less of her affair with Robbie, and eventually stopped calling me to the library at all. I was disappointed but, more than that, worried: I had hoped confession would free her somehow from her self-imposed exile. That by telling me everything about their liaison, she might find her way back to us. But it was not to be.
On the contrary, she withdrew from me further; she took to dressing herself, looking at me strangely, almost angrily, if I so much as offered assistance. I tried to talk her round, remind her it wasn’t her fault, she couldn’t have saved him, but she only looked at me, a bemused expression on her face. As if she didn’t know of what I spoke or, worse, doubted my reasons for saying such a thing.
She drifted about the house those last months like a ghost. Myra said it was like having Mr Frederick back again. Teddy became even more concerned. After all, it wasn’t just Hannah at risk now. His baby, his son, the Luxton heir deserved better. He called in doctor after doctor, all of whom, fresh from the war, diagnosed shock and said it was only natural after what she’d seen.
One of them took Teddy aside after his consultation and said, ‘Shock all right. Very interesting case; completely out of touch with her environment.’
‘How do we fix it?’ said Teddy.
The doctor shook his head ruefully. ‘What I wouldn’t pay to know.’
‘Money’s no object,’ said Teddy.
The doctor frowned. ‘There was another witness?’
‘My wife’s sister,’ said Teddy.
‘Sister,’ said the doctor, noting it on his pad. ‘Good. Close are they?’
‘Very,’ said Teddy.
The doctor pointed his finger at Teddy. ‘Get her here. Talking: that’s the way with this sort of hysteria. Wife needs to spend time with someone else who experienced the same shock.’
Teddy took the doctor’s advice and repeated invitations were sent to Emmeline, but she wouldn’t come. She couldn’t. She was too busy.
‘I don’t understand,’ Teddy said to Deborah after dinner one night, ‘How can she ignore her own sister? After all Hannah’s done for her?’
‘I shouldn’t worry,’ said Deborah, raising her eyebrows. ‘From what I hear, it’s as well she stays away. They say she’s become quite vulgar. Last to leave every party. Getting about with all the wrong sorts.’
It was true: Emmeline had thrown herself back into her whirlwind social life in London. She became the life of the party, starred in a number of films-love films, horror films; she found her niche playing the misused femme fatale.
It was a shame, society types whispered eagerly, that Hannah couldn’t bounce back the same way. Strange that she should take it so much harder than her sister. It was Emmeline, after all, who’d been going around with the fellow.
Emmeline took it hard enough, though. Hers was just a different way of coping. She laughed louder and she drank harder. Rumour had it, the day she drove her car into the tree out at Preston’s Gorge, police found a bottle of brandy open on the seat beside her. Teddy had that hushed up. If there was one thing money could buy back in those days, it was the law. Perhaps it still can; I wouldn’t know.
They didn’t tell Hannah at first. Deborah thought it too risky and Teddy agreed, what with the baby being so close to term. Solicitors were called in to make statements on Teddy and Hannah’s behalf.
Teddy came downstairs the night after the accident. He looked out of place in the drab servants’ hall, like an actor who’d walked onto the wrong stage set. He was so tall he had to duck his head to avoid knocking it on the ceiling beam above the last step.
‘Mr Luxton,’ said Mr Hamilton. ‘We didn’t expect-’ His voice tapered off and he leapt to action, turning to us, clapping silently then raising his hands and motioning as if conducting an orchestra in a very fast piece of music. Somehow we formed a line and stood, hands behind our backs, waiting to see what Teddy would say.
What he said was simple. Emmeline had been involved in an unfortunate motor-car accident that had taken her life. Myra clutched my hand behind my back.
Mrs Townsend shrieked and sank onto her chair, hand across her heart. ‘The poor dear love,’ she said. ‘I’m all atremble.’
‘It’s been a terrible shock for all of us, Mrs Townsend,’ said Teddy, looking from one servant to the next. ‘There is, however, something I have to ask of you.’
‘If I may speak on behalf of the staff,’ said Mr Hamilton, ashen-faced, ‘we’re only too happy to assist in any way we can at this terrible time.’
‘Thank you, Mr Hamilton,’ said Teddy, nodding gravely. ‘As you all know, Mrs Luxton has suffered awfully over the other business at the lake. I believe it would be kindest if we kept this most recent tragedy from her for the time being. It doesn’t do to upset her further. Not while she’s with child. I’m sure you’ll all agree.’
The staff stayed silent as Teddy continued.
‘I’d ask then that you refrain from mentioning Miss Emmeline or the accident. That you make special effort to ensure newspapers are not left lying about where she might see them.’
He paused, glanced at each of us in turn.
‘Do you understand?’
Mr Hamilton blinked to attention then. ‘Ah, yes. Yes, sir.’
‘Good,’ said Teddy. He nodded a few times quickly, realised there was nothing left to say, and left with a grim smile.
After Teddy had disappeared, Mrs Townsend turned, round-eyed, to Mr Hamilton. ‘But… does he mean not to tell Miss Hannah at all?’
‘It would seem that way, Mrs Townsend,’ said Mr Hamilton. ‘For the time being.’
‘But her own sister’s death-’
‘Those were his instructions, Mrs Townsend.’ Mr Hamilton exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Mr Luxton is Master of this house just as surely as Mr Frederick was before him.’
Mrs Townsend opened her mouth to debate the point but Mr Hamilton cut her off. ‘You know as well as I that the Master’s instructions must be observed.’ He removed his glasses and polished them fiercely. ‘Never matter what we think of them. Or him.’
Later, when Mr Hamilton was upstairs serving supper, Mrs Townsend and Myra approached me in the servants’ hall dining room. I was at the table mending Hannah’s silver dress. Mrs Townsend sat one side, Myra the other. Like two guardsmen arrived to accompany me to the gallows.
With a glance to the stairs, Myra said, ‘You have to tell her.’
Mrs Townsend shook her head. ‘It isn’t right. Her own sister. She should know.’
I wove my needle into the silver thread reel and set my stitching down.
‘You’re her maid,’ said Myra. ‘She’s fond of you. You have to tell her.’
‘I know,’ I said quietly. ‘I will.’
Next morning I found her, as I expected to, in the library. In an armchair on the far side, looking through the huge glass doors toward the churchyard. She was intent on something in the distance and didn’t hear me approach. I came up close and stood quietly beside the matching chair. Early sunlight floated through the glass and bathed her profile, giving her an almost ethereal look.
‘Ma’am?’ I said softly.
Without shifting her gaze, she said, ‘You’ve come to tell me about
