Her voice shook. She took a long, slow breath. Her lips trembled. "And she couldn't! Every time she was with him put them both in danger from prying eyes, people with cruel and inquisitive minds. No wonder she sought friendship with Zillah Lambert. It was at least a moment of sharing something, to see pretty things, a woman's things, perfume, silks, gowns, all the things she couldn't afford ever to have herself. Imagine what she risked if she had ever, even once, worn a dress!"
He started to speak and then stopped.
"Why do we do that?" Suddenly she was savage, her voice thick with emotion. She stared at him as if demanding an answer. "Why do we make rules about what a person should be… I mean rules that don't matter? Why shouldn't a woman be an architect, or a doctor, or anything else? What are we so frightened of?" She lashed out with her arm. "And why do we make men pretend they aren't afraid or don't make mistakes, like women and children? Of course they do. We all know they do, we just cover it up or look the other way. It's much easier to admit you were wrong, and go back and do the right thing, than it is to go on adding evasion to evasion, one invention after another to conceal the last, and then you probably aren't fooling anybody, except those who want to be fooled."
He did not interrupt, knowing she needed to say it all. Anyway, he agreed with her.
She scowled at him. "Look at Gabriel and Perdita." She clenched her hands. "He's been taught to be brave, never to explain, never to ask for help. He's been given a hero's image to live up to, and he's riddled with guilt because he thinks he can't. And she's been taught to be helpless and stupid because that's what men want, and all she should do is be a sweet-natured, obedient ornament." Her face was puckered, all her muscles tight. "And she has to sit by and watch him hurt, because he thinks he should be looking after her, and he can't even look after himself."
She drew breath. "And that idiot Athol Sheldon bumbles around telling them it would all be all right if they just behaved normally and forgot the grief and pain and the horror as if it never happened and all those people never died. It's a mockery of the reality of life. It makes me so angry I could…"
She was at a loss for words. He could not remember ever seeing that before. He wanted to say something to show he understood and felt the same anger and loss.
He also thought, against his will and with a curious, sharp hunger, of all the things she had said about joy and not being alone, of having the opportunity to share with someone the bonds of honesty and familiarity which are the deepest of all friendships, the losing of the barriers of fear, which divide.
He reached forward and took her hands and held them in his, quite gently, feeling after a moment her fingers respond. It was not a strong grasp, not a clinging, just a knowledge of the other's being there, a gentleness for which there were no words, perhaps even a memory of many other times when they had felt the same but had remained separate.
It was a clatter of footsteps on the stairs which disturbed them. Hester pulled away slowly, turning to the door as Perdita came in.
"Oh!" she said, seeing Monk. "Oh, I'm sorry. Hester… I don't know what to do. It's just impossible. I can't manage this!" She was obviously on the edge of tears, her face pink, and she was breathing rapidly. She behaved as if she had already forgotten Monk was there or simply was past caring.
Hester was on the very edge of losing her temper. Monk could see it in the rigidity of her body, especially her neck. When she spoke her voice was brittle.
"Well, if you really can't, perhaps you had better give up," she answered. "I don't know quite what that means. I suppose you do or you wouldn't have said it. Have the staff look after Gabriel, and you lead a separate life. I don't know whether you could afford it flnancially. Maybe Athol would help? Or if you ask him, Gabriel would release you from the marriage altogether. He offered to before. You told me that when I first came. Only then, of course, you said you wouldn't dream of it"
Perdita looked as if she had been struck in the face. Her eyes were wide and her mouth slack.
"I'm sure you could marry again," Hester went on ruthlessly, her voice getting harder and heavier. "You are very pretty-in fact, quite beautiful-and you have a very docile and agreeable nature… just what most men want-"
"Stop it!" Perdita shouted at her. "You mean I'm stupid and cowardly, and no use for anything but to do as I'm told! I'm fine when everything is all right. I can simper and smile and flatter people and be obedient. I can keep my place and make anyone feel comfortable… and superior. But when something goes wrong, and you need a woman with courage and intelligence, I just run away. I don't think of anybody but myself. How I feel… and what I want" Her lips were trembling, but she did not stop. She gulped and swallowed, glaring at Hester. "Then you can step in, all brave and unselfish. You know what to do, what to say. You're never afraid, never confused. Nothing ever revolts you or makes you want to run away and pretend it never happened!"
Her voice was rising high and becoming louder. The servants must have been able to hear her as far as the kitchen. "Well, I'll tell you something, Miss Perfect Nurse! Nobody wants a woman who is never wrong. You can't love somebody who doesn't need you, who's never vulnerable or frightened or makes mistakes. I may not be half as clever as you are, or as brave, or know anything about Indian history or soldiers or what it is like to see real war… but I know that."
Hester stood very stiff, her back like a ramrod, her shoulders clenched so tight Monk felt as if he could see the bones of them pulling against her dress. He was not certain, but he thought she was shivering. This was what she had wanted, what she had intended to happen when she had provoked Perdita… at least he thought it was. But that did not stop it from hurting. There was too much truth in it, and yet it was also so terribly wrong.
"You are lashing out in anger, Mrs. Sheldon," he said in a low, controlled voice. "And you don't know what you are talking about. You know nothing of Miss Latterly except what you have seen in this house. There are many kinds of men and many kinds of love. Sometimes we imagine what we must hunger for is a sweet and clinging creature who will feed our vanity and hang upon our words, dependent upon our judgment all the time." He took a breath. "And then we meet the harder realities of life, and a woman who has the courage, the fire and the intelligence to be our equal, and we discover that those joys far outweigh the irritations and discomforts." He stared at her very hard. "You must be true to the best in yourself, Mrs. Sheldon, but you have no grounds and no right to insult where you do not know the facts. Miss Latterly may not be loved widely, but she is loved very deeply indeed, more than most women can aspire to or dare to accept."
The color burned up in Perdita's cheeks. She was furious and overwhelmed with embarrassment. She did not know what to say, and the rage boiling inside her was only too apparent in her eyes.
Hester, on the other hand, stood as if frozen.
Monk could barely believe he had said what he had. His first instinct, almost taking his breath away, was to deny it, somehow qualify it all so it did not apply to him. The desire to escape was so urgent it was like a physical compulsion.
He saw Hester's back and shoulders, the dress still pulled tight, her neck muscles stiff. As clearly as if he could see her eyes, he knew she was waiting for him to deny his words, to withdraw or disclaim.
If he did, would it be because they were untrue or because he was an emotional coward?