By the time Emily had laid out Veronica’s clothes and gone to Loretta’s room, Loretta was already waiting for her. For several minutes she merely gave instructions, almost absent-mindedly, then at last she seemed to make up her mind to speak.
“Amelia?”
“Yes, ma’am?” Emily heard the difference in her tone, something peremptory in it. Or perhaps she was anxious?
“Is Miss Veronica unwell this evening?”
Emily considered her answer for a moment. If only she knew more about Loretta and her relationship with her son. Had the marriage been arranged? Had Loretta selected Veronica? Or had she and Robert fallen in love, against Loretta’s wishes? Perhaps she had been one of those possessive mothers for whom no woman could have been good enough to marry her son.
“Yes ma’am, I think she was.” She must be careful. If Veronica herself said otherwise she would create trouble by betraying her to her mother-in-law and at the same time destroy the trust she needed in order to learn anything. “I didn’t like to ask her, in case I intruded.”
Loretta was sitting on the stool in front of the dressing table. Her face was grave, her blue eyes wide. Cascades of deep, wavy hair framed her perfect pink and white skin.
“Amelia, I must confide in you.” Her eyes met Emily’s in the glass. “Veronica is not very strong, and her health needs care, at times perhaps more than she realizes. I hope you will help me to protect her. Her happiness is very important to me, you understand. Not only was she my son’s wife, but in the time she has lived here we have grown very close.”
Emily was startled into attention. She had been mesmerized for a moment by the steady, almost unblinking gaze in the glass.
“Yes, ma’am,” she agreed hesitantly. Surely it was a lie-wasn’t it? Or could the violent emotion between them be a form of love, of dependence and resentment? How should she answer this? She must behave like a maid and yet not lose the chance to learn. Did Loretta already know about Pitt’s visit? Emily must not be caught in a lie, or she’d be thrown out and would fail completely. “Of course I will do whatever I can,” she said, smiling back nervously. “The poor lady does seem …” What word should she use? Frightened-terrified was the truth-but of what? Loretta was watching her, waiting. “Delicate,” Emily finished desperately.
“Do you think so?” Loretta’s perfect eyebrows rose. “What makes you say that, Amelia?”
Emily felt ridiculous. She could not possibly respond with the truth; she was left with fatuous answers. Was she being tested for loyalty, to see if she would recount Veronica’s fainting that afternoon, which Albert had seen and might have reported? There was no time for judgment. She answered instinctively.
“She was overcome with a faint this afternoon, ma’am. It passed quickly, and she seemed quite well again afterwards.” That would not be so remarkable. Ladies did faint; tight stays, waists pulled into a handspan often made one ill.
Loretta stopped fiddling with the pins in the silver tray on her dressing table. “Indeed? I didn’t know. Thank you for telling me, Amelia. You have done the right thing. In the future you will tell me anything else concerning Miss Veronica’s health and inform me if she is distressed or seems nervous, so I may give her all the assistance I can. This is a most important time in her life. She is shortly to become engaged to marry a very fine man. I am deeply concerned that nothing whatsoever should jeopardize her happiness. You understand me, Amelia?”
“Oh yes, ma’am,” Emily said with a sickly smile. “I’ll do everything I can to help.”
“Good. Now you may dress my hair, and you had better hurry because you have Miss Veronica’s to do as well.”
“Yes ma’am. It seems Edith is poorly again.”
Emily met Loretta’s eyes in the glass, and there was a dry humor in them, startling and unexpected; it indicated a sharpness of perception that was unnerving.
“She’ll be completely better tomorrow,” Loretta said with conviction. “I promise you.”
Edith was indeed up with the lark the next morning, but she was in a vile temper. Whatever had been said to her, she blamed Emily for it and held a bitter grudge. She followed Emily around, overseeing her work-especially the ironing, which she knew was her weakest point-criticizing the slightest error, until Emily lost her temper and told her she was a fat, idle, mischief-making slut, and if she put half as much effort into doing her own job as she did into meddling in other people’s, then no one else would need to cover for her.
