“What is the point?”
“The point is that we should take her something, even if her house is bulging at the walls with things, to show that we care.”
Emily raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t think you did care! In fact I thought you were indifferent to Martha, and positively disliked the vicar.”
“I do. That is especially when one should take something! She cannot help being unlikeable. So would you be, I daresay, if you had lived all your life married to the vicar!”
“I should be worse than unlikeable,” Emily said tartly. “I should be quite mad by now. I think he is an appalling man!”
“Emily, please!” Caroline was almost to the point of tears. “I cannot spare both of you. Emily, will you make sure we have informed everyone we should have, go over my list again, and check those we can be sure will attend, then go over the catering arrangements with Mrs. Dunphy. Charlotte, you had better go to the kitchen and find something to take to Martha, if you insist. And for goodness’ sake, find out as tactfully as you can how far she has got with the arrangements at the church. And you had better not forget to find out precisely what is the matter, if it is tactful. It may not be. I must know, or I shall appear to be callous.”
“Yes, Mama. What shall I take her?”
“Since we don’t know what is the nature of her illness, it is a little difficult to say. See if Mrs. Dunphy has some egg custard. She is very good at it, and I know Martha’s cook has a heavy hand.”
Mrs. Dunphy had no egg custard ready, and it was the middle of the afternoon before she had prepared one and sent a message upstairs to Charlotte to tell her it was ready.
Charlotte put on her cloak and hat, then went down to the kitchen to collect it.
“There you are, Miss Charlotte.” Mrs. Dunphy gave her a basket, neatly packed with a folded napkin on the top.
“Egg custard in a dish there, and I put in a small jar of preserves and a little beef tea as well. The poor soul. I hope she feels better soon. Too much for her, all this tragedy, I expect. She knew all of those poor girls. And she does so much, for the poor and the like. Never stops. Time someone showed her a little kindness, I say.”
“Yes, Mrs. Dunphy, thank you.” Charlotte took the basket. “I’m sure she’ll be very grateful.”
“Take her my best wishes, will you, Miss Charlotte?”
“Of course.” She turned round to leave, and felt a sudden icy fear as she saw on the side table a long, thin wire with a handle on one end. The coldness rippled through her as if someone were holding the thing, as if only lately it had been pulled tight into the flesh of someone’s throat.
“Mrs. Dunphy,” she stammered. “Wh-what in heaven’s name-”
Mrs. Dunphy followed her eyes. “Oh, Miss Charlotte,” she said with a laugh. “Why, that’s only an ordinary cheese cutter. Bless my soul! If you were a little fonder of cooking, you’d have known that. What did you think-oh my, saints alive! Did you think that was a garotting wire! Oh my!” she sat down hard. “Oh my. Why, just about every kitchen has one of those. Cuts the cheese nice and clean, better than a knife; knife sticks to it. Miss Charlotte, should you be going out alone? It’ll be dark in an hour or two, and I shouldn’t be surprised if the rain stops and there’s not a fog.”
“I have to go, Mrs. Dunphy. Mrs. Prebble is ill, and apart from that, we need to know about the arrangements for Miss Sarah’s funeral.”
Mrs. Dunphy’s face dropped and Charlotte was afraid she was going to dissolve in tears. She patted her on the arm and made her escape quickly.
It was cold and clammy outside, and she walked as rapidly as possible, keeping her cloak wrapped tightly round her and drawn up round her neck. It stopped raining just as she turned the corner into Cater Street; the sky was dry but heavy when she reached the Prebbles’.
The maid let her in and she was led straight to Martha’s bedroom. It was very dark, full of furniture and surprisingly comfortless, so unlike her own with its pictures and ornaments and books with pictures in them, relics of childhood.
Martha was sitting propped up in bed with a treatise on the sermons of John Knox. Her face was haggard and she looked as if she had woken from a nightmare, its figures still shadowing her. She smiled as soon as she saw Charlotte, but it was an effort.
Charlotte sat down on the bed and put the basket between them.
“I’m so sorry to hear you are ill,” she said genuinely. “I’ve brought a few things. I hope they will comfort you.” She took the napkin off the basket to show her what was inside. “Mama and Emily send their regards, and Mrs. Dunphy, our cook you know, wished to be remembered to you, spoke of how much you do for everyone.”
“That was most kind of her,” Martha tried to smile. “Please thank her for me, and of course your mother and Emily.”
“Is there anything I can do for you?” Charlotte offered. “Is there anything you wish? Do you need any letters written, any small duties that I can help with?”
“I cannot think of anything.”
“Has the doctor called? You look exceedingly pale to me.”
“No, I don’t think I have any need to trouble him.”
“You should. I’m sure he would not regard it as a trouble, but rather his duty and his calling.”
“I promise you I shall send for him, if I do not recover soon.”
Charlotte put the basket down on the floor.
“I dislike having to mention such a subject when you are ill, and have already done so much for us, but Mama would like to know what arrangements are yet to be made for Sarah’s funeral, with regard to the church?”
An indescribable look passed over Martha’s face and again Charlotte had the uneasy feeling she had touched some deep nerve of pain.
“You don’t need to be concerned. Please tell your Mama it is all taken care of. Fortunately I was not overcome before I had finished everything.”
“Are you sure? It seems too much for you to have done. I do hope it was not work on our behalf that hastened your illness?”
“I doubt it, but it was the least I could do. It behooves us well-to-” her voice became strained and she licked her lips, “to do what we can for the dead. They are no longer of this world. They will put off the corruption of the flesh, rise to a just judgement, and, washed in the blood of Christ, the elect will sit at the feet of God forever. Sin will be done away with.”
Charlotte was embarrassed. She could think of no answer, but it seemed as if Martha were talking more to herself than to Charlotte anyway.
“It is our duty to clear away the dross that is left behind,” Martha went on, her hollow eyes staring somewhere over Charlotte’s shoulder at the wall. “All that corrupts and decays must be cleaned away, buried in the earth, and the words of cleansing said over them. That is our duty, our duty to the dead, and to the living.”
“Yes, of course.” Charlotte stood up. “Perhaps you should rest? You look feverish to me.” She leaned forward and put her hand onto Martha’s brow. It was hot and damp. She pushed the stray hair away gently. “You are a little hot. May I fetch you something to drink? A little beef tea perhaps? Or would you prefer water?”
“No, no, thank you,” Martha’s voice rose and she moved from side to side, pulling the bedclothes.
Charlotte looked at the bed; it was untidy and must be uncomfortable. The pillows had not been rearranged and were dented almost flat in the centre.
“Here,” she offered, “let me remake your bed? It must be most difficult to rest with it like that.” And without waiting for a reply, because she was anxious to do something positive, and then excuse herself and leave, she leaned forward again and began to make the bed around Martha. She eased her up to tidy the sheet under her, and to puff up the pillows, then put her arms round her and laid her gently back again. Next she moved round the bed quickly and straightened the covers and tucked them in.
“I hope that will be better,” she said surveying the bed critically. Martha looked a little flushed now. There were two spots of colour in her cheeks and her eyes were feverish. Charlotte was concerned for her.
“You don’t look at all well,” she said, screwing up her own face unconsciously. Again she put her hand on Martha’s forehead, leaning forward. “Have you any eau de cologne?” she said and looked for it as she spoke. It was on a small table by the window. She crossed to get it, and brought it back, with a handkerchief in the other hand. “Here, let me brush your hair for a little, and then perhaps you will be able to sleep. I always find if I am unwell that
