“Oh, Miss Charlotte.” The poor child was shaking as if she had a fever. “I’m so glad it’s you!”
“Sit down, Millie, and tell me what has happened,” Charlotte commanded.
Millie’s legs seemed locked rigid and her hands were twisting in each other as if of their own volition. Suddenly speech deserted her and she looked as though she was about to run.
“For goodness’ sake,” Charlotte sighed, taking Millie bodily and pushing her into a chair. “Now what has happened? Were you outside on an errand? Or in the areaway?”
“Oh no, Miss Charlotte!” she looked quite surprised.
“Well, what is it then? Where were you?”
“Upstairs in my room, Miss. Oh, Mrs. Dunphy told me I could go!”
Charlotte stepped back; she was confused herself. She had been sure Millie’s pale demeanor had something to do with the hangman. Now it seemed it had not.
“So what’s wrong, Millie? Are you sick?”
“No, Miss,” Millie stared down at her hands, still twisting in her lap. Charlotte followed her eyes, and realized for the first time that she was holding something.
“What have you got, Millie?”
“Oh,” Millie’s eyes filled with tears. “I wouldn’t have brought it Miss, but I was afraid for my name!” She sniffed violently. “I’m so glad it’s you, Miss.” She began to cry with quiet hopelessness.
Charlotte was puzzled; she was not only sorry for Millie, but a little frightened herself.
“What is it, Millie?” She put out her hand. “Give it to me.”
Slowly Millie’s white little fingers uncurled to show a crumpled man’s necktie. It meant nothing at all to Charlotte. She could not see any reason why Millie had brought it to her, or why it should inspire any feeling whatever, let alone the paralyzing terror that so obviously had stricken Millie.
Charlotte took it and held it up. Millie stared at her with enormous eyes.
“It’s a necktie,” Charlotte said blankly. “What’s the matter with it?” Then another thought came to her. “Millie, you didn’t think anyone was strangled with a necktie, did you?” She felt relief sweep through her, almost weakening her knees. She wanted to laugh. “It wasn’t a necktie, Millie! It was a garotting wire. Nothing like this! Take it away, and have Maddock attend to it. It’s filthy!”
“Yes, Miss Charlotte,” but Millie didn’t move. The fear still held her white and motionless.
“Go on, Millie!”
“It’s Mr. Dominic’s, Miss Charlotte. I know, because I collect the laundry. The master’s are made of a different stuff. You can always tell them apart. When I take the laundry back I only have to look, and I know whose it is.”
Charlotte felt the sick fear come back, though it was without reason. Why should it matter that Dominic had lost a tie?
“So it’s Mr. Dominic’s,” she said with a quick swallow. “It’s filthy. Take it back to the laundry.”
Millie stood up very slowly, gripping the tie hard, mangling it in her hands.
“It’s nothing to do with me, Miss Charlotte; I swear it isn’t. As God is my judge, Miss, I swear it!” She was shaking with the passion of her fear and her need to be believed.
Charlotte could no longer avoid it. Her stomach felt hard and cold inside her. There could be only one question that mattered. She asked it.
“Where did you find it, Millie?”
“In my bedroom, Miss.” Her face flushed painfully. “It was under the bed. When I turned the mattress it fell from round the bedstead onto the floor, Miss. That’s why it’s all creased and dusty. It was there from before I came, Miss. I swear it!”
Charlotte felt as if her world had exploded. A voice whispered inside her that she should have expected it. She hunted in the chaos for something worth saving, to start rebuilding with. That had been Lily’s room for years. Sarah had never slept there; there had never been legitimate reason for Dominic to go to it. Could Lily have taken laundry there for some reason? Could Lily have taken it to mend? That possibility was excluded simply enough. There was no tear in it. Could Millie be lying? A glance at her face was enough to dismiss that notion.
“I’m sorry, Miss,” Millie whispered desperately. “Did I do wrong?”
Charlotte put out her hand and touched the girl’s clenched arm.
“No, Millie, you did the right thing, and there is no need to be afraid. But in case anyone should misunderstand, don’t speak of it again unless. . ” She did not want to say it.
“Unless what, Miss?” Millie stared at her, gratitude in her eyes. “What should I say if I’m asked, Miss Charlotte?”
“I don’t see any reason why you should be asked, but if you are then tell the truth, Millie: just exactly what you know, nothing else. Don’t make any guesses. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Miss Charlotte. And-thank you, Miss.”
“That’s all right, Millie. And you’d better get that thing washed, and put it with the rest of the laundry. Please do it yourself. Don’t let Miss Sarah know.”
Millie’s face whitened.
“Miss Charlotte, do you think-”
“I don’t think anything, Millie. And I don’t want Miss Sarah to think anything either. Now go and do as you’re told.”
“Yes, Miss.” Millie bobbed a little curtsey and almost tripped over her feet going out.
As soon as she had gone, Charlotte collapsed onto the seat behind her, her legs shaking, her fingers stiff with pins and needles.
Dominic and Lily! Dominic on Lily’s bed! Dominic taking his tie off, his shirt, perhaps more, and then putting them on again in such a hurry he forgot his tie. She felt sick. Lily-little Lily Mitchell.
She had loved Dominic with all her heart, not asking anything in return, and he had gone to Lily, the maid. Was there something wrong with Dominic, with all men? Or with her? Was it her tongue? Was she unfeminine? People had liked her, but only that wretched Pitt had ever admired her, been enamoured of her because she was a woman.
This was ridiculous. Self-pity helped no one. She must think of something else. Lily was dead. Had she loved Dominic, too, or was it just-no, don’t think about that! Dominic was handsome, charming-her heart lurched. Why shouldn’t any woman admire him? Verity had, and she had seen it in Chloe’s eyes, too. And they were both dead!
She sat frozen. It could not be! Dominic had seen Papa in Cater Street the night Lily was killed. That meant he had been there himself. They had forgotten that. They had only thought about Papa. It had never even occurred to her that Dominic. .?
What was she saying? She loved Dominic; she had always loved him, as long as she had been a woman. How could this even be entering her mind?
What was the love she felt for him, then? What was it worth if she knew him so little she did not even know in her heart whether he could have done such things? Could she really love someone whom she knew so little? Before this afternoon she could not have conceived of his sleeping with Lily! And now in less than an hour she had accepted it. Was her love little more than fascination, love for love itself, love for something she imagined him to be, even love for his face, his smile, his eyes, the way his hair grew? Did she know, or love, anything of the man inside? What did he feel or think that had nothing to do with her, or even Sarah? Was it possible he loved Lily, or Verity-or hated them?
The more she thought about it, the more confused she became, the more she doubted herself and the love she thought she had felt so passionately all these years.
She was still sitting oblivious of the room, of the house, and certainly of time, when there was a knock on the door. It was Dora to say that the vicar’s wife had called, and should she bring tea, since it was approaching four o’clock.
Charlotte recalled herself with a massive effort. She had absolutely no desire whatever to see anyone, least of all Martha Prebble.
“Yes, Dora, by all means,” she said automatically. “And show Mrs. Prebble in.”
Martha Prebble looked less weary than the last time Charlotte had seen her. Some of her spirit seemed to have returned and there was a look of purpose in her face again.
