'You're welcome, ma'am,' he replied. 'You're welcome, I'm sure,' he added, because he did not know what else to say.
Outside in the carriage, Emily accepted the rug from the footman and allowed him to wrap it around her feet and Charlotte's.
'Where to, milady?' he asked without expression. Afterthe Deptford police station, nothing else she could say would surprise him.
'What time is it?' she inquired.
'A little after noon, milady.'
'Then it is too early to go calling upon Callantha Swynford. We must find something to do in the meanwhile.'
'Would you care for luncheon, milady?' The footman tried not to make it too obvious that he cared for it himself. Of course, he had not just viewed a drowned corpse.
Emily lifted her chin and swallowed.
'What an excellent idea. You had better find us somewhere pleasant, John, if you please. I do not know where such a place may be, but no doubt there is a hostelry of some sort that serves ladies.'
'Yes, milady, I'm sure there is.' He closed the door and went back to tell the coachman that he had succeeded in obtaining luncheon, and implied by his expression what he thought of it all.
'Oh, my God!' Emily sat back into the upholstery as soon as the door was closed. 'How does Thomas bear it? Why do birth and death have to be so awfully-physical? They seem to reduce us to such a level of extremity there is no room to think of the spiritual!' She gulped again, hard. 'Poor little creature. I
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have to believe in God, of some sort. It would be intolerable to think that was all there was-just to be born and live and die like that, and nothing before or after. It's too trivial and disgusting. It's like a joke in the worst possible taste.'
'It's not very funny,' Charlotte said somberly.
'Jokes in bad taste aren't!' Emily snapped. 'I couldn't face eating, but I certainly don't intend to allow John to know that! We'll have to order something, and of course we shall eat separately. Please do not be clumsy enough to allow him to learn of it! He is my footman and I shall have to live with him in the house-not to mention whatever he might say to the rest of the servants.'
'I have no intention of doing so,' Charlotte replied. 'And not eating will not help Albie.'' She had seen and heard of more violence and more pain than Emily, cushioned by Paragon Walk and the Ashworth world. 'And of course there's a God, and probably heaven, too. And I most sincerely hope there is hell also. I have a great desire to see several people in it!'
'Hell for the wicked?' Emily said tartly, stung by Charlotte's apparent composure. 'How very puritan of you.'
'No-hell for the indifferent,' Charlotte corrected. 'God can do as He pleases with the wicked. It is the ones who don't damn well care that I want to see burn!'
Emily pulled the rug a little tighter.
'I'll help,' she offered.
Callantha Swynford was not in the least surprised to see them; in fact, the usual etiquette of afternoon calling was not observed at all. There was no exchange of polite observations and trivia. Instead, they were conducted immediately into the withdrawing room set for tea and conversation.
Without preamble Emily launched into a frank description of conditions in workhouses and sweatshops, the details of which she and Charlotte had learned from Somerset Carlisle. They were gratified to see Callantha's distress as there opened up before her a whole world of misery that she had never conceived of before.
Presently they were joined by other ladies, and the wretched facts were repeated, this time by Callantha herself while
