William Monk 11 - Slaves of Obsession

convinced himself that yielding her up was his sacrifice as much as anyone else’s. Or alternatively, he could have chosen to assume she would not be charged with anything, still less found guilty.
    Might that be because she was innocent?
    Or was it a fair price to pay because she too was guilty?
    Now it did not matter, because Lanyon was there with two constables, and Breeland was taken in charge and handcuffed.
    “And you, Miss Alberton,” Lanyon said grimly, his long face wearing an expression of puzzlement and regret.
    The light died out of Merrit’s eyes and her shoulders drooped. Monk realized that at least for a while her emotions had been centered on Breeland and she had allowed herself to forget her own jeopardy. Now it was back, and real.
    Breeland moved his shoulders, as if, had he been free, he would have touched her, reassured her in some way. But he was already handcuffed.
    It was Hester who put her arm around the girl. “We shall do all we can to get you the best help,” she said clearly. “Wewill go first to your mother and tell her you are alive and quite well. At the moment she does not even know that.”
    Merrit closed her eyes, tears seeping from under the lids. So close to home, courage was harder to find, the pain sharper. Until now her thoughts had all been upon Breeland. Perhaps she had not even considered her mother. But with familiar English voices around her, the sights and smells of home, the adventure was over and the long, quiet payment for it had begun.
    She tried to speak, to thank Hester, but she could not do it and still keep control of herself. She chose silence.
    Over Lanyon’s shoulder Monk could see a knot of people gathering, glancing towards them with curiosity. Their faces were ugly, prying, ready for anger.
    Lanyon saw his gaze. He looked apologetic.
    “We’d better go,” he said hastily. “Before they guess who you are. There’s a lot of bad feeling about.”
    “Feeling?” Hester asked, not immediately grasping what he was afraid of.
    Lanyon lowered his voice, his brows drawn down. “In the newspapers, ma’am. There’s been a good deal said about Mr. Alberton’s death, and foreigners coming over here and seducing young women into murder, and the like. I think we should leave here as quickly as we can.” He was very careful not to look behind him as he spoke, but already Monk could see the crowd thickening and faces growing uglier. One or two people were quite openly staring now. They seemed to be moving closer.
    “That’s appalling!” Hester was angry, a flush spreading up her cheeks. “Nobody’s even been charged yet, let alone tried!”
    “We can’t fight from here,” Monk said sharply. He could hear his own voice rising as he thought of how quickly the situation could become violent. He was afraid for Hester. Her indignation could make her careless of her own safety, and a mob would distinguish little between their victim and someone who chose to protect him.
    Lanyon said exactly the same. “You come now, quickly,”he ordered, looking at Breeland. “Don’t get any fancy ideas of causing a riot and hoping you’ll get away in it. You won’t! You’ll just get beaten, like as not, and Miss Alberton along with you.”
    Breeland hesitated a moment, as if he actually weighed such a plan in his mind, then looked at Merrit’s white face and the misery in her eyes, and abandoned the idea. As if surrendering, he lowered his head a fraction and walked obediently between Lanyon and the constable.
    Merrit followed a few paces behind, with the second constable, leaving Monk, Hester and Philo Trace on the platform.
    “We must go to Mrs. Alberton,” Trace said anxiously. “She will be distracted with worry. I wish to heaven there were something we could do to clear Merrit of this crime. Surely we can prevent her from being charged?” His words were positive, but his voice belied them. He looked at Monk as if he hoped for help beyond his own power to conceive. “Surely they wouldn’t really think …” He trailed off. He turned to Hester as if to say more, then saw her face.
    They all knew Merrit was in love with Breeland, and loyal. That alone would have forbidden her from abandoning him, whatever the truth of the murder. She would see excusing herself as betrayal, which was to her a sin of even greater evil than the original crime. Perhaps, too late, she would regret it, but in any foreseeable future she would not separate herself from Breeland