A Breach of Promise (29 page)

Monk knew what he meant. He was not really speaking of cases, or even of Melville, but it was not necessary to acknowledge that.

“Oh, I’ve been beaten before,” Monk said quickly. “And in more important cases than this. It is just that this is so stupid. It didn’t have to have happened. The man has ruined himself … and it is tragic because he is a genius.”

“Is he?” Gabriel was interested.

“Oh, yes,” Monk replied without doubt. “I was in one of his buildings. It was not quite finished, but even so it was all light and air.” He heard the enthusiasm in his own voice. “Every line in it was pleasing. Not familiar, because it was different, and yet it gave the feeling that it was so right it should have been. Like hearing a perfect piece of music … not man created but merely discovered. It reveals something one recognizes instantly.” He tried to describe it. “It is a kind of joy not quite like anything else. That is what infuriates me … the man has no right to destroy himself, and over something so stupid! An ounce of common sense and it could all have been avoided.”

Gabriel bit his lip. “It is surely the essence of true tragedy, that it was avoidable. Someone will write a great play on it, perhaps.”

“It’s not good enough,” Monk said in disgust. “It’s farcical and pointless.”

“You think Hester can still help?”

“Probably not.”

Gabriel smiled. If he thought perhaps Monk had come for some other reason, he was too tactful to say so.

They were speaking of other subjects when Perdita Sheldon
came in. She was dressed in mid green with a wide skirt, which was very fashionable, the lace trimming on the bodice lightening it. Had she had a little more color in her cheeks and seemed less anxious, she would have looked lovely.

“Mrs. Hanning has called. Will—will you see her? You don’t have to….”

Gabriel obviously did not recognize the name. His face showed only the apprehension he might in seeing anyone.

“Hanning,” Perdita repeated. “Major Hanning’s wife.” She watched him tensely. Her back was stiff, her hands moving restlessly in front of her, smoothing her huge skirt as if she were about to meet someone of great importance, although it was only a nervous gesture because she did not look down to see what she had done. “He was killed at Gwalior.”

“Oh …” Gabriel stared back at her, breathing in very slowly, his jaw tightening, his lips close together on the good side of his face, the scar curiously immobile. Oddly, it made his apprehension even more evident.

“I’ll tell her you’re not well enough,” Perdita said hastily.

“No …”

“She’ll understand.” She did not move. She thought she knew what she should do to protect him, and yet even that decision was difficult. She had to resolve in order to make it and she watched him for approval. “Perhaps … later … in a few weeks …”

“No. No, I’ll see her today.” He too had to steel himself.

Monk wondered who Hanning had been and why his widow should call so soon. Was it duty, compassion, or some need of her own?

“I’ll ask Miss Latterly.” Perdita swung around and hurried away. She had found an answer. If something ran out of control, Hester would be there to take care of it.

Something in Gabriel had relaxed at the mention of Hester’s name. He too was relying on her.

Impatience welled up inside Monk. These people were adults, not children, to be needing someone else to deal with
difficult encounters. Then he looked again at the lines of tiredness in Gabriel’s face, the side that was undamaged. He needed all the strength he could find to battle physical pain and the terrible memories he could not share with his young wife who had no idea what he had seen or felt. India to her was a red area on the map, a word without reality. All he had been taught about the roles of men and women, about courage and duty, responsibility and honor, demanded he support her, protect her, even keep from her the harsher and uglier sides of life. Men did not weep. Good men did not even permit others to know of their wounds.

And it was not Perdita’s fault that she was confused and frightened. She had been protected all her short life. She had not chosen to be, it was her assigned role. A few women, like Hester, broke out of it, but it was a long and painful series of choices, and it left them too often alone—and for all the words of praise and gratitude, still faintly despised, because they were different … and perhaps threatening. Both Gabriel and Perdita could rely on her now, in their time of need. They would possibly even love her, after a fashion. Perhaps part of them would also resent the very fact that she knew their vulnerability and their failures.

When they were recovered she would leave, and they would choose to forget her as part of their time of pain. And she would begin again, and alone. He had never appreciated her courage in quite that light before. It was an inner thing, a knowledge she would hold inside herself, knowing its cost but for her pride’s sake not sharing it.

