'How do you do, Mrs. Trowbridge,' Hesteranswered politely, a little trickle of warmth bubbling inside her. 'Miss Maybury.”
Mrs. Trowbridge fixed Hester with a baleful eye. 'Have you known Sir Oliver long, Miss Latterly?' she asked sweetly.
Hester was about to reply truthfully but Rathbone spoke first.
'We have been acquainted for several years,' he said with an air of satisfaction. 'But I feel we are better friends now than ever before.
Sometimes I think the best affections grow slowly, through shared beliefs and battles fought side by side… don't you?”
Miss Maybury looked lost.
Mrs. Trowbridge caught her breath. 'Indeed,' she nodded. 'Especially family friendships. Are you a family friend, Miss Latterly?”
'I know Sir Oliver's father, and I like him enormously,' Hester answered, again with the truth.
Mrs. Trowbridge murmured something inaudible.
Rathbone bowed and offered his arm to Hester, leading her away towards another group of people, most of them men in their middle years, and obviously well-to-do. He introduced Hester to them one by one, each time without explanation.
By the time they had taken their seats and the curtain had risen on the first act, Hester's mind was whirling. She had seen the speculation in their eyes. Rathbone knew precisely what he was doing.
Now she sat beside him in the box and could not help glancing away from the stage to watch what expression she could read in his face in the reflected lights. He seemed at ease, if anything a trifle amused. A very slight smile touched his lips and the skin across his cheeks was perfectly smooth. Then she glanced down at his hands, and saw they were constantly moving, only slightly, but as if he found himself unable to keep them still. He was nervous about something.
She turned back to the stage, her heart beating so she felt she could almost hear it. She watched the actors and heard all their words, but a moment later could not have recalled anything of it. She thought of the first time she had come to the theatre with Rathbone. Then she had said far more, probably too much, expressing her opinions on the things she felt most passionate about. He had been courteous, he always would be, his own dignity would forbid anything else. But she had been aware of the coolness in him, always a certain distance, as if he wanted to be sure his friends did not assume too much about his regard for her, or that their relationship to each other was more than slight. His conventionality deplored her outspokenness, as if it admired her courage, and fought in different ways for the same end.
But since then he had defended Zorah Rostova, and' nearly ruined his career. He had learned in an acutely real way the boundaries of judgement and intolerance of his own profession, and how quickly society could reverse its loyalties when certain borders were crossed.
Compassion and belief did not excuse. He had spoken from conviction, and without weighing the results first. Suddenly he and Hester were on the same side of the gulf which had separated them before.
Was that what he was aware of, and which at once alarmed and exhilarated him?
She turned to look at him again, and found he was also looking at her.
She had remembered how dark his eyes were, in spite of his fair brown hair, but still she was startled at their warmth. She smiled, then swallowed and turned back to the stage. She must pretend she was interested, that at least she knew what was going on. She had not the faintest idea. She could not even have identified the hero or the villain, presuming there was one?
When the interval came she found she was ridiculously self-conscious.
'Are you enjoying it?' he asked as he followed behind her up to the foyer where refreshments were served.
'Yes, thank you,' she answered, hoping he would not press her as to the plot.
'And if I told you I have not been paying close attention to it, that my mind was elsewhere, could you tell me what I have missed?' he said gently. 'So I may understand the second act.”
She thought quickly. She must concentrate on what he was saying, not on what he might mean or might not! She must not leap to conclusions, and perhaps embarrass them both. Then she would never be able to resume their friendship. It would be over, even if neither of them acknowledged it, and that would hurt. She realised with surprise how very much it would hurt.
She looked at him with a smile, quite a casual one, but not so slight as to appear cool or studied.
'Have you a case which troubles you, a new one?”
Would he retreat into that excuse, or was it the truth anyway? She had left the way open for him.
'No,' he said quite directly. 'I suppose in a sense it has to do with law, but it was most certainly not the legal aspect of it which was on my mind.”
This time she did not look at him. 'The legal aspect of what?”
'Of what concerns me.' He put his arm on her back to guide her through the throng of people, and she felt the warmth of it ripple through her.
It was a safe feeling, disturbingly comfortable. Why should comfort disturb her? That was ridiculous!
Because it would be so easy to get used to. The gentleness, the sweetness of it was overwhelmingly tempting. It was like coming into sunlight and suddenly realising how chilled you had been.
'Hester?”
'Yes?”
'Perhaps this is not really the best place, but…”
Before he could finish what he was about to say, he was accosted by a large man with sweeping silver hair and an avuncular manner.
'My goodness, Rathbone, you are miles away, man! I swear I have seen you pass half a dozen acquaintances as if you were unaware of their existence! Do I credit that to your charming companion, or a particularly challenging case? You do seem to select the very devil of the lot of them!”
Rathbone blinked slightly. It was something very few situations had ever caused him to do.
'To my companion, of course,' he replied without hesitation. 'Hester, may I introduce Mr. Justice Charles? Miss Hester Latterly.”
'Ah!' Charles said with satisfaction. 'Now I recognise you, ma'am.
You are the remarkable young lady who uncovered such damning evidence in the Rostova case. In the Crimea, weren't you? Extraordinary! How the world is changing. Not actually sure I care for it, but no choice, I suppose. Make the best of it, eh?”
At another time she would have challenged him as to what he meant. Did he disapprove of women having the opportunity to make such a contribution as Florence Nightingale had? To their freedom? Their use of knowledge and authority, and the power it gave them, even if only temporarily? Such an attitude infuriated her. It was antiquated, blind, rooted in privilege and ignorance. It was worse than unjust, it was dangerous. It was precisely that sort of blinkered idiocy which had kept inadequate men in charge of the battles in the Crimea, and cost countless men their lives.
She drew in her breath to begin the assault, then remembered Rathbone standing so close to her he was actually touching her elbow; and she let out her breath in a sigh. It would embarrass him dreadfully, even if in truth he half agreed with her.
'I am afraid we are all in that situation, sir,' she said sweetly.
'There is a good deal I am quite certain I do not care for, but I have not yet found a way of altering it.”
'Not for want of seeking!' Rathbone said drily when they had bidden Mr. Justice Charles good evening and moved a few yards away. 'You were remarkably tactful to him! I expected you to take him thoroughly to task for his old-fashioned views.”
'Do you think it would have changed his mind one iota?' she asked, looking at him with wide eyes.
'No, my dear, I don't,' he said with a smile, on the verge of laughter.
'But that is the first time I have seen such a consideration halt you.”
'Then perhaps the world really is changing?' she suggested.
'Please do not allow it to change too much,' he said with a gentleness that amazed her. 'I appreciate the tact it has its place but I should not like you to become like everyone else. I really care for you very much exactly as you
