“Do you understand me?” Loretta’s voice was low and grating, without patience, devoid of pity. Had Emily not heard the words quite plainly, it would have sounded like a threat. Loretta had comforted and supported Veronica for a long time now, and her strength, let alone her patience, seemed to be wearing thin. She too had suffered a loss; Veronica was on the brink of finding another husband, but Loretta would not find another son. Little wonder she thought it was time Veronica behaved less self-indulgently.
“Yes.” Veronica’s voice sounded defiant, yet there was no conviction in it. “Yes, I understand.” And she began to weep.
“Good.” Loretta was satisfied. There was a crackle of taffeta as she sat back. Apparently she was not interested in Veronica’s tears. Perhaps she had seen too many of them.
There was a brisk knock on the door and Emily shot halfway to her feet, tripped on her skirt and fell flat. This time her hair really did come undone; the pin she had removed must have been vital. Frantically she hitched up her skirts and stood up properly; then she let them fall and smoothed her apron to make sure she was decent. She grabbed for the tray, then realized the knock had been on the outer door to the bedroom, not on the dressing room door.
The relief was overwhelming, so physically sharp her legs were shaking. She had time to put the tray down again, pin her hair rather better, take the tray and go out onto the landing and knock at the bedroom door herself.
When she went in Veronica was sitting on the big bed looking exhausted, bright smudges of color in her cheeks; Loretta was perfectly composed, at least on the surface. Piers York stood there looking slightly puzzled, a frown of incomprehension on his usually benign face. It might have been the angle of the light, but for the first time Emily also saw the deep sadness, in an expression in his eyes that stripped quite naked a patience and a disillusionment. Then he spoke and it vanished.
“What have you got?” He regarded Emily curiously. “Tea and bread and butter? Put it on the dressing table.”
“Yes, sir,” Emily moved to obey, putting aside the silver-backed brushes and hand mirror. She did not offer to pour; if they left it awhile they might attribute the tea’s coldness to their own delay.
“Amelia!” Loretta said sharply.
“Yes, ma’am?” Emily tried to look demure as an insecure pin slid out of her hair and fell on the dressing table with a tinkle, and a coil of hair unwound down her cheek.
“For heaven’s sake, girl!” Loretta’s rage exploded. “You look like a—a dollymop!”
Emily knew what a dollymop was: the cheapest of prostitutes, who could be tossed down anywhere for a few pence. The hot blood in her cheeks betrayed her, but she could not give the insolentiy innocent answer that leapt to her tongue. Nor could she afford to retaliate on equal terms, or she would lose her job—and Pitt’s life might depend on it. Choking with the injustice, she lowered her eyes so Loretta could not see the hatred in them. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” she whispered, forcing the words between her clenched teeth. “I stood out of the way and brushed against the curtain. I must have pulled out one of my pins.”
“Indeed.” Loretta made no attempt to hide her total skepticism. “It doesn’t say much for your ability to dress hair! Well, when I write your references I shall say nothing about the matter, although your manner has not always been what I would wish. But your mentioning this vulgar crime in Seven Dials to Miss Veronica is inexcusable. We do not have servants in this house who know about such things, let alone discuss them. Next thing you know we shall have all the maids in hysterics and the whole household at a standstill. I am sorry you have proved unsuitable, but no doubt you will find another position. You may work out the week, till we find someone to replace you. Edith cannot possibly do the work of two, and I need her for other things. Now you may get on about your business. Leave the tray there.”
Veronica shot up like a jack-in-the-box. “She is my maid!” she said rather loudly, staring at Loretta. “And I am perfectly satisfied with her—in fact I like her! And I shall keep her—forever, if I choose! And she heard about the murder doing an errand for me; she told me because she knew I was upset when that policeman called here before. Now he won’t be back, and I for one am delighted.”
Piers shook his head. “Pity,” he said with regret. “Can’t imagine what can have made him do it. Seemed such a civilized chap to me. Must be some explanation, I suppose.”
“Rubbish!” Loretta said swiftly. “Really Piers, sometimes I wonder how on earth you succeed as well as you do. Your judgment of people is—infantile!”
The change in his face was so subtle it was not a movement of any one feature, but Emily knew instantly that Loretta had trespassed too far, although she herself did not seem to realize it.
“I think the word you were looking for was ‘charitable,’ ” he said very quietly.
“Do you also take a ‘charitable’ view of the maid coming in here looking as if she’d just got out of bed?” Loretta demanded with icy disgust.
Piers turned and regarded Emily curiously. There was the faintest glint of humor in his eyes. “Have you been scuffling with one of the menservants, Amelia?”
She looked back at him perfectly steadily.
“No, sir, I have not; not now, nor at any time.”
“Thank you,” he said gravely. “The matter is settled. I think it is time we all changed for dinner.” He put his hands in his pockets and walked casually to the door.
“I am keeping my maid.” VERONICA stared at Loretta. “If she goes, it will be because I don’t want her, not because you don’t!”
“Drink your tea,” Loretta replied without expression, but Emily knew from her face, the calm power IN THE SET OF HER MOUTH, THAT HER DEFEAT WAS ONLY TEMPORARY. TIME WAS SHORT.
But then time was short for Pitt anyway.
Loretta went out and closed THE DOOR WITH A FIRM CLICK. VERONICA IGNORED THE TEA AND ATE THE BREAD AND BUTTER. “I’VE CHANGED MY MIND,” SHE SAID, STARING INTO THE MIRROR. “I’LL WEAR THE CRIMSON DRESS.”
