Slaves of Obsession - Anne Perry [146]
Judith held her arms out.
Silently, Merrit stepped forward and they clasped each other, Merrit sobbing, letting go of all the terror and pain that she had held so desperately in control over the last month since Hester had first told her of her father’s death.
Philo Trace blinked hard several times, then turned and walked away.
Robert Casbolt remained.
Rathbone came out of the courtroom door, smiling. Horatio Deverill was a couple of steps behind him, still looking surprised but not exhibiting any ill will. They passed Breeland without apparently noticing him.
“Did you do that on purpose?” Deverill asked, shaking his head. “I really thought I had you, on intent if not facts. I’m still not sure I wasn’t caught by sleight of hand somehow.”
Rathbone merely smiled.
Merrit and Judith parted and Judith thanked Rathbone formally, and moved a little apart with him. Merrit turned towards Hester.
“Thank you,” she said very quietly. “You and Mr. Monk have done far more for me than I can ever express to you in words.” There was still confusion and unhappiness in her face.
Hester knew what it was. The victory of acquittal was deeply shadowed by the disillusion of Breeland’s isolation from her. Now that the immediate danger was over she had to face a decision. They were not forced together by common circumstances any longer. Suddenly it was a matter of choice. That she had to make it at all was painful enough, and her misery was clear.
“It was a very mixed blessing, wasn’t it?” Hester replied equally quietly. She did not wish anyone else to hear their exchange, and with as many conversations as there were going on, it was not difficult to submerge themselves in the sea of voices.
Merrit did not answer. She still did not wish to commit herself to saying aloud that the certainty was gone. The crusade was glorious, but it was not really love, not enough for a marriage.
“I’m sorry,” Hester said, and she meant it profoundly. She had mourned dreams herself, and knew the pain of it.
Merrit lowered her eyes. “I don’t understand him,” she said under her breath. “He didn’t ever really love me, did he? Not as I loved him.”
“He probably loves you as much as he is able to.” Hester searched her mind to find the truth.
Merrit looked up. “What shall I do? He’s an honorable man, I always knew he wasn’t guilty! Not just of actively being there, but of persuading Shearer to do it either.”
“Are you sure he wouldn’t have taken the guns even if he had known that they were tainted by murder?” Hester asked.
Merrit gulped. “No …” she whispered. “He believes the cause is great enough to justify any means of serving it. I … I don’t think I can share that belief. I know I can’t feel it. Maybe my idealism isn’t strong enough. I don’t see the great vision. Perhaps I’m not as good as he is.…” That was almost a question; the pleading for an answer was in her eyes. Even now she was half convinced the fault was hers, that it was she who lacked a certain nobility that would have enabled her to see things as he did.
“No,” Hester said decisively. “To see the mass and lose the individual is not nobility. You are confusing emotional cowardice with honor.” She was even more certain as she found the words. “To do what you believe is right, even when it hurts, to follow your duty when the cost in friendship is high, or even the cost in love, is a greater vision, of course. But to retreat from personal involvement, from gentleness and the giving of yourself, and choose instead the heroics of a general cause, no matter how fine, is a kind of cowardice.”
Merrit still looked doubtful. Part of her understood, but she had not found words to explain it to herself. She frowned, struggling to make final the realization she had been trying not to see for days.
“I couldn’t love anyone who would put me before what he believed was right. I mean … I could love him, but not with a whole heart, not the same way.”
“Neither could I,” Hester agreed, seeing the momentary relief in Merrit’s eyes, then the confusion