it out. She caught Hester’s eyes on it and the color deepened in her cheeks.
    “Lyman gave it to me … Mr. Breeland,” she explained, avoiding her mother’s gaze. “I know it doesn’t really complement this dress, but I intend to keep it with me always, to the devil with fashion!” She lifted her chin a little, ready to defy any criticism.
    Judith opened her mouth, then changed her mind.
    “Perhaps you could wear it on your skirt?” Hester suggested. “It looks like a watch for use as much as ornament.”
    Merrit’s face lightened. “That’s a good idea. I should have thought of that.”
    “I tend to wear a useful watch rather than a pretty one,” Hester said. “One I cannot really see defeats the purpose.”
    Merrit walked over to the chair opposite Hester and sat down. “I have the most tremendous admiration for people who dedicate themselves to the care of others,” she said earnestly. “Would it be intrusive or troublesome of me to ask you to tell us a little more about your experiences?”
    Actually it was something Hester was very willing to leave behind her when there was nothing she could accomplish and no one to persuade. However, it would have been ungracious to refuse, so she spent the next hour answering Merrit’s eager questions and waiting for Judith to lead theconversation in another path, but Judith seemed to be just as interested, and her silence was one of deep attention.
    When Trace had completed his business with Alberton he took his leave, and Alberton returned to the dining room, glanced at Casbolt, then seeing a slight nod, invited him and Monk to find more comfortable seats, not in the withdrawing room with the ladies but in the library.
    “I owe you an apology, Mr. Monk,” Alberton said almost before they had made themselves comfortable. “I have certainly enjoyed your company this evening, and that of your wife, who is a most remarkable woman. But I invited you here because we need your help. Well, principally I do, but Casbolt is involved as well. I am sorry for misleading you in such a way, but the matter is very delicate, and in spite of Lady Callandra’s high opinion of you—which, by the way, was given as a friend, not professionally—I preferred to form my own judgment.”
    Monk felt a moment’s resentment, mostly on Hester’s behalf, then realized that he might well have done the same thing himself, were he in Alberton’s position. He hoped it was nothing to do with guns, or a choice between Philo Trace and Lyman Breeland. He found Trace the more agreeable man, but he believed in Breeland’s cause far more. He did not feel as passionately as Hester, but the idea of slavery repelled him.
    “I accept your apology,” he said with a slightly sardonic smile. “Now, if you can tell me the matter that troubles you, I will make my judgment as to whether I can help you with it—or wish to.”
    “Well taken, Mr. Monk,” Alberton said ruefully. He made light of it, but Monk could see the tension underlying his words. His body was rigid; a tiny muscle ticked in his jaw. His voice was not quite even.
    Monk felt a stab of guilt for his levity. The man was neither arrogant nor indifferent. His self-control all evening had been an act of courage.
    “Are you facing some kind of threat?” he asked quietly. “Tell me what it is, and if I can help you, I will.”
    The flicker of a smile crossed Alberton’s face.
    “The problem is very simple to explain, Mr. Monk. As you know, Casbolt and I are partners in the business of shipping, sometimes timber, but mostly machinery and armaments. I imagine after the conversation of our other dinner guest, that much is obvious.” He did not look at Casbolt while he spoke but fixed his gaze unwaveringly on Monk. “What you cannot know is that some ten years ago I was introduced to a young man named Alexander Gilmer. He was charming, very beautiful to look at, and a trifle eccentric in his style of living. He was also ill and had been earning his way as an artists’ model. As I said, he was of striking appearance. His employer had abandoned him, Gilmer said, because he had refused him sexual favors. At that time he was desperate. I paid his debts as a matter of compassion.” He took a deep breath but his eyes did not waver.
    Casbolt did not attempt to interrupt. He seemed content that Alberton should tell the story.
    “Nevertheless,” Alberton went on, his voice even lower, “the poor man