Acceptable Loss - Anne Perry [87]
“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 go home to bed and leave him in a police cell? What the—”
Mrs. Ballinger looked from one to the other of them, her face flushed and unhappy.
Celia took a step toward George, then changed her mind and moved to her mother instead.
“Be quiet!” Rathbone snapped at George, his voice hard-edged and loud. He turned again to Mrs. Ballinger. “There is nothing anyone can do tonight. There are no judges or magistrates available at this hour. But he is an innocent man, and of some substance; they will treat him reasonably. They know there’ll be hell to pay if they do anything else.”
George snorted. “Trust your friend to choose this time for precisely that reason. The man’s despicable.”
“Wilbert!” Gwen accused. “Why do you just stand there like a piece of furniture? Do something!”
“There’s nothing to do,” he retorted. “Oliver’s right. There’s no one to appeal to at this time of night.”
“As I said,” George glared at him, “that’s Monk for you.” He turned to Rathbone as if it were his fault.
Rathbone felt his face burn. “Would you rather he’d come during the day and arrested Papa-in-law in his offices, in front of his staff, and possibly his clients?”
The tide of color rushed up George’s face.
“What will you do tomorrow, Oliver?” Celia asked. “There has to be some mistake. What is he accused of?