far too much, Miss Latterly," he corrected, shaking his head again. "And if I may say so, quite inappropriately. A young woman, a lady, of Perdita's background, a gentlewoman, should not know of such barbarities as occurred in India. Part of her charm, her great value in a man's life, is precisely that she keeps an island safe for him, unsoiled by the tragedies of the world. That is a very beautiful thing, Miss Latterly. Do not try to damage that or rob them both of it." He smiled as he finished speaking, a calm, assured expression returning to his face, except for the faintest shadow in his eyes. She knew he was speaking to convince himself as well as her. He needed that island to exist, to visit it in mind if nothing more. It was his own dreams he was protecting as much as Gabriel's.
And perhaps it was his way of protecting himself from Gabriel's pain. There was a fear in him of the darkness he only guessed at in acts like those in the Mutiny. Like many people, he preferred to think they could not really have happened, not as had been reported.
Was there any purpose in trying to force him to see the reality?
"Mr. Sheldon, when we share our terror and pain with someone else, we create a bond with that person which is seldom broken. Should we not give Mrs. Sheldon the chance to be the one to share Gabriel's experiences?"
He frowned at her.
"I mean," she went on hastily, "allow her to decide whether she will or not, rather than deciding it for her?"
"Not very logical, my dear Miss Latterly," he said with a quick smile. "Since she can have no idea what she would be offering to share, she cannot make such a decision. No, I am quite certain we should not burden her." His voice gathered conviction. "It is our duty to protect-my duty, in which you will be of great assistance."
"Mr. Sheldon..." she persisted.
But he raised his hand, smiling widely. "We must have fortitude and strength, Miss Latterly. We shall overcome. I trust you are a woman of Christian faith? Yes, of course you are. You could not do the great good works which I already know of you, were you not. Onward!" He thrust his hand out, holding it high. "We must go forward, and we shall overcome." And he brushed past her and went on down the stairs with a spring in his step.
Hester swore under her breath, words she would have been ashamed to use aloud, and returned the way she had come.
In the evening Hester sat restlessly fiddling with mending which did not really need to be done. Martha attended to such things and left little from one week to the next. But she could not keep her mind on mending, and sitting idle was even worse.
There was a knock on the door.
"Come in," she said with relief.
Martha entered and closed the door behind her. She looked tired and dispirited.
"Have you time to sit down?" Hester invited. She set her sewing aside. "Would you like a cup of tea?"
Martha smiled. "I'll get it. I'm sure you would like one too, wouldn't you?"
"Thank you," Hester accepted. "Yes, I really would."
Martha held out a letter. "This came for you in the last post."
"Oh!" Hester took it with pleasure. It was written in Lady Callandra Daviot's hand and postmarked from Fort William, in the north of Scotland. "Oh, good!"
"A friend?" Martha said with a smile. "I'll fetch the tea. Would you like some shortbread as well?"
"Yes, please," Hester accepted, and the moment after Martha had gone, she tore open the letter and read:
My dear Hester,
What a marvelous country! I had never imagined I would enjoy myself so much. I have the undeniable urge to try painting again. It should all be done on wet paper, I think, to catch the softness of the colors and the way the light strikes the water. Yesterday I came back from the Isle of Skye. The Cuillin Mountains are so beautiful they make me ache inside because the moment I look away I know I shall need to see them again. And I cannot spend the rest of my life standing on the spot staring at shifting sunlight and mist and the shadows across the sea.
Today I am resting and doing very little, except writing to friends, of whom you and William are the only ones who might begin to understand how I feel, and