sometimes, and I don’t know why!” he said wretchedly. “She won’t tell me anything . . . she doesn’t trust me anymore. What can I think?” His eyes were hot and desperate, begging for help.
Hester heard all the details of what he said, but overriding it all she heard the panic in him, the knowledge that he had lost control and for the first time in his life his emotions were in a chaos he could not hide.
“I don’t know,” she said gently, going over to him again. “But I’ll do everything I can to find out, I promise you.” She looked at him more closely, seeing the darkening bruises. “What did you do to your face?”
“I . . . I fell. It doesn’t matter. Hester . . .”
“I know,” she said gently. “You think perhaps you would rather not find out the truth, but that isn’t so. As long as you don’t know, you will imagine, and all the worst things will be there in your mind.”
“I suppose . . . but . . .” He stood up awkwardly, as if his joints hurt. “I’m really not sure, Hester. Perhaps I’m worrying . . . I mean . . . women can be . . .”
She gave him a withering look.
“Well . . . not you, of course . . .” He foundered again, his face pale, blotches of dull color on his cheeks.
“Don’t be ridiculous!” she contradicted. “I can be as irrational as anybody else, or at least I can appear so to a man who doesn’t understand me. If you recall, Papa thought so. But that was because he didn’t wish to understand that I wanted something to do just as much as you or James.”
“Oh, far more!” The faint ghost of a smile crossed his mouth. “I never wanted anything with the fierceness you did. I think you terrified him.”
“I shall go and see Imogen this afternoon,” she promised.
“Thank you,” he said softly. “At least warn her. Tell her how dangerous it is. She doesn’t listen to me.”
When she arrived in Endsleigh Gardens she was let in by Nell, the parlormaid she had known for years.
“Oh, Miss Hester!” Nell looked taken aback. “I’m afraid Mrs. Latterly’s out at the minute. But come in. She’ll be back in half an hour or so, and I’m sure she’d want to see you. Can I get you anything? A cup of tea?”
“No, thank you, Nell, but I will wait, thank you,” Hester accepted, and followed her to the drawing room to possess herself with patience until Imogen should arrive. She sat down as Nell left, then, the moment after the door was closed, stood up again. She was too restless to remain on the sofa with her hands folded. She began to wander around the room, looking at the familiar furniture and pictures.
How could she gain Imogen’s confidence sufficiently to learn what it was that had changed her? Surely her husband’s sister was the last person Imogen would trust with the confidence that she was betraying him. And if Hester asked her a question to which the answer was a lie, it would only deepen the gulf between them.
She stopped in front of a small watercolor next to the mantelpiece. It was attractive, but she did not recognize it. Somehow in her mind she had seen a portrait there, a woman wearing a Renaissance pearl headdress.
She lifted it slightly and saw underneath a darker oval on the wallpaper. She was right, the portrait had been there. She looked around the room and did not find it. She went through to the dining room and it was not there, either, nor was it in the hall. It hardly mattered, but its absence occupied her mind while she waited.
She noticed other small differences: a vase she did not recognize; a silver snuffbox, which had been on the mantelpiece for years, was not there now; a lovely alabaster horse was gone from the side table near the hall door.
She was still wondering about the changes when she heard the front door close, a murmur of voices, and a moment later Imogen’s footsteps across the hall.
She threw the door open and swept in, her skirts wide, a lace fichu around her neck. Her dark eyes were shining and there was a flush on her cheeks. “Hello, Hester,” she said cheerfully. “Twice in the space of four days! Have you suddenly taken to visiting everyone you know? Anyway, it’s very pleasant to see you.” She gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, then stepped back to look at the table. “No tea? I suppose it’s far too early, but surely you’d like something? Nell says you have been here for three quarters of an hour. I’m so sorry. I’ll speak to her . . .”
“Please don’t,” Hester said quickly. “She offered me tea and I declined. And don’t go to any trouble now. I expect you have only just come from luncheon?”
“What?” Imogen looked for a moment as if nothing had been farther from her mind, then she laughed. It was an excited, happy sound. “Yes . . . of course.” She seemed too restless to sit down, moving around the room with extraordinary energy. “Then if you don’t want to eat or drink, what can I offer you? I’m quite sure you don’t want gossip. You don’t know any of the people I do. Anyway, they are the most crashing bores most of the time. They say and do the same things every day, and nearly all of them are completely pointless.” She whirled around, sending her skirts flying. “What is it, Hester? Are you collecting support for some charity or other?” She was speaking rapidly, the words falling over each other. “Let me guess! A hospital? Do you want me to see if I know any friends whose daughters want to become respectable, hardworking young ladies in a noble cause? Miss Nightingale is such a heroine they just might! Although it’s not quite as fashionable as it was at the end of the war. After all, we aren’t fighting with anyone just now, or are we? Of course, there’s always America, but that’s really none of our business.” Her eyes were bright and she was staring at Hester expectantly.
“No, it never occurred to me to solicit help from any of your friends,” Hester replied with a slight edge. “People have to go into nursing because they care about it, not because anyone asked them, or they couldn’t marry the people they wished to.”
“Oh, please!” Imogen said with a sharp wave of her hand. “You sound so pompous. I know you don’t mean to, but really . . .”
Hester kept her temper with difficulty. “Do you know Argo Allardyce?” she asked.
Imogen’s eyebrows rose. “What a marvelous name! I don’t think so. Who is he?”
“An artist whose model has just been murdered,” Hester replied, watching her closely.
“I don’t read newspapers.” Imogen shrugged very slightly. “I’m sorry, of course, but things like that happen.”
“And a doctor’s wife was murdered at the same time,” Hester continued, watching her face. “In Acton Street,
