William Monk 14 - The Shifting Tide

one having risen yet, in the normal course of the day, to clean out the grate, set, and light a new fire.
    “What is it?” he said simply. He was a taller man than his son, lean with a gentle, aquiline face and steady, very clear blue eyes. He had been a mathematician and sometime inventor in his earlier years, and the lucidity of his mind, and its gentle reasonableness, had often assisted in Oliver’s more desperate cases.
    Oliver remembered Henry’s profound affection for Hester; it made what he had to say almost impossibly difficult. He hesitated, now that the moment had arrived, lost for words.
    “I cannot help if I do not know what it is,” Henry reminded him reasonably. “You have come this far, before dawn, and you are obviously beside yourself with anxiety over something. You had better say what it is.”
    Rathbone looked up. His mere presence made it both better and worse. It brought all his own emotions so much closer to the surface. “It is something that can be told to no one else at all. I should not tell you, but I am at my wits’ end,” he said.
    “Yes, I see that,” Henry agreed. “Wait till we have the tea and can be uninterrupted.”
    Oliver obeyed, marshaling the thoughts in his mind into some kind of rational order.
    When the tea was brought and they were alone, he began. He told the story very simply and in a manner as devoid of emotion as he could manage. Rather than robbing it of feeling, this reserve added to it.
    Henry said nothing whatever until Oliver stopped speaking and waited for a comment.
    “How like Hester,” Henry said at last. “I am sure Margaret Ballinger is a fine woman, that much is quite clear, and perhaps Hester would not have made you happy, nor you her. But I have never known anyone else whom I liked quite so much.”
    “What can I do?” Oliver asked.
    “Defend the thief to the best of your ability,” Henry told him. “As long as you do not ever allow anyone to guess, as wildly as they may, that you are concealing a disease of any nature, let alone this one. You could create a panic which could end in mass destruction. Neither Hester nor Margaret would survive it, and it would not even necessarily contain the plague. Whatever you do, Oliver, you must let no one suspect. It would be very dreadful if the thief is hanged for a crime of which he is innocent, but for once injustice is not the greatest evil.”
    “I know,” Oliver agreed quietly. “I do know!”
    “And poor Monk is doing what he can to trace the members of the crew who were paid off?”
    “Yes. The last I spoke to him, he had had no success at all.”
    “They may already be dead,” Henry pointed out. “It is even possible they died at sea and he will find no trace of them because there is none to find.”
    “I hadn’t thought of that,” Oliver admitted.
    “Is there any reason to believe this man, Louvain?”
    “None at all.”
    “Then you had better appeal to his interest rather than his honor.”
    “Now that Margaret is no longer able to raise money for food, coal, medicines, it is up to me. There is a fear of immorality and disease in our midst. We don’t like to be reminded of such things so close to home. We feel guilty that it happens while we are perfectly well and comfortable ourselves. Africa is too far away to be our fault.”
    “Personally,” Henry agreed dryly, “it is too far away for us to feel accountable for it and it is equally too far away for them to be accountable to us.”
    Oliver was too tired to grasp his meaning. He was cold and exhausted deep to his bones. “What do you mean?”
    “That we give money and feel our duty is discharged,” Henry replied. “There is no probability of seeing that it goes to the cause we have been told, so we feel virtuous and ignore the rest.”
    “Well, of course it—” Oliver stopped.
    Henry reached for the teapot and topped up his cup. “I shall help. It will not be difficult for me to raise money for you. You attend to rescuing the thief from the gallows. I shall bring money for you tomorrow. For today I have about seven pounds in the house. Take that and begin. I shall get more, however I do it.”
    “However?” Oliver said sharply.
    He glanced around the room at various pieces of pewter, silver, a couple of wooden carvings. “Can you think of anything better I could do with whatever I have?” Henry asked.
    “No. No, of course not.” Oliver rose to his feet stiffly. “I must get back to town. Thank