William Monk 14 - The Shifting Tide

Please sit down, Sir Oliver.” She gestured towards the chair nearest the fire with its embroidered armrests and antimacassars over the back to protect the upholstery from gentlemen’s hair oils. “Margaret will be a few minutes yet. You are delightfully punctual.” She suited her own actions to her words, spreading her wide silk-and-lace skirts around her.
    It would have been impolite for him to decline. He sat opposite her and prepared to indulge in chatter until Margaret should appear. He was very used to guarding himself. He hardly ever spoke without thought. After all, his profession, at which he was one of the most gifted men of his generation, was to plead the cause of those accused of crime and against whom there was sufficient evidence for them to stand trial. No society matron was going to discomfit him, let alone outwit him.
    “Margaret tells me it is a most charming event to which you have invited her this evening,” Mrs. Ballinger observed. “Music is so civilized and yet speaks to the romantic in us at the same moment.”
    He found himself irritated and defensive already. “It is a function at which they hope to raise a considerable amount of funds for charitable work,” he replied.
    She smiled, showing excellent teeth. “How I admire your giving of your time to such a cause. I know it is one of the qualities Margaret finds most worthy in a man. Many people who are successful in life forget those who are less fortunate. I am so pleased to see that you are not such a one.”
    She had placed him in an impossible position. What on earth could he say to that? Any answer would sound ridiculous.
    She nodded. “Margaret has such a noble heart. But I am sure you are already aware of that. Good works have brought you together so many times.” She made it sound as if he had somehow contrived to see Margaret at every opportunity. He had not! Indeed, he still saw quite a variety of other ladies—at least two of whom might be considered eligible for marriage, even if they were widows.
    She was waiting for him to reply. His silence was beginning to look like disagreement.
    “A noble heart—indeed she has,” he said with more fervor than he had intended. “And what is more unusual, she has the courage and the selflessness to pursue it, and create of it deeds that are far-reaching.”
    A shadow flashed across Mrs. Ballinger’s face. “I am so pleased you mentioned it, Sir Oliver.” She leaned forward towards him. “Of course I am happy that Margaret devotes her time to worthy causes rather than frittering her hours away with mere entertainment, as so many young women do, but this latest cause of hers does alarm me more than a little. I am sure it is very noble to be concerned for the morally unfortunate, but I think she could place her care to better advantage in something a little more . . . salubrious. Perhaps with your influence you could suggest to her other avenues that you may be aware of? I expect you know many ladies who . . .”
    Rathbone found himself suddenly furious. He knew exactly what she was doing. At one stroke she was manipulating him into spending more time with Margaret, not because he wished to but as a moral obligation to her mother, and also reminding him of social pressures and duty in general. It was unbelievably condescending to Margaret. He could feel the blood rising in his face and his body so stiff his hands were locked where they lay on his knee.
    “I came to see Margaret because I enjoy her company, Mrs. Ballinger,” he said with as much control as he was able to muster. He saw her eyes gleam with satisfaction, and alarm rose up inside him as he realized what he had committed himself to, but he did not know how to stop. “I would not presume to influence her in her choice of causes. She feels intensely about the clinic, and I believe she would regard any interference from me as impertinent, and I should lose her friendship.” He did not know if that was true, but even the possibility struck him with extreme unpleasantness. It surprised him how very sharp it was.
    “Oh, she would not be so foolish!” Mrs. Ballinger dismissed the idea with a light laugh. “Her regard for you is far too deep for her not to listen to you, Sir Oliver.” Her voice was warm, full of assurance, as if she too held him as dearly.
    He wished that that were true. Or did he? Hester would have been furious with him if he had tried to dictate matters of conscience to her. She would not have