“No! No, she wouldn’t, now that I come to think about it. Oh my dear, do you suppose he was already married to someone else, and they simply ran off? Oh, how dreadful!”
“Where do you suppose she met him?” Emily pursued. “If they had met at parties and so forth, people would know who he was-and nobody does!”
“Oh, it must have been somewhere secret,” Sophie agreed. “Even Laetitia doesn’t know who he was. At least she says she doesn’t, and why should she lie? Unless, of course, he was somebody simply awful! But I cannot see Helena becoming enamored of someone awful. She was far too proud, and fastidious.”
“She was fastidious?”
“Oh very! No, they must quite definitely have met somewhere secretly.”
“Well, it must have been close, must it not?” Emily thought aloud. “Or else she would have had to take a carriage, and then the driver at least would know. And one should never trust coachmen, unless one pays them oneself; and even then they may always be better paid by someone else. No, it is good counsel never to trust servants, especially men; they tend to ally with other men.”
“Where then?” Sophie asked. “Oh! Why, of course! I know. At least I know precisely what I should do!”
“What? What?” Emily’s composure vanished completely.
“Why, the empty house, of course! That house on the opposite side of the square has been empty for years! It belongs to an old lady who will neither sell it nor live in it. I believe she prefers France, or something equally odd. It is quite dreadfully neglected now, but it used to be most attractive, and there is a summer house at the back. Quite the romantic spot to meet. That has to be it! Don’t you think I am most clever to have thought of it?”
Emily thought privately that she was quite foolish not to have thought of it immediately, but naturally it would be unkind and impolitic to say so.
“Oh, indeed!” she agreed enthusiastically. “And I am sure beyond doubt that you are right. And one day, I dare say, we shall find out who he was.”
“Perhaps if we go and look?” Sophie suggested. “We may even find some small thing they may have left behind! What do you think?”
Emily had already resolved to do just such a thing the moment the house was mentioned. She did not wish to take Sophie with her, but there seemed no help for it.
“What an excellent idea,” she agreed. “The first opportunity it is fine. We will be thought most odd and attract unwelcome attention if we go in this rain. Tomorrow, if it is dry, I shall call for you and we will go together.” She fixed Sophie with a frank eye, to let her understand that if she crept in beforehand, Emily would confide no more gossip to her. She saw from Sophie’s expression that she grasped the message perfectly.
Emily stood up.
“My dear, this has been the most exciting visit I have paid in months. I shall look forward to our next meeting.” She moved to the door and Sophie came with her, forgetting to ring for the parlormaid in her anticipation of tomorrow.
Emily turned at the door.
“Oh, you won’t mind if I bring my sister Charlotte, will you? She is a most intelligent creature, and may be of some assistance to us.”
Sophie’s face fell for a moment, then at the mention of assistance, brightened again.
“No, of course not,” she assured. “If she is your sister, no doubt she is most charming.”
Emily would have quarreled with that; Charlotte was charming only when she meant it, and she doubted Sophie would bring out the best in her, but that hardly mattered now. She smiled devastatingly at Sophie, and took her leave, her heart singing in triumph.
Her prayers were answered, and the following day was cold and dry. She duly picked Charlotte up from her house before Charlotte had even finished her luncheon, and proceeded at a great pace to Callander Square, explaining her mission to Charlotte on the way, and the necessity for such precipitate speed. She did not entirely trust Sophie not to creep over on her own, and thus discover whatever there might be to find, before Emily and Charlotte got there. She would not have gone in the morning, because it was still rather wet and icebound, but this afternoon she might well think to slip over without Emily, and trust to not being caught at it.
They arrived at Callander Square and alighted from the carriage, bidding the coachman and footman remain where they were. They announced themselves to Sophie, who was ready waiting with her outdoor boots on and a cloak in the footman’s hands. Within five minutes they were at the garden entrance to the unoccupied house. It took the weight of the three of them to push it open, so long had it lain shut.
They hesitated on the step.
The garden inside was motionless and cold, trees rimed in frost, path stones overgrown with mosses, and slimy. There were dead leaves on the grass and rotting deep on the flower beds. If there was anything alive, it was asleep till spring.
“A garden shouldn’t be like this,” Charlotte said quietly. “Somebody must have laid it out carefully once, and people walked and talked to each other here.”
“Helena Doran and somebody,” Emily said practically. “Let’s go in.”
Feet soundless on the wet leaves, they moved reluctantly inside, Charlotte pulling the door behind them to hide their presence. They followed the path gingerly, afraid of slipping on the greasy stones. It skirted round the house and then disappeared into grass at the back. The lawn was soggy, and again covered with leaves. Halfway down there was a thatched, wooden summer house, roof collapsing. Obviously a multitude of birds had tweaked and stolen from it over the years.
“There,” Emily said triumphantly. “That is where lovers would meet.” And she hurried across the squelching grass toward it, her skirts catching in the twigs and leaves. Charlotte caught up with her, but Sophie stepped more gingerly from stone to stone round the remnants of the path.
Charlotte and Emily rounded the corner of the summer house and peered inside. It was very dilapidated, thatch hanging low across the ceiling, several of the seats rotted and fallen through.
“Oh dear,” Emily said disappointedly. “I wonder if all this could have happened in only two years.”
“It wouldn’t matter,” Charlotte said from behind her. “Don’t forget, this is January. In the summer it would all look quite different. The trees would have leaves on them, there might be flowers and birds. It would be more like a secret garden. They wouldn’t care if it were a little neglected.”
“A little!”
“More to the point,” Charlotte stared round, “do you see anything that makes you think it might have been used? She might have dropped a handkerchief, or something, or easily torn a little piece from a dress. There are certainly enough rough pieces around.”
They both began to look, and Sophie joined them. After several minutes they satisfied themselves there was nothing to discover, and Charlotte and Emily went out of the other door toward the back of the garden. Sophie remained behind, not having searched thoroughly herself.
Past the bushes Charlotte stopped stark, and Emily bumped into her.
“What’s the matter with you?” she demanded crossly, then stared over Charlotte’s shoulder, and felt all the warmth drain out of her body.
They were at the side of a small lawn under a great tree. From one of the branches hung a garden swing, and on it, skeletal fingers still round the ropes, were the rag-wisped bones of what had once been a woman. Remnants of her dress hung from the seat of the swing, bleached gray by seasons of rain and sun. Flies and small animals had eaten away her flesh and there was nothing left now but a little dried skin and pale yellow hair, and the fingernails of her hands. Grotesquely, the whalebone stays of her corsets were still whole, though fallen across where her stomach would have been, and on top of them, released from the womb, the tiny, birdlike bones of an unborn child.
“Helena,” Charlotte whispered. “Poor Helena.”
EIGHT
Reggie Southeron arrived home from his afternoon of card-playing to find Adelina looking tearful and white- faced. It was annoying. He himself was in excellent spirits, having won a handsome sum of money, shared some
