William Monk 14 - The Shifting Tide

indiscreet.
    “We are not really strangers when we share so much,” Pamela replied between her teeth.
    Margaret lifted her chin even higher. “Do we? I had not realized, but I am delighted to know it. Then you will be as keen as I on giving to charitable causes. I am presently concerned with a clinic which treats sick and injured women in the Farringdon area. Even a few pounds is sufficient to provide heating and medicine so the most desperate cases can have time to recover a little. I shall give you an account of how it is spent, naturally.”
    Pamela looked startled—and cornered. “I admit you have surprised me, Miss Ballinger. I did not expect you to ask me for money!”
    Margaret contrived to look even more surprised. “Have you something else I might wish?”
    Rathbone could feel his stomach clench, his face burning, and yet he wanted to laugh. The whole evening was escaping him. He had failed Pamela’s brother, not in that he was found guilty but in arguing the case at all. He should have persuaded him to admit his guilt and repay the money. He could have; he had had the means. He had bent to pressure from the family, and because he was fond of Pamela he had not wanted to tell her that her brother was a thief. He did not want Margaret to know that.
    “Nothing that I could pass to you, my dear,” Pamela said icily, her meaning perfectly plain.
    Margaret smiled radiantly. “I’m so glad,” she whispered, and turned to walk away, leaving Pamela utterly confused, feeling she had been bested without knowing exactly how.
    Rathbone was amazed, and a little startled at how pleased he was that Margaret had defended herself so very effectively. He caught up with her in a glow of satisfaction, almost pride. He took her arm, but as soon as they were a few yards away she stopped and faced him with all trace of humor gone.
    “Oliver, I would like to be able to speak to you for a few moments without interruption. I believe there is a conservatory; would you mind if we went to it? There would surely be a discreet corner where we could go”—she smiled a trifle self-consciously—“without people leaping to romantic conclusions.”
    He felt oddly crushed. He did not wish her to take the lead; it was vaguely unbecoming. And yet she had made it plain that her intention was not romantic, and he was disappointed. “Of course,” he replied, hearing the coolness in his voice and wishing it were not there. She must surely have heard it also. “It is this way.”
    It was a marvelous room, full of wrought-iron arches and filled to the roof with exotic plants. The sound of falling water was delightful, and the smell of damp earth and flowers filled the air.
    Margaret stopped as soon as they were several yards from the nearest person who might overhear them. Her face was extremely grave.
    He felt a sense of alarm. This was not even remotely how he had intended it to be. “What is it?” His voice sounded nervous, scratchy.
    “Have you heard from Hester?” she asked. There was no lift of expectation in her.
    “No. Have you?”
    “I don’t even know if she is well or ill,” she admitted. “I choose to believe that were she not still alive, then the rat catcher would have told me, but I can’t even be certain of that. But I do know that it is not over, or she would have returned home.” She looked at him very steadily. “She is still in there, with only the help of unskilled women, and Squeaky and the rat catcher. There is no one to look after her, if she should need it, or even to be with her so she does not face this alone. I am going tomorrow morning, early, before light. Please don’t try to argue with me. It is the right thing to do and there is no alternative.”
    It was terrible! Unbearable! “You can’t!” He reached out and took her hands, clasping them hard. She did not resist, but neither did she respond. “Margaret, no one is allowed in—or out!” he said urgently. “I understand your wishing to help, but . . .” His mind was filled with horror, as if a pit had suddenly yawned open at his feet and he and all he loved were teetering on the rim.
    She pulled her hands away sharply. “Yes I can. I shall write a message for the men with the dogs to take to the rat catcher. Hester may not let me in, but Sutton will, for her sake.” She looked so white now that he was afraid she might faint. She was as terrified as he was, just as aware of the horror of the disease and the chances of her