A Breach of Promise (37 page)

The third member, who had not yet spoken, pushed his cap back on his head and looked at Monk curiously. “Yeah, I knew ’im. Decent feller, ’e were. Poor devil. Died. Din’t yer know that?”

“Yes, yes, I did know. I was wondering what became of his family,” Monk continued.

The man guffawed with laughter, but there was a hard edge to it and his eyes were angry. “Little late, in’t yer? Why d’yer wanna know fer now? ‘Oo cares after all this time?”

“His sister,” Monk replied truthfully. “She cared all the time but was in no position to employ anyone to find out.”

“So wot’s changed?” the man said, yanking his cap forward again.

A smiling girl brought Monk his meal and he thanked her and gave her threepence for herself. The man at the table frowned. Monk was setting a precedent they would not be able to follow.

“Thank you,” Monk said graciously, still looking at the girl. “Do you have scullery maids in the kitchen?”

“Yes sir, three o’ them,” she said willingly. Any gentleman who tipped her threepence deserved a little courtesy. And he was certainly handsome looking, in a grim sort of way. Quite appealing, really, a bit mysterious. “An’ two kitchen maids, an’ o’ course a cook … sir. Was yer wantin’ ter speak ter anyone?”

“Do you have a girl with a deformed mouth?”

“A wot?”

“A twisted mouth, a funny lip?”

She looked puzzled. “No sir.”

“Never mind. Thank you for answering me.” It was foolish to have hoped. The woman at Buxton House had said the publican had got rid of the girls. It might not even be the same publican now. It was fifteen years ago.

The girl smiled and left and Monk began his meal.

“Yer really mean it, don’t yer?” one of the men said in surprise. “You’ll not find ’em now, yer know? They put people like that away inter places w’ere they can’t upset folk … they’ll be cleanin’ up arter folk somewhere, if they’re still alive. They wasn’t only ugly, yer know; they was simple as well. I saw ’em w’en they was ’ere. There’s summink about ‘avin’ yer face twisted as bothers folk more ‘n if it were yer body or yer ‘ands. One of ’em looked like she were sneerin’ at yer, an the other like she was barin’ ’er teeth. Couldn’t ’elp it, o’ course, but strangers don’ know that.”

Monk should have kept quiet. Instead he found himself asking, “Where might they be sent to, exactly?”

The man gulped down his ale. “Exac’ly? Gawd knows! Any places as’d ’ave ’em, poor little things. Pity fer Sam. ’E loved them little girls.”

There was only one more avenue Monk should try, then duty was satisfied.

“What about his widow? Do you know what happened to her?”

“Dolly Jackson? I dunno.” He looked around the table. “D’you know, Ted? D’you know, Alf?”

Ted shrugged and picked up his tankard.

“She left Putney. I know that,” Alf said decisively. “Went north, I ’eard. Up city way. Lookin’ fer a soft billet, I shouldn’t wonder. She were pretty enough ter please any man, long as she didn’t ’ave them two little one’s wif ’er.”

“That’s a downright cruel thing ter say!” Ted criticized.

Alf’s face showed resignation. “It’s true. Poor Sam. Turnin’ over in ‘is grave, I shouldn’t wonder,”

As Monk had foreseen, the public house had changed
hands, and the present landlord, with the best will in the world to oblige, had no idea whatever what had happened to two little girls fifteen years ago, nor could he make any helpful suggestions.

Monk had acquitted his obligations, and he left with thanks.

The obvious course was to tell Martha Jackson that he had done what he could and further pursuance was fruitless. He would not tell her his fears, only phrase things in such a manner she would not wish to waste his time on something which could not succeed.

He arrived in Tavistock Square early in the afternoon and was admitted by Martha herself. The moment she recognized him, her face filled with eagerness, hope that he had come for her battling with fear that it was only to see Hester again and dread that he had something discouraging to tell her after all.

He wished he could free himself from caring about it. It was just another case—and one which he had known from the beginning could only end this way, or worse. And yet the feeling was sharp inside him, not only for Hester but for Martha herself, and above all for Sam Jackson’s children.

“I’m sorry, Miss Jackson,” he said quickly. He should not keep her in even a moment’s false hope. “I traced them as far as working in a public house kitchen in Putney, the Coopers Arms. But after that no one knows where they went, except it was to another job. They weren’t abandoned.” They might very well have been abandoned, but there was nothing to be served by telling her that.

