meant to be private, a quiet aside. Instead it happened to fall into one of those lulls that come at the end of an evening, when conversation is nearly at a standstill and people are about to take their leave and go home. Which meant we all heard him as clearly as if he had shouted the words from the rooftop.
“-daughter is the spitting image of Juliana. Did you realize that? For God’s sake, tell me, has she been found?”
Chapter Five
We could have heard a pin drop twenty miles away, the silence that followed his words was so profound.
Roger sat as if nailed to his chair for all of several seconds. George had the grace to look embarrassed. The rest of us were sitting there with our mouths open. I shut mine smartly, prepared for anything. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Lydia’s expression: shock mixed with horror. She turned toward her husband, waiting for him to reply.
Whose daughter? That was the question in everyone’s mind. If she was the image of Juliana, then she must be Roger’s. Or Alan’s. And why was it necessary to find her?
Finally Roger said, “You’re drunk and maudlin, George. You should call it a night.”
Dr. Tilton stood, setting his teacup on the table beside him. “I’ll see him to bed, shall I? His usual room? Good.”
Roger Ellis stirred. His words to George had been clipped, the only outward sign of whatever emotion he was suppressing-anger, disgust, surprise. It was impossible to tell what he was feeling, but his eyes were so intensely blue that if they could have sparked, they would have. Turning to me, he said, “Miss Crawford, I hesitate to ask such a favor of a guest, but if you could assist Dr. Tilton, I’d be grateful.”
“By all means,” I answered, rising and praying that George wouldn’t vomit all over my pale green dress. He looked now as if he could be sick at any moment, his face gray. Or was that shame as his careless words finally sank in and he realized what he had done?
“I can manage,” he began, then nearly lost his balance as he rose from his chair.
Dr. Tilton and I each took an arm to help him to the door, but he caught us unprepared and pulled away, turning around to face everyone in the room.
“Malcolm isn’t here after all. I must have imagined he was. It was to him-to my brother-that I was speaking. I do apologize if I’ve upset anyone.” His eyes were quite sober now.
I remembered Roger mentioning earlier that Malcolm was George’s late brother. And it was obvious that the others also knew who Malcolm was. But even I could see the doubt in the faces turned toward us in the doorway. It was a polite lie intended to cover the truth. And it failed.
“Forgive me,” he added, and then let us lead him through the door.
As it was closing behind us, I heard Mrs. Ellis say, “Poor man. He hasn’t been the same since-” The rest of what she was about to say was cut off as the door shut with a soft
We got George to his room, where the lamps were already lit and the fire burning well on the hearth, thanks to the ubiquitous Daisy, and in short order we had him in his bed, leaning against pillows.
“I feel like an idiot,” he said to me as I smoothed the blanket we had pulled over his knees. Then he turned his gaze on Dr. Tilton. “I do talk to my brother sometimes, you know. A habit begun early in life and hard to break. We were close.”
Dr. Tilton said, “You mentioned a child who looked like Juliana. I thought your brother was dark.”
“Her mother was fair,” George responded quickly. “A Frenchwoman.”
But Dr. Tilton was not satisfied. “I thought most Frenchwomen were also dark.”
George smiled. “I can tell you that some are as fair as any Englishwoman. Miss Crawford can attest to that, I’m sure.” He looked to me for support.
I said to Dr. Tilton, “That’s true. Now I think we should rejoin the other guests.”
“Yes, yes, go on down. I’ll be with you shortly.” It was clear he would like to probe further into what Lieutenant Hughes had said. I was sure the family wouldn’t care for that, and Lydia had already warned me that he was a gossip.
I could understand, then, why Roger Ellis had asked me to accompany the doctor.
“Dr. Tilton. We have put Lieutenant Hughes to bed. That was our only charge.”
He looked up at me, on the point of telling me to mind my own business, when he must have realized that I was not simply a nursing sister but a friend and guest of Lydia’s. He wished Lieutenant Hughes a good night and added, “Send for me tomorrow if you feel unwell.”
We left then, shutting the bedroom door behind us and walking in silence back the way we’d come. The silence between us was uncomfortable, as if Dr. Tilton was clearly not accustomed to having nursing sisters or anyone else contradict him.
I wondered what had been said in the drawing room after we had taken Lieutenant Hughes away. But the conversation when we opened the door was stilted.
Gran was saying, “-and the latest reports from France leave one to wonder-”
Every head turned toward us as we entered, and Mrs. Tilton rose, saying, “My dear, I hadn’t realized how late it is.”
Her husband said, “Yes, I suspect we’ll meet with patches of fog on the way home.”
The Smyths rose as well, and then everyone was standing, bidding one another a good night, thanking Mrs. Ellis for the lovely dinner, and five minutes later Roger was swinging the hall door closed after his guests, and turning to face us.
I realized that Lydia wasn’t there.
Roger said, “It’s been a long day. Perhaps we should call it an evening.” And before anyone could question him, he strode through the passage door and closed it behind him.
Mrs. Ellis was running a finger around the now-empty porcelain umbrella stand, not looking at her mother-in- law as she said, “I must say I’m rather tired as well. Good night, Gran. Bess.” She crossed the room to kiss Margaret on the cheek, and then Henry as well.
Margaret said hastily, “Yes, it’s been a long day, hasn’t it?” And with a glance at Henry, she followed her mother toward the door, Henry at her heels.
Eleanor and her brother had slipped away earlier while Roger and Mrs. Ellis were saying their last farewells to the doctor and the rector.
Gran clearly wanted to return to what had happened in the drawing room, and she looked after them with a frown between her eyes. She stared at me for a moment, as if considering whether to broach the subject with me, and then thought better of it.
“Where’s Lydia?” she asked instead.
“I don’t know. I thought she came down with us.”
“Hmmph,” Gran said, and then bade me a good night.
I was left in sole possession of the hall. I stood by the fire for a few minutes more, relishing the quiet, although I could hear the wind picking up again outside.
Tomorrow, I thought, will be a stressful day. There will be no avoiding George, and Roger will have his hands full keeping his family from demanding answers.
And Lydia? What about her?
I went looking for her then, and found her in the drawing room, staring up at the portrait of Juliana, as if she’d never seen it before.
I’d just stepped into the room when Gran came in behind me. I could tell she’d been searching for Lydia as well.
Ignoring me, Gran said directly to her grandson’s wife, “He was drunk, Lydia.”
She didn’t answer or look away from her contemplation of the portrait. Below it a log fell in the grate as the flames ate through it, making all of us jump, and sparks flew up the chimney in a bright spiral.
