A Breach of Promise - Anne Perry [71]
Beside Monk, Athol Sheldon was also taken aback, but he seemed embarrassed. He cleared his throat as if about to speak, then changed his mind and said nothing. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and back again.
“Gabriel,” Hester said quietly, as if she were unaware of the group outside the open door. “Was it James Lovat again?”
Gabriel nodded.
Perdita looked questioningly at Athol.
“I’ve no idea,” Athol said. He moved forward at last. “Really, my dear chap,” he said to his brother, addressing the back of his head where he half lay in Hester’s arms. “You must put all this behind you. It is a tragedy which cannot be helped now. You did your part, splendidly. Put it from your mind.”
Hester looked up at him, her eyes wide and bright.
“One cannot forget at will, Mr. Sheldon. Some memories have to be faced and lived with.”
“I think not,” Athol contradicted, his voice firm. He stood very square on the balls of his feet.
“Then if it should happen to you, Mr. Sheldon,” Hester said without flinching, “we shall know what best to do for you. But for Gabriel we shall do as he wishes.”
“Gabriel is ill!” Athol said angrily. He was frightened by emotion he could neither understand nor share; it was sharp in his voice. He had no idea what demons were in his brother’s head. He was afraid of them for himself, and he did not want anyone to have to look at them. “It is our duty, as well as our—our love for him to make decisions in his interest. I would have thought as a nurse you would have perceived that!” That was an accusation.
Monk drew breath to defend Hester, then saw her face and realized it was her battle and she needed no assistance. She understood Athol better than he understood himself.
“If we want to help, we will listen to him,” she answered, equally levelly. “Grief for the death of a friend should not be smothered. You wouldn’t say that if James Lovat had died in an accident here in England instead of from gangrene in Cawnpore.”
“I should not encourage dwelling on it!” Athol argued, his face pink. “But that is beside the point. He didn’t die here, poor fellow. The whole matter of the Indian Mutiny is better not dwelt upon, and the siege of Cawnpore and its atrocities especially so.” His voice was final, as if what he said were an order, but he did not move away. Suddenly Monk realized Athol depended upon Hester. He might condescend to her, his conscious mind might think of her as a woman and necessarily of inferior intellect and ability in almost everything, but he knew there was a strength in her to meet and deal with the horror and tragedies of life greater than anything within himself.
A ripple of ridiculous pride surged through Monk.
“Mr. Sheldon”—Hester let go of Gabriel gently and rose to her feet, straightening her rumpled skirts with one hand—“if it had been Gabriel who had died in Cawnpore, or a wife or child of yours—and there were hundreds of women and children among the dead—what would you think of their friends who chose to forget them?”
“Well, I—I think I would understand if it was to save their own minds from nightmare—” Athol began to answer.
“Oh, it’s not to save Gabriel,” she interrupted. “It is because you don’t wish to hear about it … and because you think we don’t.”
“Nonsense!” he said too quickly. “I want Gabriel to get well, to be able to take up his life again here at home—at least … at least, as much as he can. And I want to protect Perdita from horrors no woman should have to know about. Really, Miss Latterly.” His voice was growing stronger, his confidence gathering. He squared his shoulders. “We have discussed this before. I thought we had reached an understanding. This house is to be a refuge from the ugliness and violence of the world, a place where Gabriel, above all, will be at peace, may heal his mind and body from the tragedies of war and its barbarities, where he may feel utterly safe….” He was becoming enthusiastic