Acceptable Loss - Anne Perry [115]
“It is regarding evidence, Mrs. Ballinger,” Hester replied, needing a considerable effort to keep her voice level and polite. “I would prefer not to take it to Mr. Winchester, but that is my alternative.”
The last vestiges of color drained from Mrs. Ballinger’s face. “Are you threatening me, Mrs. Monk?”
Hester felt the anger brew inside her. “I am trying to gain your attention, Mrs. Ballinger. Or to be more accurate, Margaret’s attention. The matter in hand is more important than our personal feelings.”
Margaret took her mother’s arm briefly. “I shall find you when court resumes, Mama. Go with Gwen and Celia.” And without waiting for her mother’s reply, she let go of her and faced Hester. “We had better go to Oliver’s rooms. Whatever you have to say need not be made a spectacle of out here. Come.” Then, walking as briskly as possible through the last few people still in the corridors, she led the way to the room where Rathbone was permitted, for the duration of the trial, to keep his papers and to speak with anyone he might need to. The clerk recognized Margaret and, without question, allowed her in, and Hester because they were clearly together.
Margaret swung round as soon as the door was closed.
“Well, what is it? After your husband’s accusations against my father, you can hardly expect me to be pleased to see you, or to imagine you have my welfare in mind.”
It was not so long since they had been close friends, sharing laughter, dreams, even the excitement of Margaret’s courtship with Rathbone, and her anxieties that he would never actually propose to her. She had not said so in as many words, but there had been a time when Margaret had feared that he would always love Hester, and had secretly imagined that Hester would have made him happier. It had been some time before she had realized that was not true.
Now they faced each other, several feet apart in the small room with its table, chairs, and bookcases, a world apart in emotion.
There was no time to waste in prevarication, or in an attempt to smooth the way to any kind of understanding.
“You were at the clinic the morning Hattie Benson left,” Hester stated.
Margaret was stiff, her shoulders high and straight, a very faint color in her cheeks.
“You came here to tell me that?” she said with surprise. “You’ve lost your evidence. I know that. She won’t testify to save your friend. Although how you can be a friend to Rupert Cardew is beyond my imagination. But, then, you have not been in court, and perhaps that is some excuse. I assure you, your loyalty is misplaced.”
All kinds of bitter retorts rose to Hester’s lips, especially as Margaret herself had not been in court the previous day, but Hester did not speak them. It would break the frail thread of contact between them, and she needed to know the truth.
“I want to know what happened to Hattie, Margaret; that’s all I’m concerned with at the moment. I promised to look after her. I want to know why I failed, regardless of what she might have said on the stand.”
“What she might have said is that she lied to you,” Margaret answered. “You were kind to her, and she wanted to please you. I imagine she also had a very good idea of where her best future interests lay, should she ever be sick or injured, or need your help for any kind of problem. And she wouldn’t be the first who lied to please the police, out of fear, or for revenge, or simply because it’s easier than keeping up a resistance. You know as well as I do that street women survive by pleasing others, frequently those they are afraid of.” She made a slight gesture, half pity, half disgust. “They know what people want, and they give it to them. It’s their trade.”
Hester shook her head fractionally, as if to rid herself of something. “Is that how you think of her, as someone who lies to please, that’s all?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Hester, don’t be so self-righteous. This is the time for truth. Yes, that is what I think of girls like Hattie. Maybe if I had had the misfortune of being born into her lot in life, I would