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Gabriel smiled. "No, thank you. You have done extremely well for me."
"Pleasure, my dear fellow." Athol smiled back, looking a little less uncomfortable. "Don't worry, everything will sort itself out. Only got to do our part and we'll be able to put all this behind us."
Hester cringed. Athol had not the faintest idea what he was talking about. For him the Indian Mutiny and its horror were only mistakes on the pages of history, momentary darknesses in the grand procession of empire.
Athol stood up. "Won't interrupt you." He put his hands under the lapels of his jacket and rearranged it on his shoulders. "Must see if I can call on the vicar and have a word with him about Perdita. I am sure something can be arranged. Do her the world of good. Always does. Busy, that's the thing."
Gabriel looked quickly at Hester, his eyes searching.
Hester stood up. "I'll see you to the door, Mr. Sheldon."
"No need, my dear Miss Latterly," he said graciously. "Don't want to interrupt you. What are you reading? Shelley? Bit miserable, isn't it? I'll bring you something with a bit more fire to it, something more uplifting."
Hester controlled herself with an effort. After all, they did not have to read it. "Thank you. That is very kind." But she still walked to the door with him and accompanied him onto the landing and slowly down the stairs.
"Mr. Sheldon…"
He stopped, hesitant for an instant, as if he too had considered speaking to her. "Yes, Miss Latterly?"
"Please reconsider asking Mrs. Sheldon to participate too fully in other activities just at the moment," she said gravely. "I-I don't think it will help."
"Always good to be busy, Miss Latterly," he said quickly, almost as if he had decided how to answer before she spoke. "Needs to get out. Mustn't brood, you know." His voice lifted, not as if his last comment were a question but rather as if he sought to encourage her somehow. "Can think about things too much. Get inward. Not healthy."
"But-"
He frowned. "Know you mean the best for them," he went on, interrupting. "Gabriel's your patient, and all that. Er… speaking of which… most natural thing in the world, only thing for a woman, really… faith, modesty… good works…" He colored faintly and ceased meeting her eyes. "I… ah… well… do you think she will have children, Miss Latterly? Perdita… of course…"
"I know of no reason why not, Mr. Sheldon," she replied. "Gabriel's injuries are not of that nature, and I fully expect his general health to return in time. However…"
"Good… good. Hope you don't mind my asking? Indelicate, I know…"
"I don't mind at all," she assured him.
He started to move down the stairs again, relieved.
She kept pace with him, then went a step ahead and stopped.
He stopped also, more or less obliged to, if he were not to push past her.
"Mr. Sheldon, I think it is important that Mrs. Sheldon learn something of what actually happened in the Mutiny, in time about the massacre at Cawnpore."
"Good God!" He blushed deeply. "I mean… good heavens!" he corrected himself. "I simply ca
"I know it was terrible." She refused to retreat, obliging him to remain where he was, even though he loomed over her. "I also read the newspapers at the time, but rather more important than that, and possibly truer, Gabriel himself has told me some of his experiences-"
He shook his head sharply. "You should not have encouraged him, Miss Latterly. Never good to dwell on tragedies, unpleasant things in general. Too easy to become morbid… downcast, you know. And all that is quite unsuitable for Perdita. Distress her needlessly."
"I don't think it is needless, Mr. Sheldon," she answered. "It is the most emotionally profound thing that has happened in his life-"
"Oh, really…"
"And he ca
"You are asking far too much, Miss Latterly," he corrected, shaking his head again. "And if I may say so, quite inappropriately. A young woman, a lady, of Perdita's background, a gentlewoman, should not know of such barbarities as occurred in India. Part of her charm, her great value in a man's life, is precisely that she keeps an island safe for him, unsoiled by the tragedies of the world. That is a very beautiful thing, Miss Latterly. Do not try to damage that or rob them both of it." He smiled as he finished speaking, a calm, assured expression returning to his face, except for the faintest shadow in his eyes. She knew he was speaking to convince himself as well as her. He needed that island to exist, to visit it in mind if nothing more. It was his own dreams he was protecting as much as Gabriel's.
And perhaps it was his way of protecting himself from Gabriel's pain. There was a fear in him of the darkness he only guessed at in acts like those in the Mutiny. Like many people, he preferred to think they could not really have happened, not as had been reported.
Was there any purpose in trying to force him to see the reality?
"Mr. Sheldon, when we share our terror and pain with someone else, we create a bond with that person which is seldom broken. Should we not give Mrs. Sheldon the chance to be the one to share Gabriel's experiences?"
He frowned at her.
"I mean," she went on hastily, "allow her to decide whether she will or not, rather than deciding it for her?"
"Not very logical, my dear Miss Latterly," he said with a quick smile. "Since she can have no idea what she would be offering to share, she ca
"Mr. Sheldon…" she persisted.
But he raised his hand, smiling widely. "We must have fortitude and strength, Miss Latterly. We shall overcome. I trust you are a woman of Christian faith? Yes, of course you are. You could not do the great good works which I already know of you, were you not. Onward!" He thrust his hand out, holding it high. "We must go forward, and we shall overcome." And he brushed past her and went on down the stairs with a spring in his step.
Hester swore under her breath, words she would have been ashamed to use aloud, and returned the way she had come.
In the evening Hester sat restlessly fiddling with mending which did not really need to be done. Martha attended to such things and left little from one week to the next. But she could not keep her mind on mending, and sitting idle was even worse.
There was a knock on the door.
"Come in," she said with relief.
Martha entered and closed the door behind her. She looked tired and dispirited.
"Have you time to sit down?" Hester invited. She set her sewing aside. "Would you like a cup of tea?"
Martha smiled. "I'll get it. I'm sure you would like one too, wouldn't you?"
"Thank you," Hester accepted. "Yes, I really would."
Martha held out a letter. "This came for you in the last post."
"Oh!" Hester took it with pleasure. It was written in Lady Callandra Daviot's hand and postmarked from Fort William, in the north of Scotland. "Oh, good!"
"A friend?" Martha said with a smile. "I'll fetch the tea. Would you like some shortbread as well?"