Later in the afternoon, Emily made the opportunity to speak to Susannah alone, and tried to find the words to ask her.
“Daniel seems to have made something of a friendship with Brendan Flaherty,” she remarked casually. They were standing in the drawing room looking out of the long window at the storm-battered garden.
“Oh, really?” Susannah said with some surprise.
Emily seized on it. “Mrs. Flaherty was very upset. She disapproved so violently she practically ordered Daniel to leave, and it embarrassed Brendan acutely.”
Susannah looked confused. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Does that have anything to do with Connor Riordan?”
“How could it?”
“Were they friends too?”
“Are you asking me if Brendan killed him?” Susannah said in surprise. “I have no idea. I can’t think why he would.”
Emily refused to give up. “We don’t know why anyone would, but it is inescapable that somebody did. Why is Mrs. Flaherty so protective of Brendan? You know them. Was his father really so wild, and is Brendan the same? He seems very likable to me, and more gentle than Mrs. Flaherty.”
Susannah smiled. “Seamus Flaherty was a drinker, a brawler, and a womanizer. Mrs. Flaherty is afraid Brendan will be the same. He looks like his father, but I don’t know that it’s much more than that.”
“He isn’t married, though,” Emily pointed out. “Does he have girls in the different villages? Or one after another?”
Susannah was amused. “Not more than most young men, so far as I know. But if he did, that might get him killed, but not Connor Riordan.”
Emily abandoned the pursuit, and went for a walk in the fading sun, watching it die over the sea in the long winter twilight. She heard the crunch of footsteps on the gravel and Daniel came up the shore towards her. The wind had stung some color into his cheeks and his dark hair was tangled. He climbed up the slithering shingle to where she stood, and waited beside her for several moments before speaking. The fading light sharpened his features, making the hollow of his cheeks more pronounced, the lines of his mouth and the lean curve of his throat. He was almost beautiful.
Emily was achieving nothing. She had tried subtlety and observation. Time was closing in. Perhaps in a few days Daniel would go, or even worse, Susannah’s health would fail and Emily would not learn what had happened to Connor Riordan in time. The village remained steeped in its poison.
“Did Brendan Flaherty make a sexual advance towards you?” she said impulsively, and was shocked at her own directness.
Daniel’s mouth dropped open and he stared at her in amazement. Then he started to laugh. It was a joyous sound, bubbling up inside him in total spontaneity.
Emily felt her face burning, but she refused to look away. “Did he?” she insisted.
Daniel controlled himself and the laughter died away. “No, he most certainly didn’t. He’s more patient with his mother than many a man might be, but there’s nothing of that sort about him.”
“I wasn’t thinking of his mother,” Emily said tartly. “She’s terrified he’s going to be a womanizer like his father, and a drunkard. And yet she admired him. She wants Brendan to be just like him, and yet she doesn’t. There’s no way he could succeed for her.”
“Ah! So wrong, and yet so right,” Daniel said appreciatively. “Ask Mrs. O’Bannion. Though I doubt she’ll tell you. Come on, let’s go back to the house. You’ll catch your death standing here. That wind off the sea has knife blades in it.” He offered her his hand to balance as she stepped down over the rough shingle into the sand.
When they got home, Susannah was in the kitchen. She looked pale—drained of all strength.
“What is it?” Emily said quickly, going towards her and putting her arm around her to support her weight.
“I’m all right,” Susannah said impatiently, although it was obviously not true. “I was just putting things out ready for breakfast.”
“Maggie’ll do that in the morning,” Emily told her.
“No,” Susannah said with a little catch in her voice. “Fergal came by to say she won’t be coming anymore. I’m sorry. It will mean more work for you, until I can find someone else.”
Emily was appalled, but she tried to mask it. “Don’t worry,” she said with all the strength of conviction she could assume. “We’ll manage very well. I used to know something about cooking. I’m sure I can manage again. We’ll be fine. Now please go to bed.”
Susannah gave her a weak smile, barely touching the corner of her lips, and together they made a slow and painful way up the stairs.
As she was turning she saw the light under Susannah’s door. She hesitated a moment, wondering whether to intrude or not, then there was a flicker of movement, shadows across the light, and she knew Susannah was up. She went to the door and knocked. There was no answer. The tension tightened inside her, fear for Susannah overwhelming her. She turned the handle and went in.
Susannah was standing by the bed, her face completely colorless, her hair straggling and damp. There were dark shadows around her eyes as if she were bruised, and her nightgown clung damply to her skeletal body.
Emily did not need to ask if she was feverish, or even if she had been sick. The bed linen was tangled, trailing on the floor to one side, and Susannah was shaking.
Emily took off her shawl and wrapped it around Susannah’s shoulders, then guided her to the bedroom chair. “Sit here for a few minutes,” she said gently. “I’ll go and put my clothes on, then I’ll heat some water, get clean towels, and remake the bed. I know where the linen cupboard is. Just wait for me.”
Susannah nodded, too spent to argue.
Emily had very little idea what she was doing, except to try to make Susannah as comfortable as she could. She had no experience in nursing the sick. Even her own children had always had a nanny for the occasional colds or stomach upsets. Susannah was dying, Emily knew she could do nothing to prevent it, and she realized how intensely that mattered to her. Care no longer had anything to do with duty, or even with earning Jack’s good opinion.
When she was dressed she went downstairs, lighting the candles on the way, and banked up the fire to heat the water. If she were as ill as Susannah, she imagined she would long to be in a clean and un-crumpled bed, and perhaps not alone. Not spoken to, but just to know that if she opened her eyes, someone would be there.
It did not take her more than half an hour to strip the bed and remake it with clean linen, but in doing so she noticed that there was only one more set of sheets. She would have to launder tomorrow, without Maggie.
When the bed was ready, she carried up a bowl of warm water, and helped Susannah to strip off her soiled nightgown. She was horrified at how gaunt her body was, her flesh sunken until her skin seemed to hang empty on her arms and across her stomach. The mercy of clothes had hidden it before, and Susannah was not so ill as to be unaware of the change in herself.
Emily struggled to hide her fear at the wasting of disease, the change from a beautiful woman to one who was a ghost of her old self. She washed her gently, patting her dry because she was afraid the rub of the towel would bruise her, or even tear the fragile skin.
Afterwards she helped her into a clean nightgown, and half carried her to the bed.
“Thank you,” Susannah said with a faint smile. “I’ll be all right now.” She lay back on the pillows, too exhausted to attempt concealing it.
“Of course you will,” Emily agreed, and sat in the armchair near the bed. “But I have no intention of leaving you.”
