The William Monk Mysteries_ The First Three Novels - Anne Perry [283]
“Tory?” Beatrice was surprised. “But his beliefs are radical!”
“Nonsense!” He dismissed it with a laugh. “He reads some very odd literature, I know; but he doesn’t take it seriously.”
“I think he does.”
“Rubbish. You have to consider such stuff to know how to fight against it, that is all.”
“Basil—I—”
“Absolute nonsense, my dear. It will do him excellently. You will see the change in him. Now I am due in Whitehall in half an hour. I will see you for dinner.” And with a perfunctory kiss on her cheek he left, again walking past Hester as if she were invisible.
Hester walked into the chocolate house in Regent Street and saw Monk immediately, sitting at one of the small tables, leaning forward staring into the dregs of a glass cup, his face smooth and bleak. She had seen that expression before, when he had thought the Grey case catastrophic.
She sailed in with a swish of skirts, albeit only blue stuff and not satin, and sat down on the chair opposite him prepared to be angry even before he spoke. His defeatism reached her emotions the more easily because she had no idea how to fight any further herself.
He looked up, saw the accusation in her eyes, and instantly his face hardened.
“I see you have managed to escape the sickroom this afternoon,” he said with a heavy trace of sarcasm. “I presume now that the ’illness’ is at an end, her ladyship will recover rapidly?”
“Is the illness at an end?” she said with elaborate surprise. “I thought from Sergeant Evan that it was far from over; in fact it appears to have suffered a serious relapse, which may even prove fatal.”
“For the footman, yes—but hardly her ladyship and her family,” he said without trying to hide his bitterness.
“But for you.” She regarded him without the sympathy she felt. He was in danger of sinking into self-pity, and she believed most people were far better bullied out of it than catered to. Real compassion should be reserved for the helplessly suffering, of whom she had seen immeasurably too many. “So you have apparently given up your career in the police—”
“I have not given it up,” he contradicted angrily. “You speak as if I did it with deliberate intent. I refused to arrest a man I did not believe guilty, and Runcorn dismissed me for it.”
“Very noble,” she agreed tersely. “But totally foreseeable. You cannot have imagined for a second that he would do anything else.”
“Then you will have an excellent fellow-feeling,” he returned savagely. “Since you can hardly have supposed Dr. Pomeroy would permit you to remain at the infirmary after prescribing the dispensing medicine yourself!” He was apparently unaware of having raised his voice, or of the couple at the next table turning to stare at them. “Unfortunately I doubt you can find me private employment detecting as a freelance, as you can with nursing,” he finished.
“It was your suggestion to Callandra.” Not that she was surprised; it was the only answer that made sense.
“Of course.” His smile was without humor. “Perhaps you can go and ask her if she has any wealthy friends who need a little uncovering of secrets, or tracing of lost heirs?”
“Certainly—that is an excellent idea.”
“Don’t you dare!” He was furious, offended and patronized. “I forbid it!”
The waiter was standing at his elbow to accept their order, but Monk ignored him.
“I shall do as I please,” Hester said instantly. “You will not dictate to me what I shall say to Callandra. I should like a cup of chocolate, if you would be so good.”
The waiter opened his mouth, and then when no one took any notice of him, closed it again.
“You are an arrogant and opinionated woman,” Monk said fiercely. “And quite the most overbearing I have ever met. And you will not start organizing my life as if you were some damned governess. I am not helpless nor lying in a hospital bed at your mercy.”
“Not helpless?” Her eyebrows shot up and she looked at him with all the frustration and impotent anger boiling up inside her, the fury at the blindness, complacency, cowardice and petty malice that