"We are invited to dine with Mr. and Mrs. Alberton," Hester
said in reply to Monk's questioning gaze across the
breakfast table. "They are friends of Callandra's. She was
to go as well, but has been called to Scotland
unexpectedly."
"I suppose you would like to accept anyway," he deduced,
watching her face. He usually read her emotions quickly,
sometimes with startling accuracy, at others
misunderstanding entirely. On this occasion he was correct.
"Yes, I would. Callandra said they are charming and
interesting and have a very beautiful home. Mrs. Alberton
is half
Italian, and apparently Mr. Alberton has travelled quite a
lot as well."
"Then I suppose we had better go. Short notice, isn't it?"
he said less than graciously.
It was short notice indeed, but Hester was not disposed to
find unnecessary fault with something which promised to be
interesting, and possibly even the beginning of a new
friendship. She did not have many friends. The nature of
her work
as a nurse had meant that her friendships were frequently
of a fleeting nature. She had not been involved with any
gripping cause for quite some little time. Even Monk's
cases, while financially rewarding, had over the last four
months
of spring and early summer been most uninteresting, and he
had not sought her assistance, or in most of them her
opinion. She did not mind that, robberies were tedious,
largely motivated by greed, and she did not know the people
concerned.
"Good," she said with a smile, folding up the letter. "I
shall write back immediately saying that we shall be
delighted."
Hisanswering look was wry, only very slightly sarcastic.
They arrived at the Alberton house in Tavistock Square just
before half past seven. It was, as Callandra had said,
handsome, although Hester would not have thought it worth
remarking on. However she changed her mind as soon as they
were in the hallway which was dominated by a curving
staircase at the half turn of which was an enormous stained
glass
window with the evening sun behind it. It was truly
beautiful, and Hester found herself staring at it when she
should
have been paying attention to the butler who had admitted
them, and watching where she was going.
The withdrawing room also was unusual. There was less
furniture in it than was customary, and the colours were
paler and
warmer, giving an illusion of light even though in fact the
long windows which overlooked the garden faced towards the
eastern sky. The shadows were already lengthening, although
it would not be dark yet until after ten o'clock at this
time so shortly after midsummer.
Hester's first impression of Judith Alberton was that she
was an extraordinarily beautiful woman. She was taller than
average, but with a slender neck and shoulders which made
more apparent the lush curves of her figure, and lent it a
delicacy it might otherwise not have possessed. Her face,
when looked at more closely, was totally wrong for
conventional fashion. Her nose was straight and quite
prominent, her cheekbones very high, her mouth too large
and her
chin definitely short. Her eyes were slanted and of a
golden autumn shade. The whole impression was both generous
and
passionate. The longer one looked at her the lovelier she
seemed. Hester liked her immediately.
"How do you do," Judith said warmly. "I am so pleased you
have come. It was kind of you on so hasty an invitation. But
Lady Callandra spoke of you with such affection I did not
wish to wait." She smiled at Monk. Her eyes lit with a flare
of interest as she regarded his dark face with its lean
bones and broad-bridged nose, but it was Hester to whom she
addressed her attention. "May I introduce my husband?"
The man who came forward was pleasing rather than handsome,
far more ordinary than she was, but his features were
regular and there was both strength and charm in them.
"How do you do, Mrs. Monk," he said with a smile, but when
courtesy was met he turned immediately to Monk behind her,
searching his countenance steadily for a moment before
holding out his hand in welcome, and then turning aside so
the
rest of the company could be introduced.
There were three other people in the room. One was a man in
his mid forties, his dark hair thinning a little. Hester
noticed first his wide smile and spontaneous handshake. He
had a natural confidence, as if he were sure enough of
himself and his beliefs he had no need to thrust them upon
anyone else. He was happy to listen to others. It was a
quality she could not help but like. His name was Robert
Casbolt, and he was introduced not only as Alberton's
business
partner and friend since youth, but also Judith's cousin.
The other man present was American. As one could hardly
help being aware, that country had in the last few months
slipped tragically into a state of civil war. There had not
as yet been anything more serious than a few ugly
skirmishes, but open violence seemed increasingly probable
with every fresh bulletin that arrived across the Atlantic.
War seemed more and more likely.
"Mr. Breeland is from the Union," Alberton said
courteously, but there was no warmth in his voice.
Hester looked at Breeland as she acknowledged the
introduction. He appeared to be in his early thirties, tall
and very
straight, with square shoulders and the upright stance of a
soldier. His features were regular, his expression polite
but severely controlled, as if he felt he must be
constantly on guard against any slip or relaxation of
awareness.
