William Monk 14 - The Shifting Tide

the cost of losing it ourselves.” He should have bitten his tongue. It was exactly the sort of thing Hester would have said.
    There was a moment’s appalled silence.
    “I beg your pardon?” The woman in green raised her eyebrows so high her forehead all but disappeared.
    “Perhaps you would care for another drink, Mr. . . .” The bored husband suddenly came to life. “Then again perhaps not,” he added judiciously.
    “Rathbone,” Rathbone supplied. “Sir Oliver. I am delighted to meet you, but I cannot have another drink until I have had a first one. I think champagne would be excellent. And one for Miss Ballinger also, if you would be so kind as to attract the footman’s attention. Thank you. I mention losing that sublime charity because we also have a great many good causes at home which need our support. Regrettably, disease is not confined to Africa.”
    “Disease?” The bored husband directed the footman to Rathbone, who took a glass of champagne for Margaret, then one for himself. “What kind of disease?” he pursued.
    “Pneumonia,” Margaret supplied, taking the opening Rathbone had given her. “And, of course, tuberculosis, rickets, occasionally cholera or typhoid, and a dreadful amount of bronchitis.”
    Rathbone let out his breath. He did not realize he had been holding it in fear she would mention syphilis.
    The bored husband looked startled. “But we have hospitals here, my dear Miss . . .”
    “Ballinger,” Margaret said with a smile Rathbone knew was forced. “Unfortunately there are not enough of them, and too many of the poor have not the financial means to afford them.”
    The pretty wife looked disturbed. “I thought there were charitable places provided. Is that not so, Walter?”
    “Of course it is, my dear. But her tender heart does Miss . . . credit, I’m sure,” Walter said hastily.
    Margaret was not going to be silenced. “I work for a clinic in Portpool Lane, specifically for poor women in the area, and we are continually seeking funds. Even the smallest donation would be sufficient for food or a little coal. Medicines can cost more, but vinegar and lye are cheaper.”
    Walter seized on the one thing he had not understood and felt he could take issue with. “Surely vinegar is unnecessary, Miss Ballinger? Can you not feed them simpler food? If they are ill, what of gruel, or something of that nature?”
    “We do not eat vinegar,” Margaret replied, forcing herself to speak softly. “It is to keep things clean. We do use a lot of gruel, and porridge when people are a little stronger, or for those who are injured rather than ill.”
    Walter was plainly disconcerted. “Injured?”
    “Yes. Women are quite often involved in accidents, or they are victims of attack. We do for them what we can.”
    His expression filled with distaste. “Really? How . . . very unpleasant. I imagine it must be difficult for you. I prefer to make my donations to those who are spreading the light of Christianity to those poor souls who have not already had the opportunity—and spurned it! One must not waste precious resources.” He inclined his head as if he were about to leave.
    Margaret stiffened.
    Rathbone put his hand on her arm, tightening his fingers a little, warning her not to respond.
    “I know,” she said under her breath. Then as soon as Walter had retreated to another group where he would not be disturbed by unpleasant thoughts, she added, “I would love to tell him what I believe, but it would ruin all future chances of help. Don’t worry, I shall bite my tongue.” But there was no smile on her face, and she did not turn to look at him.
    Her next attempt fared little better. They were engaged in polite but trivial conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Taverner, Lady Hordern, and the Honorable John Wills.
    “Such a wonderful man,” Lady Hordern said enthusiastically, referring to one of the doctors in Africa. “Prepared to give his life to saving people he does not even know, body and soul. Truly Christian.”
    “Most doctors save people they do not know,” Rathbone pointed out.
    Lady Hordern looked a little bewildered.
    “All that is necessary is to know that many people are ill and in trouble,” Margaret said with a smile.
    “Quite!” Wills agreed, as if she had made his point for him.
    Rathbone hid a smile. “I think what Miss Ballinger means is that we should also give generously to other causes as well.”
    Lady Hordern blinked. “Whose cause?”
    “I was