Anne Perry - The Shifting Tide

Mrs. Northwood noticed it, and her eyes widened.

There was at least a half an hour before dinner would be announced, but they were hemmed in by people on all sides. He could hardly ask her to find a place where they could speak alone. He did not even know exactly what he was going to say. Such things should be graceful, romantic, not blurted out in the fear they would be interrupted or overheard. He should have invited her to a completely different kind of function. What on earth had made him choose this?

But he knew the answer. She would accept this because it gave her the opportunity to seek funds again. She would have refused a more charming situation, more romantic, where they could be alone and then it would have become embarrassing, and worst of all, contrived. And he enjoyed being with her in company. He looked around at the other people present and was proud that it was she on his arm and not one of them. He found himself smiling. He would create a situation where he could speak to her, even if it was on the way home.

Lady Pamela Brimcott was coming towards them. She was in her mid-thirties, handsome, and formidable. He had defended her brother Gerald on a charge of embezzlement-unsuccessfully. At least she had considered it so, because Gerald had been found guilty even though the sentence had been relatively lenient due to Rathbone’s plea of mitigating circumstances. Actually, Gerald was greedy and selfish, and Rathbone had believed him guilty as charged. But it was his duty to be advocate, not judge.

“Good evening, Oliver,” Pamela said coolly. Her gaze moved to Margaret. “I presume this is Miss Ballinger, whom I hear about so often? I daresay Oliver has told you as much about me?”

Rathbone felt the heat flood up his face. At one time he had courted Pamela, had even considered she would be a suitable wife. That had been before he met Hester and realized that suitable was a description without passion or laughter, or necessarily even friendship. Thank heaven his instinct had prevailed. He could see the enmity in Pamela’s eyes, and knew she had not forgiven him for either of the things in which she believed he had let her down. She very probably would not have married him then-he had had no title-but she would have liked to be asked.

“I’m afraid he has not mentioned you,” Margaret replied, her tone polite and implying regret.

Pamela smiled. “How discreet of him.” She let the layers of hidden meaning unfold.

Rathbone felt the heat increase in his face. He would have loved to utter a crushing response, but he cared too much to think of one. He knew Hester would have, and wished she were here to defend them both.

Margaret grasped the implication immediately. Her body stiffened; Rathbone could feel it almost as if she were actually touching him. But she smiled with startling sweetness and looked unblinkingly at Pamela. “He never discusses past cases with me,” she responded.

Rathbone gasped.

There was utter silence for a second, two seconds. Then Pamela’s face went white as she understood what she had heard. For the first time in years she struggled to find a response. The remark had been truer than Margaret could have known, and she could not fling it back.

Margaret waited, refusing to help her.

“He certainly wouldn’t discuss this one!” Pamela said at last. “He doesn’t care to speak of failures, and this was a disaster. He defended a member of my family who was charged with an act of which he was completely innocent, but suffered in spite of it.”

Now Margaret’s face was tense and pale also. She raised her eyebrows very slightly. “Really?” she said with disbelief. “That must have been most distressing for you. I admire your courage in speaking of it so frankly to a stranger.” Her tone implied that it was also indiscreet.

“We are not really strangers when we share so much,” Pamela replied between her teeth.

Margaret lifted her chin even higher. “Do we? I had not realized, but I am delighted to know it. Then you will be as keen as I on giving to charitable causes. I am presently concerned with a clinic which treats sick and injured women in the Farringdon area. Even a few pounds is sufficient to provide heating and medicine so the most desperate cases can have time to recover a little. I shall give you an account of how it is spent, naturally.”

Pamela looked startled-and cornered. “I admit you have surprised me, Miss Ballinger. I did not expect you to ask me for money!”

Margaret contrived to look even more surprised. “Have you something else I might wish?”

Rathbone could feel his stomach clench, his face burning, and yet he wanted to laugh. The whole evening was escaping him. He had failed Pamela’s brother, not in that he was found guilty but in arguing the case at all. He should have persuaded him to admit his guilt and repay the money. He could have; he had had the means. He had bent to pressure from the family, and because he was fond of Pamela he had not wanted to tell her that her brother was a thief. He did not want Margaret to know that.

“Nothing that I could pass to you, my dear,” Pamela said icily, her meaning perfectly plain.

Margaret smiled radiantly. “I’m so glad,” she whispered, and turned to walk away, leaving Pamela utterly confused, feeling she had been bested without knowing exactly how.

Rathbone was amazed, and a little startled at how pleased he was that Margaret had defended herself so very effectively. He caught up with her in a glow of satisfaction, almost pride. He took her arm, but as soon as they were a few yards away she stopped and faced him with all trace of humor gone.

“Oliver, I would like to be able to speak to you for a few moments without interruption. I believe there is a conservatory; would you mind if we went to it? There would surely be a discreet corner where we could go”-she smiled a trifle self-consciously-“without people leaping to romantic conclusions.”

He felt oddly crushed. He did not wish her to take the lead; it was vaguely unbecoming. And yet she had made it plain that her intention was not romantic, and he was disappointed. “Of course,” he replied, hearing the coolness in his voice and wishing it were not there. She must surely have heard it also. “It is this way.”

It was a marvelous room, full of wrought-iron arches and filled to the roof with exotic plants. The sound of falling water was delightful, and the smell of damp earth and flowers filled the air.

Margaret stopped as soon as they were several yards from the nearest person who might overhear them. Her face was extremely grave.

He felt a sense of alarm. This was not even remotely how he had intended it to be. “What is it?” His voice sounded nervous, scratchy.

“Have you heard from Hester?” she asked. There was no lift of expectation in her.

“No. Have you?”

“I don’t even know if she is well or ill,” she admitted. “I choose to believe that were she not still alive, then the rat catcher would have told me, but I can’t even be certain of that. But I do know that it is not over, or she would have returned home.” She looked at him very steadily. “She is still in there, with only the help of unskilled women, and Squeaky and the rat catcher. There is no one to look after her, if she should need it, or even to be with her so she does not face this alone. I am going tomorrow morning, early, before light. Please don’t try to argue with me. It is the right thing to do and there is no alternative.”

It was terrible! Unbearable! “You can’t!” He reached out and took her hands, clasping them hard. She did not resist, but neither did she respond. “Margaret, no one is allowed in-or out!” he said urgently. “I understand your wishing to help, but. .” His mind was filled with horror, as if a pit had suddenly yawned open at his feet and he and all he loved were teetering on the rim.