William Monk 14 - The Shifting Tide

nothing she could do beyond continuing to raise money.
    “How charming to see you again, Miss Ballinger,” Mrs. Northwood said meaningfully, looking first at Margaret, then at Rathbone.
    Rathbone drew in his breath to answer her, then saw Margaret’s face and realized she did not care. She had caught the implication and it barely touched her. He felt a rush of admiration for her. How beautiful she was in her passion and integrity, beside these bright and trivial women. What did a little social prurience matter, compared with the horror that was going on less than two miles away in Portpool Lane?
    He moved a little closer to her.
    Mrs. Northwood noticed it, and her eyes widened.
    There was at least a half an hour before dinner would be announced, but they were hemmed in by people on all sides. He could hardly ask her to find a place where they could speak alone. He did not even know exactly what he was going to say. Such things should be graceful, romantic, not blurted out in the fear they would be interrupted or overheard. He should have invited her to a completely different kind of function. What on earth had made him choose this?
    But he knew the answer. She would accept this because it gave her the opportunity to seek funds again. She would have refused a more charming situation, more romantic, where they could be alone and then it would have become embarrassing, and worst of all, contrived. And he enjoyed being with her in company. He looked around at the other people present and was proud that it was she on his arm and not one of them. He found himself smiling. He would create a situation where he could speak to her, even if it was on the way home.
    Lady Pamela Brimcott was coming towards them. She was in her mid-thirties, handsome, and formidable. He had defended her brother Gerald on a charge of embezzlement—unsuccessfully. At least she had considered it so, because Gerald had been found guilty even though the sentence had been relatively lenient due to Rathbone’s plea of mitigating circumstances. Actually, Gerald was greedy and selfish, and Rathbone had believed him guilty as charged. But it was his duty to be advocate, not judge.
    “Good evening, Oliver,” Pamela said coolly. Her gaze moved to Margaret. “I presume this is Miss Ballinger, whom I hear about so often? I daresay Oliver has told you as much about me?”
    Rathbone felt the heat flood up his face. At one time he had courted Pamela, had even considered she would be a suitable wife. That had been before he met Hester and realized that
suitable
was a description without passion or laughter, or necessarily even friendship. Thank heaven his instinct had prevailed. He could see the enmity in Pamela’s eyes, and knew she had not forgiven him for either of the things in which she believed he had let her down. She very probably would not have married him then—he had had no title—but she would have liked to be asked.
    “I’m afraid he has not mentioned you,” Margaret replied, her tone polite and implying regret.
    Pamela smiled. “How discreet of him.” She let the layers of hidden meaning unfold.
    Rathbone felt the heat increase in his face. He would have loved to utter a crushing response, but he cared too much to think of one. He knew Hester would have, and wished she were here to defend them both.
    Margaret grasped the implication immediately. Her body stiffened; Rathbone could feel it almost as if she were actually touching him. But she smiled with startling sweetness and looked unblinkingly at Pamela. “He never discusses past cases with me,” she responded.
    Rathbone gasped.
    There was utter silence for a second, two seconds. Then Pamela’s face went white as she understood what she had heard. For the first time in years she struggled to find a response. The remark had been truer than Margaret could have known, and she could not fling it back.
    Margaret waited, refusing to help her.
    “He certainly wouldn’t discuss this one!” Pamela said at last. “He doesn’t care to speak of failures, and this was a disaster. He defended a member of my family who was charged with an act of which he was completely innocent, but suffered in spite of it.”
    Now Margaret’s face was tense and pale also. She raised her eyebrows very slightly. “Really?” she said with disbelief. “That must have been most distressing for you. I admire your courage in speaking of it so frankly to a stranger.” Her tone implied that it was also