Gillespie, no reputable surgeon will perform such an operation for you." He drew in his breath sharply, and suddenly his face took on a curiously pinched look, quite different from the slight complacence before. This had a sharp note of reality. "And I beg you, please do not go to the back-street practitioners," he urged. "They will assuredly do it for you, and very possibly ruin you for life; at worst bungle it so badly you become infected and either bleed to death or die in agony of septicemia."
Both women froze, staring at him, eyes wide.
He leaned forward, his hands white-knuckled on the desk.
"Believe me, Miss Gillespie, I am not trying to distress you unnecessarily. I know what I am speaking about. My own daughter was the victim of such a man! She too was molested, as you were. She was only sixteen..." His voice caught for a moment, and he had to force himself to continue. Only his inner anger overcame his grief. "We never found who the man was. She told us nothing about it. She was too frightened, too shocked and ashamed. She went to a private abortionist who was so clumsy he cut her inside. Now she will never bear a child."
His eyes were narrowed slits in a face almost bloodless. "She will never even be able to have a normal union with a man. She will be single all her life, and in pain-in constant pain. For God's sake don't go to a back-street abortionist!" His voice dropped again, curiously husky. "Have your child, Miss Gillespie. Whatever you think now, it is the better part than what you face if you go to someone else for the help I cannot give you."
"I..." Marianne gulped. "I wasn't thinking of anything so-I mean-I hadn't..."
"We hadn't thought of going to such a person," Julia said in a tight brittle voice. "Neither of us would know how to find one, or whom to approach. I had only thought of a reputable surgeon. I-I hadn't realized it was against the law, not when the woman was a victim-of rape."
"I am afraid the law makes no distinction. The child's life is the same."
"I am not concerned with the child's life," Julia said in little more than a whisper. "I am thinking of Marianne."
"She is a healthy young woman. She will probably be perfectly all right. And in time she will recover from the fear and the grief. There is nothing I can do. I am sorry."
"So you have said. I apologize for having taken up your time. Good day, Sir Herbert."
"Good day, Mrs. Penrose-Miss Gillespie." As soon as they were gone, Sir Herbert closed the door and returned to his desk. He sat motionless for several seconds, then apparently dismissed the matter and reached for a pile of notes.
Hester came out of the alcove, hesitated, then crossed the floor.
Sir Herbert's head jerked up, his eyes momentarily wide with surprise.
"Oh-Miss Latterly." Then he recollected himself. "Yes-the body's away. Thank you. That's all for the moment. Thank you."
It was dismissal.
"Yes, Sir Herbert."
* * * * *
Hester found the encounter deeply distressing. She could not clear it from her mind, and at the first opportunity she recounted the entire interview to Callandra. It was late evening, and they were sitting outside in Callandra's garden. The scent of roses was heavy in the air and the low sunlight slanting on the poplar leaves was deep golden, almost an apricot shade. There was no motion except the sunset wind in the leaves. The wall muffled the passing of hooves and made inaudible the hiss of carriage wheels.
"It was like the worst kind of dream," Hester said, staring at the poplars and the golden blue sky beyond. "I was aware what was going to happen before it did. And of course I knew every word she said was true, and yet I was helpless to do anything at all about it." She turned to Callandra. "I suppose Sir Herbert is right, and it is a crime to abort, even when the child is a result of rape. It is not anything I have ever had to know. I have nursed entirely soldiers or people suffering from injury or fevers. I have no experience of midwifery at all. I have not even cared for a child, much less a mother and infant. It seems so wrong."
She slapped her hand on the arm of the wicker garden chair. "I am seeing women suffer in a way I never knew