William Monk 17 - Acceptable Loss

make such a claim.”
    “Then, prove him wrong! He’s made some idiotic mistake, because he wants Rupert Cardew to be innocent.”
    “That’s unfair. Monk has never …” He knew before he finished the sentence that it had been a mistake to defend him.
    Her eyebrows rose. “Been wrong?”
    “Of course he’s been wrong. I was going to say ‘deliberately unfair.’ I will find out from him exactly what he thinks he has, and then I will figure out the best and most complete way to disprove it.”
    “Tonight!” she insisted. “Papa can’t possibly spend the night in prison. It’s—it’s appalling. You know it is!”
    “Margaret, there’s nothing I can do tonight.”
    “That’s why he did it, is it? He arrested Papa at this time of night so you couldn’t do anything about it. If he’d done it in the daytime, you could have gotten him out! Oliver, you have to show them what a personal vengeance this is. Papa said Monk was an erratic and spiteful man, but I couldn’t believe him, out of loyalty to you. But Papa was right. Monk can’t ever forgive him for taking on Jericho Phillips and getting you to defend him. You made him and Hester look bad in court, made fools of them, and he’s having his revenge now—on both of you!”
    “Margaret!” His voice was sharp, peremptory. “Stop it! Yes, Monk lost in court the first time with Phillips, and I’m not proud of my part in that. But I did what the law requires, what justice demands. Monk knew that and understood it.”
    Margaret’s eyes were brilliant with tears, but they were tears of shock and anger, and fear of a horror she could not grapple. “Oliver?”
    “Listen to me!” he said grimly. “Monk wants to get that filthy trade off the river—and it is filthy; it’s far worse than anything you’ve heard of in Portpool Lane. Some of those children are not more than five or six years old.” He ignored the wince of pain that twisted her mouth. “Perhaps he is a little overzealous, but we need someone with a passion to destroy it, someone who cares enough to risk getting dirty or hurting themselves. This time he’s made a mistake, but he’s only going where he thinks the evidence is taking him.”
    She blinked hard, and the tears spilled onto her cheeks. “You’ll act for Papa. You must. You’ll—”
    “Only if he wants me to. That has to be his choice. He may prefer someone else.”
    “Of course he won’t!” She was indignant, but beneath the anger he saw the rising, desperate fear. “You have to help, Oliver. Or are you saying that your friendship with Monk makes you—”
    He said the only thing he could. “He is your father, Margaret. Of course I will act for him, as long as it is what he wishes. But be prepared for him to prefer someone else, perhaps because I am too close.” He did not add that Ballinger himself might distrust him because of his friendship with Monk.
    A little of the fear slipped away from her. “Of course,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry. I … it is so unjust! It’s like a nightmare, one of those dreams when everything you love changes in front of you. You go to pick something up, and it turns into something else … something horrible. A cup of tea turns into a dish of maggots—or a person you’ve known all your life changes into an animal, a horrid one …” Now the tears slid down her cheeks and she could not control them.
    Hesitantly he reached his arms out and touched her, then drew her closer to him and held her. He was not sure if she would resist, but her panic was only momentary. After a second of realization, she leaned against him and let him hold her tighter, more completely.
    “I must go and tell the rest of the family,” he murmured. “They will be distressed, and we must assure them that we will do everything necessary to get this all dealt with as quickly and as discreetly as possible.”
    “Yes.” She pulled away from him reluctantly. “Of course.”
    He took a deep breath, and walked away from her and into the withdrawing room. He closed the door behind him and faced them. The women were sitting upright, tense, staring at him. The men were all standing.
    “What the devil’s going on, Oliver?” George demanded. “Where is Papa-in-law?”
    Rathbone faced Mrs. Ballinger. “I’m sorry, Mama-in-law, but he has had to go with the police for the time being. Tomorrow morning I shall—”
    “Tomorrow!” George interrupted angrily. “You mean you’re just going to