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Gabriel bit his lip. "It is surely the essence of true tragedy, that it was avoidable. Someone will write a great play on it, perhaps."
"It's not good enough," Monk said in disgust. "It's farcical and pointless."
"You think Hester can still help?"
"Probably not."
Gabriel smiled. If he thought perhaps Monk had come for some other reason, he was too tactful to say so.
They were speaking of other subjects when Perdita Sheldon came in. She was dressed in mid green with a wide skirt, which was very fashionable, the lace trimming on the bodice lightening it. Had she had a little more color in her cheeks and seemed less anxious, she would have looked lovely.
"Mrs. Harming has called. Will-will you see her? You don't have to…"
Gabriel obviously did not recognize the name. His face showed only the apprehension he might in seeing anyone.
"Ha
"Oh…" Gabriel stared back at her, breathing in very slowly, his jaw tightening, his lips close together on the good side of his face, the scar curiously immobile. Oddly, it made his apprehension even more evident.
"I'll tell her you're not well enough," Perdita said hastily.
"No…"
"She'll understand." She did not move. She thought she knew what she should do to protect him, and yet even that decision was difficult. She had to resolve in order to make it and she watched him for approval. "Perhaps… later… in a few weeks…"
"No. No, I'll see her today." He too had to steel himself.
Monk wondered who Ha
"I'll ask Miss Latterly." Perdita swung around and hurried away. She had found an answer. If something ran out of control, Hester would be there to take care of it.
Something in Gabriel had relaxed at the mention of Hester's name. He too was relying on her.
Impatience welled up inside Monk. These people were adults, not children, to be needing someone else to deal with difficult encounters. Then he looked again at the lines of tiredness in Gabriel's face, the side that was undamaged. He needed all the strength he could find to battle physical pain and the terrible memories he could not share with his young wife who had no idea what he had seen or felt. India to her was a red area on the map, a word without reality. All he had been taught about the roles of men and women, about courage and duty, responsibility and honor, demanded he support her, protect her, even keep from her the harsher and uglier sides of life. Men did not weep. Good men did not even permit others to know of their wounds.
And it was not Perdita's fault that she was confused and frightened. She had been protected all her short life. She had not chosen to be, it was her assigned role. A few women, like Hester, broke out of it, but it was a long and painful series of choices, and it left them too often alone-and for all the words of praise and gratitude, still faintly despised, because they were different… and perhaps threatening. Both Gabriel and Perdita could rely on her now, in their time of need. They would possibly even love her, after a fashion. Perhaps part of them would also resent the very fact that she knew their vulnerability and their failures.
When they were recovered she would leave, and they would choose to forget her as part of their time of pain. And she would begin again, and alone. He had never appreciated her courage in quite that light before. It was an i
"Would you prefer to see this lady alone?" he asked, not standing up but facing Gabriel very frankly.
As if he had read at least something in Monk's thoughts, Gabriel smiled back.
"I knew Ha
Monk did not respond at once. Was his feeling for Hester so transparent? It was friendship, not romantic love. Did Gabriel understand that? Perhaps he should explain? But what words should he use to avoid giving the wrong impression?
"Of course," he agreed at last, relaxing back into the chair. "We have been friends for some time-several years, hi fact."
Gabriel smiled and his eyes widened very slightly.
Damn it, there was nothing amusing in that! "She has a good observation of people, and has been of considerable help to me in several of my cases," he added.
"She is a most remarkable woman," Gabriel agreed. "I find her easier to talk to than anyone else I can think of, even other men who have experienced the same battles and sieges I have."
"Do you!" Monk was stung. Gabriel had only just met her. How could he compare his friendship with her, his dependence, in the same breath with Monk's? Monk was about to make a remark about her professional skills when he realized how rude it would be-and how gratuitously cruel. And an incredible self-knowledge brought the blood to his cheeks. It was prompted by jealousy!
He was startled to hear a sound in the doorway and see Hester standing there. She was wearing blue-gray, the same dress she usually wore when on duty, or one so like it he saw no difference. Actually, he generally took very little notice of what she wore.
She looked at Gabriel with a question in her face, but she did not speak. She hesitated a moment, then accepted his decision and turned to go back and bring Mrs. Ha
Gabriel and Monk waited in silence. The clock ticked on the mantel shelf, and the sunlight shone in fitful patterns through the window onto the carpet. A gust of wind billowed the curtains for a moment, then they settled again. It had carried in the scent of blossoms and earth.
Mrs. Ha
She stared at Gabriel, completely bereft of speech. Her gloved hand went up and covered her mouth as if to smother her words so they could not be spoken.
Behind her, Perdita was close to tears. Her eyes swam as she looked at Gabriel, aching for him and helpless to know what to say, how to protect him. Her crushing failure was naked in her face.
Gabriel looked for a moment as if he had seen himself in someone else's eyes for the first time. Monk tried to imagine what it must have been like, the stomach-tearing horror when he realized this was his own face, the outer aspect he would present to the world for the rest of his life. The handsome man who automatically won smiles and willingness and admiration was gone forever. Now he would gain only fear, revulsion, even nausea, the intense embarrassment and pity which made people want to run away. Perhaps he would sooner have died? He could have been buried in India, one of a thousand other lost heroes, and all this need never have happened. It was so much easier not ever to know about such things, not ever to look at them.