“Yes, he is,” I agreed. Turning to look out the windows, I added, “It will be dark before very long. And another cold night, I expect.”
Lydia was silent, and then, pressing her fingers to her swollen face, she said, “Bess, you’ve been so kind. In spite of the fact that you know nothing about me.”
“How could I turn you away?” I asked. “But I wish there was something I could do to make whatever is troubling you easier to face.”
“Do you mean that?”
“Of course I do.”
I hadn’t seen the request coming. I was totally unprepared.
“Would you consider going with me to Vixen Hill? I think it would be easier to face Roger and his family if I had moral support. You’re stronger than I am, Bess. I could take my courage from you. Besides, it will be easier to explain to Roger and his family that I had come to London to stay with a friend. What I did would seem less-rash, ill-considered.” She made a deprecating face. “It would only be a small lie. No one would know that it was.”
“My parents are waiting for me in Somerset,” I began, and then realized that it was the wrong thing to say. “Lydia. Perhaps if you told me why you quarreled and how it was that your husband struck you-if I understood the circumstances a little better, perhaps I could help you see your way more clearly.”
She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have asked. It’s presumptuous of me even to think you could come with me.”
“Lydia-”
But Simon was walking through the restaurant door to fetch us, and we followed him out to the motorcar without speaking.
The drive back to London began in silence. Simon, concentrating on the road as the rain began again in earnest, was taciturn. Glancing over my shoulder, I could see that Lydia was anxiously smoothing her gloves, as if regretting broaching the subject of my traveling with her to her home.
Finally, as the rain let up a little, I said to Simon, “Lydia has asked if I’d go with her to Vixen Hill. That’s her home.”
“Where is Vixen Hill?” he asked, raising his voice a little so that she could hear him.
“It’s in Sussex,” she replied after a moment, her voice reluctant in the darkness.
“Tomorrow we’ll drive you there, shall we?” he suggested. “It will be no trouble.”
“No-that’s lovely of you to ask, but I think-I’d rather not take you so far out of your way,” she answered him, trying to refuse him as politely as she could.
“On the contrary,” he said, “Bess would like to see you safely home.”
“I couldn’t consider it,” she told him. “Please. No.”
And that was the end of that.
I could see Simon’s profile in the dim reflection of the headlamps and could almost read what was going through his mind-that her refusal struck him as odd, given the fact that she’d just asked me to accompany her to Sussex. But I thought I understood her. My presence wouldn’t appear especially threatening. Arriving with someone like Simon as well could send a very different message-that she felt the need of protection.
I said, trying to cast a little oil on troubled waters, “There’s no hurry, Lydia. Truly there isn’t.”
“I must mend this quarrel somehow. It can’t go on-Roger is leaving for France on Boxing Day. I don’t know what to do.”
I thought of offering to let her stay in the flat after I left for Somerset, but I had a feeling she would refuse. And even if she accepted, without money, how would she feed herself, or buy warmer clothing to see her through?
Simon asked, “I know a Roger Markham from Sussex. Royal Engineers. Is he by any chance your husband?”
“Oh, no. No. His name is Ellis. Roger Ellis.” She added his rank and regiment.
How simply Simon had discovered that!
“He’s home on compassionate leave,” she went on when Simon said nothing more. “His brother Alan died a fortnight ago. Alan is-was-a Navy man, torpedoed off Ireland. He was severely wounded, but there was hope for a time. And then the doctors could do no more, and we brought him home to Vixen Hill. It was rather awful. I shouldn’t have quarreled with Roger, under the circumstances. It was foolish of me.”
We were coming down the street to Mrs. Hennessey’s house now, and Lydia added wistfully, “We were all so fond of Alan.”
We thanked Simon as he walked with us to Mrs. Hennessey’s door, and Lydia preceded me up the stairs, giving me a moment alone with him.
I could say very little-she was within hearing-but I asked, “You’ll stay over in London tonight?”
“Yes, of course,” he answered. “I’ll come in the morning.”
Just then, Lydia paused on the stairs, and I turned quickly to see her leaning against the banister, her head down.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, seeing my alarm. “I seem to have hurried too much and given myself a headache.” She went on up the stairs more slowly, and I heard the door to the flat open.
“Go ahead, make sure she’s all right,” Simon told me, and then he was gone.
I followed her up the stairs and into the flat. “When did your head begin to ache?” I asked.
“It was a sharp pain, catching me off guard. It isn’t as bad now.”
“Lydia. Sit down and let me have a look.”
Removing her coat and hanging it on the tree, she did as I’d asked. With the light from the lamp trained on her face, I examined the bruising and the swelling around her eye. “Where was the sharp pain?” She pointed to the side of her head just above and a little behind her ear. I carefully ran my fingers over the area, and she winced just as I touched what appeared to be a raised wound. Parting her thick, fair hair, I saw that it was actually an open cut that had bled a little and then clotted.
“How did you come by this?” I asked, letting her hair fall back into place.
“After Roger struck me, I ran up the stairs to our room to find my coat. I tripped in my haste and fell forward, hitting my head against the edge of the newel post. I saw stars, I can tell you,” she added with a smile. “But I was all right after a moment. I got up and went on to our room.” She pointed to her knee. “There’s a bruise here as well. Rather a colorful one.”
“Did you know it was bleeding? Where you fell against the newel post?”
“Not until last night, as I was preparing for bed. I really hadn’t given it much thought until then.” She grimaced. “I just knew that it hurt-my face and all that side of my head.”
I pressed my fingers carefully on either side of the wound, but as far as I could tell there was no indication that the skull had been fractured. Still… “You ought to see a doctor,” I began, but she cut me short.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t. I don’t like Dr. Tilton. He gossips, and he’ll want to know how I got this bruise.”
“It isn’t the bruise that worries me. There are doctors here in London.”
She wouldn’t hear of it. But I thought, remembering her dizzy spells, and now the headache, that she must have a concussion. “Have you felt sick? Nauseated?”
“Only when I ate too much at the restaurant,” she replied wryly. “I hadn’t realized just how hungry I was.”
I made her a compress for her face, then said, “Will you go with me to Somerset for a few days, Lydia? I think it would do you good to rest before you go home.” And she could see our doctor.
She refused outright. “If I go anywhere, it will be to Vixen Hill,” she told me. “I’ll leave tomorrow.”
I wasn’t sure I believed her. And the thought of her wandering about London, alone and with a concussion, was worrying.
“Why won’t you let Simon drive us to Vixen Hill?”
“I don’t believe it would make it easier for me to face Roger,” she said earnestly.
“Lydia. Is that your real name?”
She flushed. “I’m so sorry. Actually it is. And it was also my mother’s name.”
“If I agree to go home with you-tomorrow, let us say, or the day after-and deliver you safely to your family, will you promise to see a doctor? Just as a precaution.”
“You must stay the night,” she told me, trying to keep her hope from showing in her face. “There’s only the one train a day, coming north, and by the time we reach Vixen Hill, you’ll have missed it.”
