day, muti shy;lated beyond reparation, awake and sane, and be unable to help. But imagination stopped short of any sort of reality. She could remember Sarah's death, of course, but that had been quick- violent and horrible, to be sure-but thank God, there had been no lingering, no stretching out of pain day after day.
'What can we possibly do?' she asked helplessly. 'Just to call and say we are sorry seems so wretchedly trivial.'
'There isn't anything else,' Caroline answered quietly. 'Don't try to think of everything today. Perhaps in the future there may be something-at least companionship.'
Charlotte received that in silence. The sunlight streaming across the carpet, picking out the garlands of flowers, seemed remote, more like a memory than anything present. The bowl of pink tulips on the table looked stiff, like an ornamental design, hier shy;atic and foreign.
The maid opened the door. 'Lady Ashworth, ma'am.' The maid bobbed a curtsy, and immediately behind her Emily came in, looking pale and less than her usually immaculate self.
'Mama, what a fearful thing! How ever did it happen?' She caught hold of Charlotte's arm. 'How did you hear? Thomas is not here, is he? I mean it's nothing-'
'No, of course not!' Charlotte said quickly. 'Mama sent the carriage for me.'
Caroline shook her head in confusion. 'It was an accident. They were out driving. It was fine, and they had had a picnic somewhere and returned late, by a longer and more pleasant way. It's all perfectly ridiculous!' For the first time there was anger in her voice as the futility of it struck her. 'It need never have happened! A skittish horse, I suppose, or some wild animal cutting across a country road, frightening them. Or maybe it was an overhanging branch from some tree.'
'Well, that's what one keeps woodsmen for!' Emily said in an explosion of impatience. 'To see that there are no overhang shy;ing branches across carriageways.' Then equally quickly her anger vanished. 'What can we do to help? I don't really see what there is, except one's sympathy. And little use that will be!'
'It is still better than nothing.' Caroline moved toward the door. 'At least Eloise will not feel that we are indifferent, and then if there comes a time when she wishes something, even if it is only company, she will know that we are ready.'
Emily sighed. 'I suppose so. It seems like offering a bucket to bail out the sea!'
'Sometimes merely to know you are not alone is some comfort,' Charlotte said, as much to herself as to them. Out in the hallway Maddock was waiting.
'Shall you be returning for afternoon tea, ma'am?' he inquired, holding Caroline's coat for her.
'Oh yes.' Caroline nodded and allowed him to put it around her shoulders. 'We are merely going to call upon Miss Lagarde. We will hardly be long.'
'Indeed,' Maddock said gravely. 'A most terrible tragedy. Sometimes these young men drive most rashly. I have always believed that racing was a highly dangerous and foolish exercise. Most conveyances are not designed for it.'
'Were they racing?' Charlotte asked quickly, turning to face him.
Maddock's features were without expression. He was a ser shy;vant and knew his place, but he had also been with the Ellisons since Charlotte was a young girl. Little she did could surprise him.
'That is what they are suggesting, Miss Charlotte,' he re shy;plied impassively. 'Although it would seem a somewhat foolish occupation along a country road, and almost bound to cause injury to someone, even if only the horses. But I have no idea if it is true or merely backstairs speculation. One cannot prevent servants from exercising their imaginations about such a disaster. No amount of chastisement will silence them.'
'No, of course not,' Caroline said. 'I wouldn't waste time trying-as long as it is not quite irresponsible.' She raised her eyebrows a little. 'And they are not neglecting their duties!'
Maddock looked faintly hurt. 'Naturally, ma'am, I have never permitted that in my house.'
'No, of course not.' Caroline was mildly apologetic for having thoughtlessly insulted his integrity.
Emily was standing at the door, and the footman opened it for her. The carriage outside was already waiting.
The distance to the Lagardes' was only a few hundred yards, but the day was wet and the footpath running with water, and this was the most formal of calls. Charlotte climbed in and sat in silence. What on earth could she say to Eloise? How could a person reach from her own happiness and safety across such a gulf?
None of them spoke before the carriage stopped again and the footman handed them down. Then he remained standing at the horses' heads, waiting in the street as a mute sign to other callers that they were there.
A parlormaid, minus her usual white cap, opened the door and said in a tight little voice that she would inquire whether Miss Lagarde would receive them. It was some five minutes before she returned and conducted them into the morning room at the back of the house, overlooking the rainswept garden. Eloise rose from the sofa to greet them.
It was excruciating to look at her. The translucent skin was as white as tissue paper, with the same lifeless look. Her eyes were sunken and enormous, seeming to stretch till the bruises beneath were part of them. Her hair was immaculate, but had obviously been dressed by the maid, as had she; her clothes were delicate and neat, but she wore them as if they were artificial, winding-sheets on a body for which the spirit no longer had any use. She seemed even thinner, her laced-in waist more fragile. The shawl Charlotte had previously seen her wear was gone, as if she no longer cared if she was cold or not.
'Mrs. Ellison.' Her voice was completely flat. 'How kind of you to call.' She might have been reading a foreign language, without any comprehension of its meaning. 'Lady Ashworth, Mrs. Pitt. Please do sit down.'
Uncomfortably they obeyed. Charlotte felt her hands chill, and yet her face hot with a sense of embarrassment at having in shy;truded into something too exquisitely painful even for the rituals of pride and the need for privacy to cover. She was overwhelmed by anguish like this; it filled the room.
Charlotte was stunned into silence. Even Caroline fumbled for words and found none. Only Emily's unrelenting social disci shy;pline carried her through.
'No expression of our sympathy could possibly meet such distress as you must feel,' she said quietly. 'But do be assured we grieve for you, and in time if there is anything we may do to be of comfort, we would be only too willing.'
'Thank you,' Eloise replied without expression. 'That is generous of you.' It was as if she were hardly aware of them, only of the need to reply or at least to acknowledge each time someone spoke. Her sentences were formal, things she had prepared herself to say.
Charlotte searched her mind for anything at all that did not sound idiotic.
'Perhaps presently you would care for a little company,' she suggested. 'Or if you have somewhere to go, perhaps you would prefer not to go alone?'' It was a suggestion for Emily or Caroline rather than herself, since she had neither frequent oppor shy;tunity to visit Rutland Place nor a carriage available.
Eloise's eyes met hers for a moment, then slid away into something frighteningly like complete vacancy, as if all the world she knew was inside her head.
'Thank you. Yes, I expect that may be. Although I fear I shall hardly be pleasant company.'
'My dear, that is not at all true,' Caroline said. She lifted her hands as if to reach forward, but there was some barrier around Eloise, an almost tangible remoteness, and she let them fall again without touching her. 'I have never known you anything but sympathetic,' she finished helplessly.
'Sympathetic!' Eloise repeated the word, and for the first time there was emotion in her voice, but it was hard, stained with irony. 'Do you think so?'
Caroline could do nothing but nod.
Silence closed in on them again, stretching as long as they would suffer it to exist.
Again Charlotte racked her mind to think of something to say, just for the sake of sound. But it would be offensive, almost prurient, to inquire how Tormod was faring, or what the doctor might have said. And yet to speak of anything else was unthinkable.
The moments ticked on. The room seemed to grow enormous and the rain outside far away; even the sound of it was removed. The nightmare horses galloped through all their minds, the wheels crashed.
Eventually, when Charlotte was just about to say something, however absurd, to break the pressure, the maid returned to announce Amaryllis Denbigh. Much as Charlotte disliked Amaryllis, she felt a rush of gratitude merely to be relieved of the burden.