“Would you prefer to see this lady alone?” he asked, not standing up but facing Gabriel very frankly.

As if he had read at least something in Monk’s thoughts, Gabriel smiled back.

“I knew Hanning fairly well, but I never met his wife. He spoke of her, but I gathered she was … difficult.” A fleeting humor crossed his face and vanished. “They quarreled rather often. I have no idea what to say to her. I don’t know if I am being arrogant putting myself to this test. I want to prove to
myself that I can do it.” He shrugged. “And I shall expect Hester to pick up the pieces if I can’t … for me and for Perdita. I can see that you care for Hester.” He disregarded Monk’s sudden discomfort. “It might be a kindness if you would stay—even if it is an imposition….” He watched Monk very steadily. He would not ask, because it would be embarrassing if Monk refused.

Monk did not respond at once. Was his feeling for Hester so transparent? It was friendship, not romantic love. Did Gabriel understand that? Perhaps he should explain? But what words should he use to avoid giving the wrong impression?

“Of course,” he agreed at last, relaxing back into the chair. “We have been friends for some time—several years, in fact.”

Gabriel smiled and his eyes widened very slightly.

Damn it, there was nothing amusing in that! “She has a good observation of people, and has been of considerable help to me in several of my cases,” he added.

“She is a most remarkable woman,” Gabriel agreed. “I find her easier to talk to than anyone else I can think of, even other men who have experienced the same battles and sieges I have.”

“Do you!” Monk was stung. Gabriel had only just met her. How could he compare his friendship with her, his dependence, in the same breath with Monk’s? Monk was about to make a remark about her professional skills when he realized how rude it would be—and how gratuitously cruel. And an incredible self-knowledge brought the blood to his cheeks. It was prompted by jealousy!

He was startled to hear a sound in the doorway and see Hester standing there. She was wearing blue-gray, the same dress she usually wore when on duty, or one so like it he saw no difference. Actually, he generally took very little notice of what she wore.

She looked at Gabriel with a question in her face, but she did not speak. She hesitated a moment, then accepted his decision and turned to go back and bring Mrs. Hanning.

Gabriel and Monk waited in silence. The clock ticked on the mantel shelf, and the sunlight shone in fitful patterns through
the window onto the carpet. A gust of wind billowed the curtains for a moment, then they settled again. It had carried in the scent of blossoms and earth.

Mrs. Hanning walked across the passageway and appeared at the door. She was striking and flamboyant with a rather haughty manner. She had a long, straight nose and very full lips and level brows. Had they been arched she would have been truly beautiful. And perhaps her chin should have been a little firmer. Now she was dressed in widow’s black.

She stared at Gabriel, completely bereft of speech. Her gloved hand went up and covered her mouth as if to smother her words so they could not be spoken.

Behind her, Perdita was close to tears. Her eyes swam as she looked at Gabriel, aching for him and helpless to know what to say, how to protect him. Her crushing failure was naked in her face.

Gabriel looked for a moment as if he had seen himself in someone else’s eyes for the first time. Monk tried to imagine what it must have been like, the stomach-tearing horror when he realized this was his own face, the outer aspect he would present to the world for the rest of his life. The handsome man who automatically won smiles and willingness and admiration was gone forever. Now he would gain only fear, revulsion, even nausea, the intense embarrassment and pity which made people want to run away. Perhaps he would sooner have died? He could have been buried in India, one of a thousand other lost heroes, and all this need never have happened. It was so much easier not ever to know about such things, not ever to look at them.

Monk should say something. It was his responsibility.

He stood up, smiling at Mrs. Hanning.

“How do you do, Mrs. Hanning. My name is William Monk.” He held out his hand. “I am a friend of Gabriel’s. I called by to ask his advice on a small problem I am dealing with for a friend. At least, I hope to deal with it. I am not doing very well at the moment.”

Mrs. Hanning caught her breath. “Oh … really? I am sorry,
Mr…. Mr. Monk.” She was obviously not even sure whether she was relieved to have to speak to him or annoyed. She was also not interested. Her voice was dry, overpolite. “How unfortunate.”

