either to save the sick or to run away from the horror and the death, even had she wanted to. She was trapped, perhaps until she too succumbed to the most terrible of diseases. She might never leave that place, never see Monk again, or anyone whom she loved. What on earth was a little embarrassment to put up with?
“I am sure we have not met before, Miss Ballinger,” a young man was saying to her. He had been introduced as the Honorable Barker Soames. He had floppy brown hair and a mildly superior air of good humor. His tone invited explanation as to why not. His friend Sir Robert Stark was paying only half attention; the rest was on a young lady with auburn hair who was pretending not to look at him while adjusting her fan.
Margaret forced herself to pay attention. She wanted to dismiss him with a cool remark, but her purpose overrode everything else, and she bit her tongue. “We have not,” she replied with a charming smile. “I should have recalled it. I am always aware of those I have spoken to on serious matters, and I cannot imagine you are interested in trivia.”
He was startled. It was certainly not the answer he had expected, and it took him several seconds to adjust his thoughts. “Why no, of course not. I. . I am concerned with all manner of. . of subjects of gravity.” Gravity was the greatest of virtues, and he was as aware of it as she. The very mention of it conjured up a picture of the late and still deeply mourned Prince Albert.
“To be of worth, it is absolutely necessary, don’t you agree?” she pursued. Then, before he could answer and divert the course of the conversation to something easier, she hurried on. “I have been much involved in raising money to fund medicine for the poor and otherwise disadvantaged. We are so incredibly fortunate! We have homes, food, warmth, and we have the means to keep ourselves from falling into the spiral of despair.”
He frowned, unprepared for the degree of gravity she was touching. He had intended theory; she was speaking of reality. It made him uncomfortable.
She saw it in his shift of position, the way his weight moved backwards a little. She could not afford to be sensitive, either for him or for herself. She gazed very briefly around the room with its bright, chattering company, the plump arms of the women, the pink cheeks, and the freshly barbered faces of the men. Then for an instant she saw it in her mind as it would be if they failed; the wasted flesh, the fever, the despair, the sick no one dared go near to nurse, the dead no one buried. In weeks these people could be so many corpses, their laughter silent.
She forced the image away.
“I admire generosity enormously,” she went on. “Don’t you? I see it as a great part of Christian duty.” Now was no time to be squeamish about coercion. She added the final twist. “Of course, within the bounds of what we can afford! The last thing I should wish is for anyone to feel they have to give what is beyond their means. That would be quite cruel. Debt must be such a misery.”
The Honorable Barker Soames looked urgently at his friend, hoping for rescue. However, his friend was now giving Margaret his full attention, and tasting a certain enjoyment in the situation.
“For the sick, you say, Miss Ballinger? What particular charity would that be? One of the African ones, I daresay?” he asked.
“No, it is one here at home,” Margaret answered, now far more careful. She was perfectly happy to bend the truth a little-the need was desperate-but she did not wish to be caught out. “For young women and children in the Farringdon Road area. It is a clinic that treats injuries, and at the moment is trying to give food and shelter to many struck down with pneumonia. It is most kind of you to care sufficiently to take an interest.” She put a warmth into her voice as if he had already offered a gift.
Sir Robert smiled. “Where may we donate, Miss Ballinger? Would you be able to see that it reached the right people if we gave it to you?”
“Thank you, Sir Robert,” she said with relief and a gratitude so deep it lit her face. For a moment she was truly beautiful. “I shall buy the food and coal myself, but of course I am more than happy to send you receipts, so you know what we have done.”
“Then please accept five pounds,” he replied. “And I’m sure Soames can at least match that, can’t you?” He turned to Soames, who was looking distinctly cornered.
Margaret did not care in the slightest. “That is very kind of you,” she said quickly. “It will do a great deal of good.”
With intense reluctance Soames obeyed. In a wave of triumph Margaret moved on. The next encounter did not go as fortunately, but by the end of the evening she had elicited promises of a reasonably large sum.
The following morning she took the money she had gained, went to the coal merchant, and bought an entire wagonload. She went with the delivery man to Portpool Lane, instructing him as he tipped it all down the chute from the street into the cellar.
She stood in the sharp wind and stared at the walls of the house. It was damp and bitterly cold, and the air smelled of soot and the sour odor of drains, but it was not infected. She breathed it in with a sense of guilt. Hester was only a few yards away behind the blank bricks, but it could have been another world. She looked up at the windows, trying to catch a glimpse of anyone, but there was only blurred movement, no more than light and shadow.
The wind stung her cheeks. She wanted to shout, just to let someone know how much she cared, but it would be worse than pointless; it could be dangerous. Slowly she turned away and walked back towards the coalman. “Thank you,” she said simply. “I’ll let you know when they need more.”
Next she purchased oatmeal, salt, two jars of honey, a sack of potatoes, and several strings of onions, and carried them back to give them to one of the men standing discreetly under the eaves in the yard at Portpool Lane. She also went to the butcher and bought as many large bones as he had, and carried them back. Again she gave them to one of the men with the dogs, broad-chested, wide-jawed creatures with sturdy legs and unblinking eyes.
In the evening she accepted, at ungraciously short notice, an invitation to a recital. She accompanied a young woman who was more of an acquaintance than a friend, along with her parents and brother. It was an awkward party, but she was only too aware that last night’s success might not be repeated for many days, and while ten pounds was a great deal of money, it had already been used.
The music was not the kind she particularly cared for, and her mind was solely on gaining more support, possibly even recruiting someone else to help in the effort. She found herself in a series of brief and unsatisfactory conversations and was losing heart for the evening when during the second interval she saw Oliver Rathbone. He was standing at the edge of a group of people in earnest discussion, and apparently in the company of a gentleman of portly dimensions with fluffy gray hair, but he was looking at Margaret.
She felt a surge of pleasure just seeing his face and knowing that he was as aware of her as she was of him. Suddenly the lights seemed brighter, the room warmer, and she looked away, smiling to herself, and quite deliberately setting about working her way closer to where he was.
It was another ten minutes before he managed to introduce her to his guest, a Mr. Huntley, who was both a client and a social acquaintance. It was several moments further before Mr. Huntley could be directed to converse with someone else, and Margaret found herself alone with Rathbone.
He regarded her gown, which was cut with ostentatious flattery. She saw in his face that he was uncertain whether he cared for it. It was uncharacteristic of her, and the change disconcerted him.
“You look very well,” he observed, watching her eyes for the meaning behind whatever words she should use to respond.
She longed to be able to tell him the thoughts and the fears that drove her, but she had promised Sutton not to. Rathbone of all people would care about Hester. It was a sort of lying not to tell him, but she was bound.
“I am well,” she replied, meeting his gaze, but without inner honesty. She had to go on. It was not possible to tell how long they would have in which to talk. The music would begin again soon, Huntley might return, or any of a dozen other people could interrupt them. “But I am very exercised at trying to raise sufficient money for the clinic.”
He frowned very slightly. “Does it really need so. . so much of your time?” He said the word
“Just at the moment, it does,” she answered.
“Why? What is different from a few days ago?” he asked.
