The William Monk Mysteries_ The First Three Novels - Anne Perry [458]
The clerk went in to Rathbone immediately, and within a moment was out again.
“If you please, Miss Latterly?” He stood back, inviting her in.
“Thank you.” She barely glanced at him as she passed.
Oliver Rathbone was sitting at his desk and he rose to his feet before she was across the threshold.
“Hester?”
She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, suddenly breathless.
“I know why Alexandra killed the general!” She swallowed hard, an ache in her throat. “And my God, I think I would have done it too. And gone to the gallows before I would have told anyone why.”
“Why?” His voice was husky, little more than a whisper. “For God’s sake why?”
“Because he was having carnal knowledge of his own son!”
“Dear heaven! Are you sure?” He sat down suddenly as though all the strength had gone out of him. “General Carlyon—was … ? Hester… ?”
“Yes—and not only he, but probably the old colonel as well—and God knows who else.”
Rathbone shut his eyes and his face was ashen.
“No wonder she killed him,” he said very quietly.
Hester came over and sat down on the chair opposite the desk. There was no need to spell it out. They both knew the helplessness of a woman who wanted to leave her husband without his agreement, and that even if she did, all children were legally his, not hers. By law she would forfeit all right to them, even nursing babies, let alone an eight-year-old son.
“What else could she do?” Hester said blankly. “There was no one to turn to—I don’t suppose anyone would have believed her. They’d lock her up for slander, or insanity, if she tried to say such a thing about a pillar of the military establishment like the general.”
“His parents?” he said, then laughed bitterly. “I don’t suppose they’d ever believe it, even if they saw the act.”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “The old colonel does it too—so he would be no help. Presumably Felicia never knew? I don’t know how Alexandra did; the child certainly didn’t tell her. He was sworn to secrecy, and terrified. He’d been told his mother wouldn’t love him anymore, that she’d hate him and send him away if she ever found out.”
His face was pale, the skin drawn tight.
“How do you know?”
Detail by detail she related to him the events of the afternoon. The cleric knocked on the door and said that the next client was here. Rathbone told him to go away again.
“Oh God,” he said quietly when she had finished. He turned from the window where he had moved when she was halfway through. His face was twisted with pity, and anger for the pain and loneliness and the fear of it. “Hester …”
“You can help her, can’t you?” she pleaded. “She’ll hang for it, if you don’t, and he’ll have no one. He’ll be left in that house—for it to go on.”
“I know!” He turned away and looked out of the window. “I’ll do what I can. Let me think. Come back tomorrow, with Monk.” His hands clenched by his sides. “We have no proof.”
She wanted to cry out that there must be, but she knew he did not speak lightly, or from defeat, only from the need to be exact. She rose to her feet and stood a little behind him.
“You’ve done what seemed impossible before,” she said tentatively.
He looked back at her, smiling, his eyes very soft.
“My dear Hester…”
She did not flinch or ease the demand in her face.
“I’ll try,” he said quietly. “I promise you I will try.”
She smiled quickly, reached up her hand and brushed his cheek, without knowing why, then turned and left, going out into the clerk’s office with her head high.
The following day, late in the morning, Rathbone, Monk and Hester sat in the office in Vere Street with all doors closed and all other business suspended until they should have reached a decision. It was June 16.
Monk had just heard from Hester what she had learned at the