Authors: Anne Perry
Outside it was
not a difficult matter to send for Rose's coachman. Ten minutes later Argyll
assisted her, with considerable strength, into the coach.
"I assume
you will go with her?" he said, looking at Hester with disdain. "You
seem to have arrived with her. Somebody needs to explain this to her husband.
She can't make a habit of it, or she'll be locked up."
"I shall
manage very well," Hester assured him tartly. "I think she has gone
to sleep. Her servants will help as soon as we get that far. Thank you for your
assistance. Good night." She was angry, embarrassed, and, now that it was
over, a little frightened. What on earth was she going to say to Morgan
Applegate? As Argyll had pointed out, his political career would never recover
from this. It would be spoken of for years, even decades.
The ride was
terrible, not for anything Rose did but for what Hester feared she would do.
They sped through the lamplit streets in the rain, the cobbles glistening, the
gutters spilling over, the constant sound of drumming on the roof, splashing
beneath, and the clatter of hooves and hiss of wheels. They lurched from side
to side because they were going too fast, as the coachman was afraid Rose was
ill and needed help.
Hester was
dreading what Applegate would say. No words had been exchanged, but she felt he
had trusted her to care for Rose. From the first time they had met, Hester had
seen a protectiveness in him, as if he was aware of a peculiar vulnerability in
his wife, one he could not share with others. Now it seemed that Hester had
quite extraordinarily let them both down.
Except that she
had had no idea how it had happened.
The carriage
came to an abrupt halt, but Rose did not seem to wake up. There was shouting
outside and more lights, then the carriage door opened and a footman appeared.
He leaned in without even glancing at Hester, lifted Rose with great care, and
carried her across the mews and in through the back door of the house.
The coachman
handed Hester out and accompanied her across the yard and through the scullery.
Her skirts were sodden around her ankles; her shoulders and hair were wet.
Nothing had been further from her mind on leaving the memorial reception than
sending someone to fetch her cloak-or to be more exact, Rose s cloak.
Inside the
warmth of the kitchen, she realized how very cold she was. Her body was
shuddering, her feet numb. Her head was beginning to pound as if it were she
who had drunk far too much.
The cook took
pity on her and made her a hot cup of tea, but gave her nothing to go with it,
no biscuit or slice of bread, as if Hester were to blame for Rose's condition.
It was half an
hour before Morgan Applegate came to the kitchen door. He was in his
shirtsleeves, his face flushed but white about the lips, his hair tangled.
"Mrs.
Monk," he said with barely suppressed rage. "Will you be so good as
to come with me?" It was a command rather than a question.
Hester rose and
followed him. She was deeply sorry for his distress, but she had no intention
of being spoken to like a naughty child.
He walked into
the library, where there was a brisk fire burning. He held the door for her,
then slammed it shut. "Explain yourself!" he said simply.
She looked at
him with as much dignity as she could manage, being sodden wet, wearing
borrowed clothes, and having endured one of the most embarrassing evenings of
her life. She reminded herself that she had survived and been useful in fever
hospitals and on battlefields. This was a minor tragedy. She refused even to be
formal.
"I believe
Rose has had too much to drink, Mr. Applegate. And although it cannot have been
more than one or two glasses, she seems to be unusually susceptible to alcohol.
Unless, of course, it was remarkably strong."
He was breathing
deeply, as if he could not immediately find words to retaliate.
"I am
extremely sorry it happened," Hester continued. "I'm afraid you know
only the simplest part of it yet." Better to get it over now rather than
leave it for him to discover in the most acutely embarrassing way. "There
was a dismal musical trio playing, and Rose took the violin from the fiddler
and played it herself, extremely well. Unfortunately, she soon changed to a
funny but rather vulgar song from the music halls. The whole scene is something
you would probably prefer not to know about, but it was ... memorable."
"Oh, God!"
He went ash white. "How?"
She hesitated.
"How?"
he repeated.
"She was
very forthright over what people say about each other, and what they really
mean. With names. I'm sorry." She meant it deeply.
He stared at
her, the anger draining out of him. "I should have told you. She . . . she
used to . . ." He spread his hands helplessly. "She hasn't done it
for years! Why now?" His eyes pleaded with her for a reason for the
devastation that had descended on him with no warning.
Then suddenly
she knew the answer. It was as obvious as a slap across the face. "Alan
Argyll!" she said aloud. "He must have put something in her drink! He
knew we were there to try to persuade Jenny to testify! It was after he joined
us that Rose started to behave differently. Could he have known about her ...
weakness?" She would not insult either of them by mincing words. It was
far too late now.
"If he had
cared to find out," Applegate admitted. He sat down slowly in the large
leather seat just behind him, leaving her to do as she wished. He looked
crumpled, like a rag doll someone had torn the stuffing from. "Was it
awful?" he asked, without raising his eyes.
To lie would
only leave him more vulnerable. "Yes," she said simply. "It was
also very funny and perfectly true, and it is the truth of it I fear people
will neither forget nor forgive."
He sat silently.
The fire was
beginning to warm her through. The hem of her gown was steaming gently. She
knelt down in front of him. "I'm sorry. We believed it was a good cause,
and that we could win."
"It is a
good cause," he said quietly. He seemed about to add something more, then
changed his mind.
"Will she
be all right?" Hester asked. "Tomorrow? The next day?" Then she
thought with a chill how clumsy that was. It would never be all right for Applegate
himself. His position would become untenable. He would never be able to take
Rose to any social event after this. Possibly he would find it unbearable to go
himself.
