They did not discuss it further. There was nothing more to say, and they could not help him. Instead they spoke of things that had nothing to do with the work of any of them, of the latest novels to be published and what they had heard said of them, of politics, of affairs in India and the fearful news of the mutiny, and the war in China. When they parted late into the summer night and Monk and Hester shared a hansom back to their respective lodgings, even that was done in companionable conversation.
Naturally they stopped at Hester's rooms first, the very sparsest of places because so frequently she was living in the house of her current patient. She was the only resident in her rooms at the moment because her patient was so nearly recovered she required attention only every other day, and did not see why she should house and feed a nurse from whom she now had so little service.
Monk alighted and opened the door for her, handing her down to the pavement. It came to his lips to say how pleasant it had been to see her, then he swallowed the words. There was no need of them. Small compliments, however true, belonged to a more trivial relationship, one that sailed on the surface of things.
'Good night,' he said simply, walking across the stones with her to the front door.
'Good night, Monk,' she answered with a smile. 'I shall think of you tomorrow.'
He smiled back, ruefully, knowing she meant it and feeling a kind of comfort in the thought that he would not be alone.
Behind him in the street the horse stamped and shifted position. There was nothing else to say. Hester let herself in with her key, and Monk returned to the hansom and climbed up as it moved off along the lamplit street.
He was at Hastings Street at quarter to ten in the morning. It was mild and raining very slightly. The flowers in the gardens were beaded with moisture and somewhere a bird was singing with startling clarity.
Monk would have given a great deal to have been able to turn and go back again to the Euston Road and not call at number fourteen. However, he did not hesitate on the step or wait before pulling the bell. He had already done all the thinking he could. There was no more debate left, no more arguments to put for either action.
The maid welcomed him in with some familiarity now, but she was slightly taken aback when he asked to see not Mrs. Penrose but Miss Gillespie. Presumably Julia had said she was expecting him.
He was alone in the morning room, pacing in restless anxiety, when Marianne came in. As soon as she saw him her face paled.
'What is it?' she asked quickly. 'Has something happened?'
'Before I left here yesterday,' he replied, 'I spoke to your sister and told her that I would not be able to learn who assaulted you, and it would be pointless to continue seeking. She would not accept that. If I do not tell her then she will employ someone else who will.'
'But how could anyone else know?' she said desperately. 'I wouldn't tell them. No one saw, no one heard.'
'They will deduce it from the evidence, as I did.' This was every bit as hard as his worst fears. She looked so crushed. 'Miss Gillespie-I am sorry, but I am going to have to take back the pledge I gave you and tell Mrs. Penrose the truth.'
'You can't!' She was aghast. 'You promised you would not do that!' But even as she spoke the innocent indignation was dying in her face and being replaced by understanding-and defeat.
He felt wretched. He had no alternative, and yet he was betraying her and he could not argue himself out of it.
'There are other things that have to be considered also…'
'Of course there are.' Her voice was harsh with anger and misery. 'The worst of this is how Julia will feel about it. She will be destroyed. How can she ever feel the same about me, even if she truly believes it was the farthest thing from my wishes? I did nothing whatsoever to lead him to think I would ever be willing, and that is true, Mr. Monk! I swear it by all I hold dear-'
'I know that,' he said, interrupting her. 'That is not what I mean.'
'Then what?' she demanded abruptly. 'What else could be of importance beside that?'
'Why do you believe that it will never happen again?'
Her face was white. She swallowed with difficulty. She started to speak, and then stopped.
'Have you any protection against it happening again?' he insisted quietly.
'I-but…' She looked down. 'Surely that was just one terrible lapse in-in an otherwise exemplary man? I am sure he loves Julia…'
'What would you have said about the possibility of it ever happening a week before it did? Did you know or expect him to do such a thing?'
Now her eyes were blazing.
'Of course not. That is a dreadful thing to say. No! No, I had no idea! Never!' She turned away abruptly, violently, as if he had offered her some physical attack.
'Then you cannot say that it will not happen again,' he reasoned. 'I'm sorry.' He hovered on the edge of adding the possibility of becoming with child, and then remembered what Hester and Callandra had said. Marianne might not even be aware of how children were begotten, and he said nothing. Helplessness and inadequacy choked him.
'It must have cost you to tell me that.' She looked back at him slowly, her face drained. 'There are many men who would not have found the courage. Thank you at least for that.'
'Now I must see Mrs. Penrose. I wish I could think of another way, but I cannot.'
'She is in the withdrawing room. I shall wait in my bedroom. I expect Audley will ask me to leave and Julia will wish me to.' And with quivering lips she turned and walked to the door too rapidly for him to reach it ahead of her. She fumbled with the knob, then flung it open and went out across the hall to the stairway, head high, her step clumsy.
He stood still for a moment, tempted to try one more time to think of another way. Then intelligence reasserted itself over emotion, and he went the now familiar way to knock on the withdrawing room door.
He was bidden to enter. Julia was standing at the central table before a vase of flowers, a long, bright stem of delphinium in her hand. Apparently she had not liked the position of it and had chosen to rearrange it herself. When she saw who it was she poked the flower in the back lopsidedly and without bothering to adjust it.
'Good morning, Mr. Monk.' Her voice shook a little. She searched his face and saw something in its expression that frightened her. 'What is it?'
He closed the door behind him. This was going to be acutely painful. There was no escape, no way even to mitigate it.
'I am afraid that what I told you yesterday was not the truth, Mrs. Penrose.'
She stared at him without speaking. The shadow of surprise and anger across her eyes did not outweigh the fear.
This was like looking at something and deliberately killing it. Once he had told her it would be irretrievable. He had already made the decision, and yet he found himself hesitating even now.
'You had better explain yourself, Mr. Monk,' she said at last, her voice catching. She swallowed to clear her throat. 'Merely to say that is not sufficient. In what respect have you lied to me, and why?'
He answered the second question first. 'Because the truth is so unpleasant that I wished to spare you from it, ma'am. And it was Miss Gillespie's wish also. Indeed, she denied it at first, until the weight of evidence made that no longer possible. Then she implored me not to tell you. She was prepared to accept any consequence of it herself rather than have you know. That was why it was necessary for me to speak to her this morning to tell her I could no longer keep my word to her.'
Julia was so white he was afraid she would faint from lack of blood. Very slowly she backed away from the table with its bright flowers and reached behind her for the arm of the settee. She sank into it, still staring at him.
'You had better tell me what it is, Mr. Monk. I have to know. Do you know who raped my sister?'
'Yes, I am afraid I do.' He took a deep breath. He tried one last thing, although he knew it would be futile. 'I still think it would be better if you did not pursue the matter. You cannot prosecute. Perhaps if you were to find
