Vi nodded and once in bed, curled into Jack’s side, tried to sleep. She didn’t think it would be possible, but she was a bit like a wrung-out dishrag from the crying and long vigil. Vi found that the endless tears of the evening begged her eyes to close, and once she did, awareness slipped away.
She woke when Jack left the bed and she gasped, “Is Rita all right?” Only there was no answer. Jack had already left the room.
Vi rubbed her eyes, sat up, and then crossed to the doorway. She eyed Ham and Rita’s closed door before turning to Jack, who was standing just outside their own door.
“What? What is happening?” Vi whispered, ensuring that her voice wouldn’t carry through and potentially wake Rita or Ham.
“Rita’s—” Jack paused and then said, “as she was before. I’m going to see Mrs. Meyers. Hargreaves said she’s telephoned several times and had declared that it’s an emergency.”
“An emergency?” Violet’s opinion was clear, and it wasn’t something she cared about. She didn’t care for whatever was happening to Jason Meyers.
“I finally talked to her, and…” Jack’s gaze moved to the door. “It’ll be better to have her stop telephoning, Vi.”
She nodded but was completely unconcerned about what he was going to do for Bertha Meyers. The woman was only someone that Vi helped out of curiosity and because she loved spending time with Jack. At the moment, Vi didn’t want to leave home or deal with the woman’s wants. Vi didn’t care if Mrs. Meyers found her grandson, or care what else happened next for the woman and—at the moment—Jack’s business.
Vi rubbed her brow and then began pacing, almost tiptoeing to ensure that Rita wouldn’t hear. Back and forth, Vi went while Jack disappeared down the stairs. Eventually Victor appeared, watched Vi pace and then paced with her.
“Babies are lost often,” Victor tried. It sounded as though he’d tried that same comment before and found it dissatisfactory. Vi gave him a look that said his argument didn’t work for her. It didn’t work for him either, so he winced and paced with her. It took too long for Vi to realize they were both holding their chests, as if they could somehow soothe the worry and pain.
They continued to pace, silently, both in stockinged feet until the grandfather clock rang 10:00 and Vi realized it was late morning.
“Has anyone seen Ham?”
Victor shook his head, but it seemed they weren’t the only ones who had heard the clock. Ham slid from the room and the twins faced him with the same eyes: wide, worried, and expectant.
“How is she?” Vi asked softly.
Ham’s dark circles and sick expression were enough to tell Vi not well. “She’s stopped…ah, the process has stopped.”
Vi nodded.
“Nanny said that there was nothing to be done. It wasn’t Rita’s fault. Nanny swears it wasn’t the stairs or anything, but Rita won’t believe her.”
Vi bit her bottom lip. She wasn’t sure she would believe it either. It was so easy to blame yourself. Maybe if Rita had only eaten the healthiest of foods and stayed home and gone for easy walks, she could say it wasn’t her fault.
“I don’t know what to do.”
As Ham said these words, Vi closed her eyes against the pain in his face because they sounded as helpless as she felt. Vi pressed her hand into his palm and said, “Cajole her through some tea and toast.”
“I’m going to try,” Ham said, but Victor rushed past him. “I’ll get it.”
Violet stayed with Ham, but he lingered only a moment before he disappeared back into the room. She wished she’d told him to give Rita her love, but Vi could easily guess that even the mention of those waiting for Rita to emerge was a burden that Rita didn’t need to bear just yet. Instead, Vi sent her all of the love, prayers, and wishes she had to offer. She’d have gladly scraped more out of her heart.
Victor returned and scratched at the door where Ham and Rita rested. Ham took the food for Rita, and Vi returned to her pacing. Up and down, up and down, up and down, until she could take no more and went to the nursery to cleanse her heart with the babies. Vivi, Agatha, and Lily got the love that Vi would have poured on Rita and Ham’s child until Jack appeared in the doorway—well after teatime.
“The grandson is d-e-a-d,” Jack said, as though the babies could spell or even understand the merest of idea of what death meant.
Vi slowly stood. Lila’s nanny lifted the baby from Violet’s arms so she could step out of the nursery with Jack. In the hall, she hissed, “He’s dead? I’m not sure I have it in me to care about that too, Jack. At least not right now. This is why there’s Scotland Yard. Mrs. Meyers knows the location of her grandson, and you’re not a Yard man anymore.”
“She didn’t call the Yard.”
Vi’s gaze snapped to him. “What now?”
“When I got there, she was sitting in her parlor, embroidering, while her grandson lay dead in the office.”
Vi’s mouth dropped open because she needed a moment to think of anything beyond her initial staggering shock. “I don’t understand.”
Jack snorted. “There’s no understanding that madness. One doesn’t craft a new doily for an armchair while a beloved grandchild’s body is cooling and expect the actions to be understandable.”
Vi felt like a parrot when she asked, “A doily?”
“My grandmother had them like that,” he said, distracted. He ran his hand over his face. “Vi, it was horrible. Worse than the battlefields during the War. Not that those weren’t…everything that is wrong and evil, but—” He shook his head and then took her hands, pressing them against his chest as if she could somehow fix what he’d seen. “It wasn’t the death. Vi—it was more horrible because that woman opened the door and