He lifted his
head suddenly. His eyes were blurred with fear and exhaustion, but there was a
light of decision in them. "I'll give up my seat in Parliament. We'll go
back to the country. We have a house in Dorset. We can do a lot of good there,
without ever coming to London again. It's quiet and beautiful, and we can be
more than happy. We'll have each other, and that will be enough."
Ridiculously,
Hester felt her eyes fill with tears. He must love her so deeply and
unquestioningly that all his happiness lay in being with her. His anger had
been on her behalf, not against her. Perhaps it was even against himself,
because he knew her weakness and had not protected her from it. Would Monk have
been as gentle with Hester, as forgiving, as willing to sacrifice? She would
probably never know.
"I'm
sorry," Applegate apologized. "Would you like something to eat? You
must be frozen. It's ... I shouldn't have blamed you. You couldn't guard
against something you knew nothing of. Or would you rather simply go
home?"
She made herself
smile at him. "I think actually I would like to go home and put on some
dry clothes. It's been a rotten night." "I'll have my coachman take
you," he answered.
Monk flung the
front door open almost before the carriage had stopped. When Hester alighted he
strode out into the street, disregarding the rain.
"Where have
you been?" he demanded. "You're soaked and you look terrible. You
were supposed to ..." Then he saw the expression on her face and stopped.
"What is it?"
Hester thanked
the coachman and went inside. She was shivering again, so she sat down in the
chair nearest the fire and huddled into herself. Now that she was no longer
faced with Morgan Applegate's grief or Rose's urgent need, a profound sense of
defeat settled over her. She wondered how she could ever have been so stupid as
to think they could beat such vested interests. Her hubris had created her own
downfall, and in her unthinking ignorance she had taken Rose with her.
"What
happened?" Monk said again.
She described it
as accurately as she could remember, although she left out a good deal of what
Rose had said and summarized the rest. "Argyll must have put alcohol in
her lemonade," she finished. "I don't know how-I didn't see anything
more than his hand over it for a moment. After tonight's performance she'll
have to disappear, and neither she nor her husband will be able to give
evidence of anything. And we won't force anything out of Jenny Argyll, either.
I won't have any way of getting back into society without Rose. In fact..
."The heat rose in her face. "In fact, I may be remembered rather unkindly
for my part in this. I'm sorry. I'm terribly sorry."
He was startled.
"You're . . . why are you apologizing? What else is there that you haven't
told me, Hester?"
She stared at
him. "Nothing! But they knew who I was, that I'm your wife. Aren't policemen's
wives supposed to behave rather better than that?"
He gazed at her,
wide-eyed, then he started to laugh. It was a deep, full-throated howl of
incredulous hilarity.
"It's not
that funny!" she said indignantly.
But he laughed
even more, and there was nothing she could do but lose her temper or join him.
She chose the latter. They stood together in front of the fire, the tears
running down their cheeks.
"I think
you had better forget politics," he said at last. "You aren't any
good at it."
"I'm not usually
as bad as this!" she defended herself, but without conviction. There was
still defeat in her eyes.
"Yes, you
are," he replied, suddenly gentle again. "I think you should go back
to nursing. At that you are superb."
"No one
will have me," she told him ruefully.
"Yes, they
will. In Portpool Lane, every one of them loves you-even Squeaky Robinson, in
his own way."
There was
disbelief in her face, hesitation, then hope. "But you said-"
"I know. I
was wrong." He did not add anything because she threw her arms around his
neck and clung to him, kissing him long and hard.
In spite of her
personal joy, Hester woke in the morning with the utmost remorse over Rose. She
packed up Rose's borrowed clothes and returned them. Her army experiences had
taught her something of the suffering incurred after overindulgence in alcohol,
and she knew how to minister to those afflicted. She spent several hours doing
what she could for Rose, to both her and her husband's intense gratitude, then
she wished them every possible happiness and took her leave.
She arrived at
the Argyll house shortly after noon.
"Good
morning, Mrs. Monk," Jenny said with some uncertainty when Hester was
shown into the withdrawing room.
"Good
morning, Mrs. Argyll," Hester replied with a slight smile. "I thought
that after last night's disaster you would naturally be concerned for Mrs.
Applegate. I know that you and she were friends." A fraction of a second
later she realized she had already put it in the past. "And I owe you
something of an apology. Had I been aware of her susceptibility, I might have
been able to prevent it. There are some people to whom even a drop of alcohol
is a kind of poison."
Jenny cleared
her throat. She was obviously profoundly uncomfortable. She was still wearing
black, of course, but relieved at the neck and wrists with lavender. She was
not handsome, as Monk had said Mary was, but the possibilities of life,
passion, and laughter were still there in her face, masked by discretion.
"I suppose
it must be." She sounded acutely uncertain, but she could hardly ask
Hester to leave, unless she was prepared to be inexplicably rude. "It is
something of which I have no knowledge."
"I hope you
never have to," Hester said warmly. "I learned when I was caring for
injured soldiers, and those facing death on the battlefield." She saw
Jenny's face pinch with momentary pity. "When one is facing decisions that
are almost unbearable," Hester went on, as if now there was some kind of
bond between them, "some of us do not easily find the courage to do what
is right, if it might cost us all we hold dear. I am sure you have the
sensitivity to understand that, Mrs. Argyll."
"I... er
..." Jenny appeared to know that the conversation was leading somewhere
she did not wish to go. There was a purpose in Hester's bearing she could not
have mistaken. This was no idle call.
Hester forced
open the crack of opportunity. "I am sure you are looking for the kindest
way to enquire how poor Rose is this morning," she lied. "I have been
to see her; she is in great discomfort, but it will pass. I don't believe any
physical damage has been done to her, but the injury to her reputation will
never heal."