Adelia’s grip tightened around her poor, hurting daughter. “He left? What is that nonsense about not coping – him not coping with this? Him of all people? What about you? I shall kill him with my bare hands.”
“No, mama, please. It was different for him, I can see that. But it broke him, somewhere in his head I think, and that’s why he went off again when he wasn’t going to. And that’s why he hasn’t come back. I don’t think he will ever come back.”
“He bloody well will,” Adelia said, biting back far harsher curses than that. “He will, if I have to charter a ship and sail out to find him and drag him back by his hair. As God is my witness, he will answer for this. No – not what happened that night – Felicia, you must understand, that is not his fault. It is not your fault. But afterwards, his choice, his actions – those are entirely his responsibility.”
Felicia snuffled into Adelia’s shoulder again. It sounded like “Thank you” and Adelia rubbed at Felicia’s upper arm with her thumb as she rocked her gently and began to tell her all about the Floating Ball, and how she was going to be on the committee, and how she’d find a husband for Lady Agnes if she could. The idea made Felicia giggle, and that was the sweetest sound Adelia had heard for a while.
Six
Police were swarming over the house and grounds the next day. Adelia dressed for a trip into Plymouth but Theodore begged his leave to be excused from accompanying her as he wanted to stay behind at Tavy Castle and keep an eye on the inspector and his men.
“Have you written to Percy?” she asked as they walked together through the great hall. He was going to escort her and one of Felicia’s more sensible maids to the railway station. Smith, Adelia’s usual lady’s maid, had earned herself a holiday although how much rest she’d get while visiting her sister in Cleethorpes – with her sister’s eleven children – was anyone’s guess. She’d be begging to come back to work before very long.
“I have written about a dozen letters,” he said. “I have sent them to various locations. One must surely reach him.”
“Good,” she said. She had not yet told him all about Felicia’s troubles and the tragedy of the “event”. She didn’t wish to keep any more secrets from her husband than she had to, and was merely biding her time. Ideally, she wanted Felicia to talk to him, or at least be present.
They passed the silver tray by the door and she almost laughed. “There is quite a bundle to go in the post.”
“They are not all mine,” he replied. “Brodie is likewise shocked by the proceedings and has written to Percy himself; his are the envelopes in grey, his attempt at mourning, I suppose.”
“How strange.”
“He is a strange lad but I almost like him. Almost. He is like a half-formed sculpture, in my mind, lacking something I cannot quite define. As you have a mission to organise and sort out other people’s lives, I rather think that if the police will not allow me to investigate here, I should perhaps turn my attention to sorting out Brodie’s life. He cannot fester here for the rest of his days.”
“Good luck with that! What do you plan...?”
They chattered on as they walked to the railway station where Theodore left her and the maid, who had been silently trudging behind, brought her a hot drink from the kiosk.
“You should have got one for yourself.”
“I didn’t like to, my lady.”
“I am not a dragon. Lily, isn’t it?”
The maid was about thirty years old and had a face of freckles that made her look much younger when she smiled. Which she did now, at the use of her first name.
“You’re usually Henderson, aren’t you?”
“Yes, my lady, we go by the formal way here.”
“Lily suits you better. If I may?”
Lily was grinning now and fought it down. It pleased Adelia to make someone happy. She reflected that Smith would have a fit if she was called by her first name – it was a point of pride for Smith to be rigidly correct. But fashions were changing. Some houses still called all their maids Mary, regardless of their real names. Adelia had always hated that custom. At least one’s surname was one’s own – well, one’s father’s own, till one married and had to belong to another man’s name.
Adelia sipped at the drink as they waited on the open platform, preferring the open air because the lounges reserved for women were too stuffy and crowded. She coughed, suddenly, so hard that she had to pass her drink to Lily while she got herself under control.
“Are you all right, my lady? Should we go back to the castle?”
“No, no. I think I have picked up a summer cold perhaps.”
“It’s the air.”
“You are right, there. Do many people get ill at Tavy Castle?”
“No, not once they are used to it.”
There was the unspoken allusion lingering in between them that Felicia had not got used to it and would never quite fit in. It was strange. She was not a cruel mistress nor an overly exacting one. “Lily, tell me plainly. How involved is Lady Buckshaw in the running of the castle?”
“Not at all, my