The stiffness relaxed out of her body and her shoulders drooped. She blinked, for an instant fighting tears. Only then did he realize how much she had truly hoped, in spite of all his warnings. He felt painfully helpless. He tried to think of anything to say or do to ease her distress, and there was nothing.

She gulped once and swallowed.

“Thank you, Mr. Monk. It was very good of you to try for me.” She blinked several times more, then turned away, her voice thick with unreleased weeping. “I’m sure you’d like to
see Miss Latterly. Please …” She did not finish, but led him wordlessly across the hall and up the stairs towards the sitting room which she and Hester shared. She opened the door and stood back for him to enter, retreating immediately.

Hester put down her book. He noticed it was on Indian history. She stood up, coming towards him, searching his face.

“You couldn’t find them,” she said softly. It was not a question, but her eyes were full of disappointment she could not hide.

He hated having let her down, even though she had never expected the impossible. He realized with a jolt how much her feelings mattered to him, and he resented it. It made him dependent upon her and hideously vulnerable. That was something he had tried all his life to avoid. It had not even happened in a way he could have foreseen and over which he had control. It should have been some gentlewoman in love with him, over whom he could exercise a decent influence and whose effect upon him he could control.

“Of course I couldn’t find them!” he said sharply. “I told you that in the beginning. I tried hard, I questioned everyone who had anything to do with it, but there was never any reasonable chance of success. Dammit, it was twenty years ago. What did you expect?” He took a breath, looking at the pain in her eyes. “You were irresponsible leading Martha to hope,” he went on.

“I didn’t!” she retorted with a sudden flare of temper. “I always said there was very little chance. She can’t help hoping. Wouldn’t you? No—perhaps you wouldn’t. Sometimes I think you don’t understand ordinary feelings at all. You haven’t got any.” She turned away, her body rigid.

It was so untrue it was monstrous. As usual, she was being utterly unjust. He was about to say so when there was a heavy footstep in the corridor outside. A moment later, after the merest hesitation, the door opened and Athol Sheldon stood in the threshold. He was dressed in a smart checked jacket of a Norfolk style and his face was pink with fresh air and exertion. Apparently he had just arrived. As usual, he was oblivious of the emotions of those he had interrupted.

“Good afternoon, Miss Latterly. How are you this delightful day? Good afternoon, Mr. Monk. How are you, sir?” Apparently the expressions on their faces told him nothing. “Gabriel seems a little disturbed today.” He frowned slightly. “If I may say so, Miss Latterly, I think you should not have told him the news about Melville. It has distressed him unnecessarily. And, of course, poor Perdita should never have had to learn of such depravity. That was a grave misjudgment on your part, and I am disappointed in you.”

The blood rushed in a tide up Hester’s face. Monk’s emotion changed instantly from anger with her to a rage with Athol he could barely control. He made the effort only because he did not wish to speak without thinking and possibly make the matter worse for her. To his amazement, he found himself shaking.

“Mistaken or not,” Hester said between her teeth, “it is my judgment that Lieutenant Sheldon should be treated as an adult and told whatever he wishes to know. He was interested in the Melville case and concerned for both justice and the human tragedy involved.”

“And what about Mrs. Sheldon?” Athol demanded, staring at Hester angrily. “Have you given the slightest thought to her feelings, with your zeal to press what you see as your duty to my brother? Have you for an instant thought what irreparable damage you might be doing to her?” His eyes widened. “What about her innocence, her susceptibilities, even her ability to continue as the charming and gentle creature she is and for which he married her … eh?”

“It is not possible to protect anyone from the tragedies and misfortunes of life forever, Mr. Sheldon,” she replied stiffly. “I don’t think Mrs. Sheldon wishes to be locked away. She would be denying the chance to grow up, or to be any use to anyone. No person with a whit of courage wishes to remain a child forever….”

His face was mottled with purple and his eyes were now brilliant with outrage.