Edith threw a bucket of cold water at her. Emily’s first thought was to retaliate by hitting Edith as hard as she could across her stupid face. But that would undoubtedly get her dismissed, and then she would discover nothing. She took the opposite course and stood in the middle of the laundry room floor, shivering and dripping. Joan, who had heard Edith shriek in fury, appeared in the doorway and saw Edith with the empty bucket in her hand and Emily’s pathetic state.
Emily thought for a moment what she must look like, how furious her mother would be and how absurd the whole situation was, and was terrified she would burst into giggles. To smother the slight hysteria she felt rising inside her she pulled her apron up to cover her face and stifled her laughter in its ample folds.
Joan disappeared, and two minutes later the butler came in, his face pink, his sideburns bristling.
“Edith! Whatever’s come over you, girl? You can stay here till Mrs. York wants you, and iron all the rest of the sheets.”
“That’s not my job!” Edith protested with outrage.
“Hold your tongue, and do as you’re told! And there’ll be no dinner for you today, or tomorrow either, if you give me any impertinence!” He turned to Emily gently and put his arm round her, holding her far more firmly than necessary. “Come now, get out of those wet things and then Mary’ll get you a hot cup of tea. You haven’t been hurt. You’ll be all right soon. Come, come. Stop crying, you’ll make yourself ill.”
Emily did not know if she could; her laughter was too close to tears to stop easily. After the loneliness, the cold, the tension and the strangeness it was a relief to let go and pour her feelings out. She felt Redditch’s arm around her, warm, surprisingly strong. It was really quite pleasant and she relaxed into it-then the appalling thought struck her that he might well misread her compliance. She had already noticed he seemed to like her a great deal, and had championed her more than once. That would be all she needed to lose control of this altogether!
She sniffed fiercely, commanded herself to behave, dropped her apron from her eyes and straightened up.
“Thank you, Mr. Redditch. You are quite right; it is nothing but shock because the water was cold.” She must not forget she was supposed to be a maid. She could hardly afford arrogance, or the kind of distance a lady might affect. “Thank you. You’re very kind.”
His arm fell away reluctantly. “Are you sure?”
“Oh, yes-yes, thank you!” She moved away slowly, keeping her eyes averted. This was preposterous! She was thinking of him as a man, not a butler! Or on second thought, he was a man! All men were men! Perhaps it was Society that was preposterous?
“Thank you, Mr. Redditch,” she said again. “Yes, I’ll go and get changed. I’m frozen, and a hot cup of tea would be lovely.” She turned and all but ran out of the room and along the corridor to the stairs.
By the time she came down into the kitchen again everyone had heard of the affair, and she was met with wide-eyed stares, whispers, and a snigger or two.
“Ignore them!” Mary said softly, bringing her a steaming cup and sitting down beside her. Her voice dropped till it was barely audible. “Did you really call her names? What did you say?”
Emily took the tea carefully, her hands still shaking. “I told her she was a fat, lazy slut,” she whispered back. “But don’t repeat that: Mrs. Crawford would have me out! I expect Edith’s been here for years and Mrs. Crawford’s always known her.”
“No, she hasn’t.” Mary moved a little closer. “She’s only bin ’ere two year, and Mrs. Crawford fer three.”
“Everyone seems new,” Emily said artlessly. “Why? It’s a good place; lovely house, fair wages, and Miss Veronica’s not hard.”
“Dunno. I suppose it must be the murder. I didn’t ’ear no one say as they would leave; all the same, everyone did.”
“That’s silly.” Emily kept her voice down, but she was excited. Perhaps she was on the verge of some real detecting. “Did they think the murderer would kill someone else-oh!” She affected amazement and horror, swinging round on her wooden seat to look at Mary directly. “You don’t think Dulcie was murdered, do you?”
