William Monk 14 - The Shifting Tide

in’t gonner stop just ’cos yer in’t pushin’ it ’round,” Sutton said disgustedly, but his hand on her was as gentle and his eyes as soft as when he fondled his little dog. “Just do as yer told, for once!” he snapped, his voice suddenly choking. “We in’t got time ter be pickin’ yer up off the floor every five minutes!” He turned away quickly, blushing hard.
    Claudine bent down and helped her up, holding her so tightly she couldn’t have buckled at the knees if she had wanted to. Together, awkwardly, trying to keep in step and not trip each other, they made their way back up the stairs, passing a horrified Squeaky Robinson on the landing.
    “Don’t look like that, you daft ha’porth!” Claudine shot a furious glare at him. “She’s just tired! If you want to be useful, go and fetch some water from the yard. And if there isn’t any there, tell those blasted men to go and get some.” And without waiting to see if he was going to obey her, she swept Hester along to the bedroom and half heaved her onto the bed. “Now go to sleep!” she ordered furiously. “Just do it! I’ll look after everything.”
    Hester stopped struggling and let go.
             
    She woke with a start. The only light in the room was from the candle burning on the small table beside her. In its flame she could see Margaret sitting on the chair, looking back at her, a little anxious but smiling.
    Hester shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. She sat up slowly, blinking, but Margaret was still there. Horror welled up inside her. “You can’t have . . .”
    “I haven’t,” Margaret said, understanding immediately. She leaned forward and took Hester’s arm. “Neither have you. You’re just exhausted.”
    “They shouldn’t have told you!” Hester protested, struggling to sit up. Now fear for Margaret drowned out all other thoughts.
    Margaret shook her head. “They didn’t. I came because I couldn’t leave you here alone.” She said it quite simply, without protestations of morality or friendship. It was simply a fact.
    Hester smiled widely and lay back, filled with warmth, just for now refusing to think beyond the moment.
    Later they met together over toast and jam and a cup of tea, while Hester told Margaret all that had happened since she had left.
    “I’m sorry about Mercy,” Margaret said quietly. “I liked her. It seems a terrible sacrifice. She’s so young, and had everything before her. At least . . .” She frowned. “I don’t really know anything except that she is Clement Louvain’s sister. One tends to think that if people have a good family, and are more than pleasing to look at, they will be happy, and that’s silly, really. She may have all kinds of private griefs we know nothing of.” Her face became reflective, deep in her own thoughts, and there was more than a shadow of pain in it.
    Hester knew what it was; there was only one thing that would trouble Margaret in such a way. There was all the difference in the world between the ache in the heart caused by love, its disillusion and loneliness, and the fear of any other kind of calamity. She had realized even more intensely in these last days that the passion, the tenderness—above all, the companionship—of heart and mind were the gifts that gave light and meaning to all others, or took it from them.
    “Oliver?” she said gently.
    Margaret’s eyes opened wide, then she blushed. “Am I so transparent?”
    Hester smiled. “To another woman, yes, of course, you are.”
    “He asked me to marry him,” Margaret said quietly. She bit her lip. “I had been waiting for him to do that, dreaming of it, and it was all exactly as it should have been.” She gave a rueful, bewildered little laugh. “Except that nothing was really right. How could I possibly accept marriage now and go away, leaving you here alone to cope with this? What would I be worth if I could, and how could he not know that? What does he believe of me that he would even ask?”
    Hester watched Margaret’s face. “What did you say?”
    Margaret took a sharp breath. “That I could not, of course. I told him that I was coming here. He didn’t want me to, at least part of him didn’t. Illness . . . frightens him . . .” She said it with hesitation, as if betraying a confidence and yet unable to bear it alone.
    “I know.” Hester smiled. “He’s not perfect. It costs him all the courage he has even to think of it, let alone come close to