“Miss Latterly, you exceed yourself! You have shown much
spirit and initiative in going to the Crimea to nurse soldiers, and I am sure much worthy devotion to duty, as you perceive it, but I am afraid you are not suitable for nursing in the home of a gentleman. You have picked up too much of the manner and beliefs of army life. It is most unfortunate, but I must recommend to my brother that you be released as soon as I can find someone to replace you.”

Hester was white-faced. For a moment she looked almost as if she might be about to crumple.

Monk was furious. Now he would intervene, whether she liked it or not.

But he was prevented by Perdita herself, who was standing in the doorway, also wide-eyed and extremely pale. She must have heard their raised voices. Now she was trembling as she steadied herself with one hand on the doorframe behind Athol.

“You will not be replaced, Hester,” she said huskily, and cleared her throat. “Athol, I appreciate that you no doubt have my welfare in mind, but you will not dismiss my staff, or indeed give them any instructions at all. Miss Latterly is in my employ, not yours, and she will stay here as long as I wish her to and she is willing.”

“You are upset, my dear,” Athol said after a moment’s hesitation in amazement at her outburst. “When you have had time to reconsider, you will realize that what I say is right.” He nodded several times to emphasize his certainty.

“It is not right!” she contradicted him, coming into the room and facing him squarely. “Certainly I am upset that Melville is dead, poor creature, and I am upset about the manner of his death—” She corrected herself. “Her death! The whole thing is a most tragic matter altogether. But I am plain angry that you should choose to dismiss my staff without reference to me or my wishes.”

“It is for your good, my dear Perdita—”

“I don’t care whose good it is for!” she shouted at him. “Or whose good you think it is! You will not make my decisions for me.” She took a deep breath and resumed in a normal voice. “And anyway, you are wrong. It is not for my good that I
should be shut away from knowing what is going on. What use am I to anybody, especially myself, if life passes me by? Would you allow me to decide for you what you should know and what you shouldn’t?”

He laughed abruptly. “That is hardly comparable, my dear girl. I know an infinitely greater amount about the world and its ways than you do.”

“Of course you do!” she rejoined smartly. “Nobody told you you should stay in the nursery and drink milk for the rest of your life!”

“Really, Perdita!” He bridled, stepping backwards. “Your complete loss of composure rather proves what I say. You are overwrought and quite unable to think clearly. That is not a matter you should be discussing in front of Miss Latterly and Mr. Monk.”

“Why not?” she demanded. “You are trying to dismiss Hester. Should that be done behind her back?”

“Perdita, please control yourself!” Athol was becoming seriously annoyed now. His rather thin patience was worn through. “Have Martha make you a cup of tea or something. This vindicates my judgment that this has all been too much for you. If you are not careful you will take a fit of the vapors, and then you can be no help to Gabriel or anyone else.”

“I shall not take a fit of the vapors!” Perdita retaliated. “The very worst I shall do is tell you precisely what I think and feel about your interfering in my household. But believe me, Athol, that could be very bad. Hester is staying here, and that is the end to it. If you do not find that something you can abide, then I shall be sorry not to see you until Gabriel is better and she has been released to care for someone else … but I shall endure it. Stoically!” Her face was bright pink, and in spite of her attitude of confidence, she was trembling.

Hester was trying very hard to keep the smile from her lips.

Monk did not bother.

“I am sure your husband will be obliged to you, Mrs. Sheldon,” he said quietly. “It is not pleasant to rely on someone and have them dismissed by anyone else, no matter how well
intended. And your understanding and feelings regarding the Melville case will no doubt make it much easier for him to bear his own sense of distress, since he will not have to do it alone.”

“I will thank you to concern yourself with your own affairs, sir!” Athol said to him coldly. “You have already brought enough distress and disturbance into this house. We should not even have heard of this miserable, farcical business if it were not for you. Women dressing up as men, deceiving the world, trying to ape their betters and living a completely unnatural life. It is a debasement of all that is purest and most honorable in domestic happiness, and those things any decent man holds dear … those very values which are the cornerstone of any civilized society.”

Perdita stared at him. “Why shouldn’t women design houses? We live in them just as much as men do—more so.”

“Because you are plainly not competent to do so!” he answered, exasperation sharpening his voice. “That is self-evident.” He swept his arm sideways, dramatically. “You run households, that is an utterly different affair. It does not call for mathematical or logical skills, for special perception, individuality, or thought—and certainly not for genius—”