“I find him most helpful for clarifying the mind,” he went on, as if she had been charming.

It was long enough to give Gabriel time to take command of himself again.

“Good morning, Mrs. Hanning. How kind of you to call.” His voice shook only a little and he forced himself to meet her eyes, regardless of what he should see there.

“It was …” She had been about to say “duty” and thought better of it. She tried to look at him normally and failed. Her gaze fixed rigidly on his eyes as if she were afraid it would slide off to his disfigured flesh or his absent arm. “It was something I always intended,” she finished lamely. “I have just been … er …”

“Of course,” He struggled to help her, hideously conscious of her revulsion. “We were all terribly grieved to hear of Major Hanning’s death at Gwalior. We lost so many friends it seemed as if the grief would never stop—stop increasing.”

“Yes …” She still had no idea what to say to him. If she had had it all clear in her mind before she came, the reality of his injuries had scattered it from her. “It must have been dreadful for you. My husband …” She swallowed and gulped. “My husband always mentioned you with great regard.” It sounded appallingly formal, as if she were a senior officer’s wife making a duty call with no idea and no feeling for the events or emotions of which she spoke. She was floundering, and they all knew it.

Where was Hester? She would know how to say something which could bring them back to honesty. Monk looked over Mrs. Hanning’s shoulder and saw first Perdita, ashen-faced, then Hester beyond her. She shook her head minutely.

He nodded, tightening his lips. Why was she letting this go on? It was agonizing!

“He would,” Gabriel replied, still holding Mrs. Hanning’s
gaze, almost unblinking. “He was a generous man, and we were friends. We shared many struggles together, many experiences. We had good friends in common … whom we lost.” His face was full of emotion and memory. “He loved India. He loved the land, the nights, the smells of spices and dust and everything growing.” He half smiled and his voice became even softer. “Once you have felt the heat and life of the jungle you don’t ever forget it. Or the markets. The noise, the—” He stopped abruptly. She could not believe him. Unlike Perdita, she had been to India, but only to the sheltered hill posts, and then she had mixed only with other officers’ wives.

“I think you are—are mistaken. You must have him confused with someone else.” She made herself smile in return, remembering he was wounded. Perhaps his mind was affected. Yes, that would explain everything. The thoughts were as transparent on her face as if she had spoken them aloud.

Monk glanced at Hester. Still she remained silent.

Perdita moved forward, her hands clutched in front of her, her voice trembling.

“I take it you did not care for India, Mrs. Hanning. I am so sorry. That must make your loss doubly hard. I was unable to go, but I always thought I should find it fascinating. Gabriel wrote such marvelous letters, and I have been reading a book lately about its history. Of course, most of what I know is after the British arrived there, but a little about before that too. I should have done it a long time ago….” She smiled at Mrs. Hanning defiantly, daring her to take offense or argue the issue. She came farther into the room. “I should have been so much more of a companion to Gabriel.”

Mrs. Hanning drew in her breath. It was impossible to tell whether she was hurt or not.

Perdita knew what she had done, but she was too defensive certainly to retreat.

“Since I didn’t go out with him, it is the least I can do now.” She smiled, tilting her chin up a fraction.

“Naturally, if you feel it your duty.” Mrs. Hanning smiled back with the merest movement of her lips. “Then no doubt it
will be of comfort to you. I am delighted you have found something … in your situation … my dear.”

“It is not duty,” Perdita corrected her. “It is my pleasure, and naturally it is distressing, of course, because of all the suffering and the wrongs, the injustices—”

“You mean the barbarity of the Indians—the disloyalty!” Mrs. Hanning finished for her.

“No, I meant the injustices we committed towards them,” Perdita corrected. “I don’t think it is wrong to defend your country. I should want to defend England if Indian armies came here and tried to make us part of their empire.”

Mrs. Hanning laughed. “That is hardly the same thing, my dear. The Indians are barbarians. We are English.”

“I think if you read the accounts of some of our conquests, you will find that we are barbarous as well.” Perdita was insistent. “We were just rather better at it.”