The William Monk Mysteries_ The First Three Novels - Anne Perry [85]
Hester was tempted to laugh, in spite of having heard very clearly what Callandra had said, and perceiving the truth of it.
“I know,” Callandra agreed quickly. “I preach much better than I practice. But believe me, when I want something enough, I have the patience to bide my time and think how I can bring it about.”
“I’ll try,” Hester promised, and she did mean it. “That miserable policeman will not be right—I shall not allow him to be right.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I met him when I was out walking,” Hester explained. “He said I was overbearing and opinionated, or something like that.”
Callandra’s eyebrows shot up and she did not even attempt to keep a straight face.
“Did he really? What temerity! And what perception, on such a short acquaintance. And what did you think of him, may I ask?”
“An incompetent and insufferable nincompoop!”
“Which of course you told him?”
Hester glared back at her. “Certainly!”
“Quite so. I think he had more of the right of it than you did. I don’t think he is incompetent. He has been given an extremely difficult task. There were a great many people who might have hated Joscelin, and it will be exceedingly difficult for a policeman, with all his disadvantages, to discover which one it was—and even harder, I imagine, to prove it.”
“You mean, you think—” Hester left it unsaid, hanging in the air.
“I do,” Callandra replied. “Now come, we must settle what you are to do with yourself. I shall write to certain friends I have, and I have little doubt, if you hold a civil tongue in your head, refrain from expressing your opinion of men in general and of Her Majesty’s Army’s generals in particular, we may obtain for you a position in hospital administration which will not only be satisfying to you but also to those who are unfortunate enough to be ill.”
“Thank you.” Hester smiled. “I am very grateful.” She looked down in her lap for a moment, then up at Callandra and her eyes sparkled. “I really do not mind walking two paces behind a man, you know—if only I can find one who can walk two paces faster than I! It is being tied at the knees by convention I hate—and having to pretend I am lame to suit someone else’s vanity.”
Callandra shook her head very slowly, amusement and sadness sharp in her face. “I know. Perhaps you will have to fall a few times, and have someone else pick you up, before you will learn a more equable pace. But do not walk slowly simply for company—ever. Not even God would wish you to be unequally yoked and result in destroying both of you—in fact God least of all.”
Hester sat back and smiled, lifting up her knees and hugging them in a most unladylike fashion. “I daresay I shall fall many times—and look excessively foolish—and give rise to a good deal of hilarity among those who dislike me—but that is still better than not trying.”
“Indeed it is,” Callandra agreed. “But you would do it anyway.”
8
THE MOST PRODUCTIVE of Joscelin Grey’s acquaintances was one of the last that Monk and Evan visited, and not from Lady Fabia’s list, but from the letters in the flat. They had spent over a week in the area near Shelburne, discreetly questioning on the pretense of tracing a jewel thief who specialized in country houses. They had learned something of Joscelin Grey, of the kind of life he led, at least while home from London. And Monk had had the unnerving and extremely irritating experience one day while walking across the Shelburne parkland of coming upon the woman who had been with Mrs. Latterly in St. Marylebone Church. Perhaps he should not have been startled—after all, society was very small—but it had taken him aback completely. The whole episode in the church with its powerful emotion had returned in the windy, rain-spattered land with its huge trees, and Shelburne House in the distance.
There was no reason why she should not have visited the family, precisely as he later discovered. She was a Miss Hester Latterly, who had nursed in the Crimea, and was a friend of Lady Callandra Daviot. As she had told