The last person was the Albertons' daughter, Merrit. She
was about sixteen, with all the charm, the passion and
vulnerability of her years. She was fairer than her mother,
and had not the beauty, but she had a similar strength of
will in her face, and less ability to hide her emotions.
She allowed herself to be introduced politely enough, but
she
did not make any attempt to pretend more than courtesy.
The preliminary conversation was on matters as simple as
the weather, the increase in traffic on the streets and the
crowds drawn by a nearby exhibition.
Hester wondered why Callandra had thought she and Monk
might find these people congenial, but perhaps she was
merely
fond of them, and had discovered in them a kindness.
Breeland and Merrit moved a little apart, talking
earnestly. Monk, Casbolt and Judith Alberton discussed the
latest
play, and Hester fell into conversation with Daniel
Alberton.
"Lady Callandra told me you spent nearly two years out in
the Crimea," he said with great interest. He smiled
apologetically. "I am not going to ask you the usual
questions about Miss Nightingale. You must find that
tedious by
now."
"She was a very remarkable person," Hester said. "I could
not criticise anyone for seeking to know more about her."
His smile widened. "You must have said that so many times.
You were prepared for it!"
She found herself relaxing. He was unexpectedly pleasant to
converse with; frankness was always so much easier than
continued courtesy. "Yes, I admit I was. It is ..."
"Unoriginal," he finished for her.
"Yes."
"Perhaps what I wanted to say was unoriginal also, but I
shall say it anyway, because I do want to know." He frowned
very slightly, drawing his brows together. His eyes were
clear blue. "You must have exercised a great deal of courage
out there, both physical and moral, especially when you
were actually close to the battlefield. You must have made
decisions which altered other peoples lives, perhaps saved
them, or lost them."
That was true. She remembered with a jolt just how
desperate it had been. It was as remote from this quiet
summer
evening in an elegant London withdrawing room, where the
shade of a gown mattered, the cut of a sleeve. War, disease,
shattered bodies, the heat and flies, or the terrible cold,
could all have been on another planet with no connection
with this world at all except a common language, and yet no
words that could ever explain one to the other.
She nodded.
"Do you not find it extraordinarily difficult to adjust
from that life to this?" he asked, his voice was soft, but
edged
with a surprising intensity.
How much had Callandra told Judith Alberton, or her
husband? Would Hester embarrass her with the Albertons in
future if
she were to be honest? Probably not. Callandra had never
been a woman to run from the truth.
"Well I came back burning with determination to reform all
our hospitals here at home," she said ruefully. "As you can
see, I did not succeed, for several reasons. The chief
among them was that no one would believe I had the faintest
idea
what I was talking about. Women don't understand medicine
at all, and nurses in particular are for rolling bandages,
sweeping and mopping floors, carrying coal and slops, and
generally doing as they are told." She allowed her
bitterness
to show. "It did not take me long to be dismissed, and earn
my way by caring for private patients."
There was admiration in his eyes as well as laughter. "Was
that not very hard for you?" he asked.
"Very," she agreed. "But I met my husband shortly after I
came home. We were . . . I was going to say friends, but
that
is not true. Adversaries in a common cause, would describe
it far better. Did Lady Callandra tell you that he is a
private agent of enquiry?"
There was no surprise in his face, certainly nothing like
alarm. In high society, gentlemen owned land or were in the
army or politics. They did not work, in the sense of being
employed. Trade was equally unacceptable. But whatever
family
background Judith Alberton came from, her husband showed no
dismay that his guest should be little better than a
policeman, an occupation fit only for the least desirable
element.
"Yes," he admitted readily. "She told me she found some of
his adventures quite fascinating, but she did not give me
any
details. I presumed they might be confidential."
"They are," she agreed. "I would not discuss them either,
only to say that they have prevented me from missing any
sense
of excitement or decision that I felt in the Crimea. And
for the most part my share in them has not required the
physical privation or the personal danger of nursing in
wartime."
"And the horror, or the pity?" he asked quietly.
"It has not sheltered me from those," she admitted. "Except
for a matter of numbers. And I am not sure one feels any
less for one person, if he or she is in desperate trouble,
than one does for many."
"Quite." It was Robert Casbolt who spoke. He came up just
behind Alberton, putting a companionable hand on his
shoulder
and regarding Hester with interest. "There is just so much
the emotions can take, and one gives all one has, I imagine?
From what I have just overheard, you are a remarkable
woman, Mrs. Monk. I am delighted Daniel thought to invite
you and
your husband to dine. You will enliven our usual
conversation greatly, and I for one am looking forward to
it." He
lowered his voice conspiratorially. "No doubt we shall hear
more of it over dinnerโit is totally inescapable these
daysโbut I have had more than sufficient of the war in
America and its issues."
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