refuse to believe it is irredeemable.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. For an instant her face was bright with gratitude, and vulnerable as a child's with sudden new hope.
Hester did not know whether to be furious with him for wakening such thoughts again in her or to pity him because of his own need. She imagined the young man he must have been, taking in two orphaned boys and learning to think of them as his own, clothing them in his dreams, teaching them the arts and truths of life, sharing his experiences and beliefs. And then must have come the disillusion as one of them slowly became bitter, vicious, and began step by tragic step to destroy himself. He had burned out all that was good, all the gentleness and the aspiration towards virtue, until at last he had cut himself off completely and given way to a kind of despair.
Surely such a man as Caleb Stone had become could only result from despair?
No wonder Milo Ravensbrook stood in his wife's sickroom and refused to believe one son could have murdered the other. He was facing the loss of all those he loved, except Genevieve and her children, who, through Angus, were his last blood left.
He turned slowly and looked at Enid, then pale-faced, stiff-backed, he walked out, unable to bring himself to speak.
By midday the doctor had been and gone, offering little more than sympathy.
Hester was about to leave for Limehouse, when she almost ran into Monk in the hallway of Ravensbrook House. She stopped abruptly, the instant after he also had seen her.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded, but his face was full of relief.
In spite of all her intentions, she felt a surge of pleasure inside her.
She refused to explain or excuse it to herself.
“Lady Ravensbrook is ill. I am caring for her,” she replied.
There was a flicker of black humor in him, almost a kind of perverse satisfaction. “You got tired of Limehouse rather quickly, didn't you? What about Callandra? Is she there all by herself now that you and Lady Ravensbrook have left?”
“I'm on my way there,” she said tartly, anger welling up inside her.
“Very intelligent,” Monk said sarcastically. “Then you can bring the typhoid back here with you, to add to whatever Lady Ravensbrook already has. I hadn't thought you so stupid! Does Lord Ravensbrook know? Perhaps he doesn't realize, but I would have thought better of you.”
“It is typhoid she has,” she replied, looking him straight in the eyes. “It is a risk one runs, nursing fever patients. But as you also pointed out, Callandra has very little other help, except a few local women who are willing but have no experience. The only other one there is Kristian. They have to get some rest, so I imagine they are taking turns. They need someone else to help for a while, even if only so they can leave to buy more supplies.”
His face was pale and he looked considerably shaken, as if what she had said distressed him.
“Is she going to recover?” he asked after a moment.
“I hope so. She'll be very tired, of course, but Kristian will do all he can to-”
“Not Callandra, you fool,” he cut across her. “Lady Ravensbrook. You said she has typhoid.”
“Yes. You seem very slow to grasp the point, but that is why I am here looking after her.”
“So why are you leaving her then?” He jerked his head towards the front door, where she had been going. “Is she well enough to be left alone?” “For heaven's sake, she's not alone,” she snapped furiously. “Genevieve Stonefield is here while I am gone. We are taking turns to do all we can.
Do you think I would walk out and leave a patient? I am used to you being gratuitously offensive, but even you know better than that.”
“Genevieve?” He was surprised.
“That is what I said. Presumably she is your client'? Have you proceeded any further? You seemed to have had no success at all when I last saw you.”
“I have considerably more information,” he answered.
“In other words, no,” she interpreted.
“Do you really think you have time and talent enough to spare to do your own work and mine too?” he asked with a lift of sarcasm. “You rate yourself higher than the evidence supports.”
“If you want Genevieve,” she retorted, “you will have to wait. She cannot leave Lady Ravensbrook until I return.” And with that she brushed past him and strode towards the front door, yanking it open and leaving it swinging behind her for the footman to close.
“I came to see Lord Ravensbrook,” Monk said between his teeth. “You monumentally stupid woman!”
Nevertheless on the evening of the day after, tired as she was, Hester went to Monk's rooms in Fitzroy Street to give him the general information she had learned about Angus and Caleb Stonefield from her time in Ravensbrook House. It was not a great deal, but it might help. She was not concerned so much for him as for Genevieve.
It was a wintry night and she held the collar of her cloak up around her neck and chin as she crossed the pavement and mounted the step. She rapped smartly on the door, before she could change her mind.
She stepped back, and was about to decide that he was not in and she had done all duty demanded of her, when the latch turned and the door swung open. Monk stood just inside, outlined by the light behind him. From what she could see of his face he was tired and discouraged. He did not hide his surprise at seeing her.
She felt sorry for him, and was suddenly glad she had come.
“I thought I should tell you the little I have learned about Angus and Caleb,” she explained her presence.
“You've learned something?” he said quickly, stepping back for her to enter.
Perhaps she had overstated it and given him unjustified hope. She felt foolish.
“Only a few facts, or perhaps I should more correctly say a few people's opinions.”
“Whose opinions? For heaven's sake, come in! I don't want to stand here on the step, even if you don't mind.” He pulled the door wider, and then as she passed him, closed it behind her.
“Why are you so angry?” She decided to stop retreating and attack instead.
It was more in her nature. She should not allow him to make her feel as if she had to justify herself all the time. “If your case is going badly, that is unfortunate,” she continued, walking past him through the outer chamber to the inner one. “But being offensive will not help it, and it is very childish. You should learn to control yourself.”
“Have you come all the way, at this time of the evening, to tell me that?” he said incredulously, following her in. “You interfering, opinionated, monumentally arrogant woman! Treating the sick has gone to your brain! Even in your futile field, surely you must have something more useful to do? Go and empty some slops, or scrub a floor. Stoke a fire somewhere. Comfort someone, if you have the faintest idea how.”
She took off her wet cloak and handed it to him.
“Do you want to know about Angus and Caleb, or not?” It was almost a relief to be just as rude in return. She had guarded her tongue for so long, all sorts of emotions were knotted up inside her, memories of loneliness and fear, of horror and exhaustion in the past, pain she could not ease, deaths she had been helpless to prevent. All of it came back to her so much more vividly and easily than she had expected. And she did not want to care about Monk. It was nice, almost like a familiar pleasure, to quarrel with him. “Are you actually interested in helping poor Genevieve, or are you just taking her money?”
His face went white. She had hurt him with that last suggestion. For all his faults, she knew with absolute certainty he would never have done that.
Perhaps she should not have said it. But then he had insulted her professionally just as much.
“I'm sorry,” he said tightly. “I had not realized that this time you had something useful to say. What is it?” He put her cloak absentmindedly over the back of one of the chairs.
Now she felt foolish. It was not truly useful. Maybe he knew that too? She took a deep breath and faced him. His gray eyes were cold and level, full of anger.
“Lord Ravensbrook does not think Caleb would have harmed Angus,” she began.
“Because for all his violence, they are brothers, and grew up together, sharing their loneliness and grief when they lost their parents. But he thinks that because he loves them, and cannot bear to think otherwise. He has already lost his first wife, and then the boys' parents, and now Enid is terribly ill, and Angus is missing.”
He was staring at her, waiting for her to conclude.
Her voice sounded thin even in her own ears. “But Genevieve is convinced Caleb has killed him. She told me
