months, a year, or a decade?”
“None,” Pitt said almost under his breath. “God, what a mess.”
“We must prevent it,” Blantyre answered. “Special Branch may never have had a more important job to do. Any help I can give, any service I can provide, I offer it to you, day or night.”
Pitt stared down at the table, shoulders hunched, all the muscles of his face and neck aching.
“Thank you.”
6
The early afternoon was sunny, but very cold, when Vespasia set out to visit Serafina again. She was not looking forward to it this time; to see Serafina in such confusion was distressing, and the very obvious fear she felt was even more difficult, as it made Vespasia feel helpless and a poor friend, unable to alleviate it.
The carriage passed through the long-familiar streets. Vespasia noticed a woman almost knocked off balance when a gust of wind caught her skirts; a hundred yards farther a man in gray held his hands up to keep his hat from being blown off. The clip of horses’ hooves rang loudly on the iron-hard stones.
Then suddenly Vespasia realized that the sound had vanished. They were slowing down, but still moving. With a chill of horror she recognized the familiar hush of sawdust in the road, and knew its meaning: They were passing the home of someone very recently dead. Except that they were not passing; they had stopped and the coachman was at the carriage door.
“My lady …” He sounded uncomfortable.
“Yes,” Vespasia knew the words he was reluctant to say. “I see what has happened. I will still go in. Please wait for me here. I do not imagine I shall be long.”
“Yes, my lady.” He held out his hand and helped her alight.
She walked over the sawdust to the footpath. The curtains were drawn. The dark blue dress she was wearing was no longer appropriate. It should have been black, but she had not known. She knocked on the door, and was about to knock again, when it was answered by Nerissa. Her face, normally stressed and a little colorless, looked completely bleached from shock, her eyes red-rimmed, the lids puffy. She drew in a breath to speak, and let it out again in a gasp. She looked on the verge of collapse.
Vespasia mastered her own feelings and took Nerissa by the arm, gently propelling her inside. She closed the door before turning to speak to her.
“I can see what has happened,” she said quietly. “I’m very sorry. It is always a shock, no matter how well one imagines one is prepared. I admit, I had not thought it would be so soon, or I would not have come so ill- prepared, and perhaps intrusively early.”
“No …” Nerissa gulped. “No, you are not intrusive in the slightest. You were so kind … to come …” She gulped again.
Vespasia felt a rush of pity for her. She was an unattractive young woman, not so much plain of feature as lacking in charm. Now she had lost perhaps the only relative she had, and even if she had inherited the house, it would do little to give her entree to desirable social circles. Certainly it would bring her no friends of true value. In her sudden new loneliness she would be even more vulnerable than before. Vespasia hoped the lover she believed Nerissa had was indeed real, and in no way in pursuit of her inheritance from Serafina.
“Perhaps a cup of tea?” Vespasia suggested. “I am sure you would benefit from a chance to sit down for a few moments. It must be a heavy burden for you. Is there anyone who will assist you in whatever needs to be done? If not, I’m sure I can recommend a suitable person, and instruct them as to your wishes, and of course Serafina’s.”
“Thank you … thank you.” Nerissa seemed to compose herself a little more. “I have barely had time to think of it. But certainly tea. Tea would be excellent. I’m so sorry I did not offer it. My good manners seem to have evaporated …”
“Not at all,” Vespasia assured her. “I daresay the kitchen is in a bit of a state. Servants need a firm hand at such times, and something to do, or they tend to go to pieces. It is all very distressing. They will be worrying about their own positions, no doubt. The sooner you can reassure them, the better able they will be to assist you.”
“Yes … I hadn’t even thought …” Nerissa very deliberately steadied herself and turned to lead the way into the morning room. It was bitterly cold, as the fire was not lit. She stopped in dismay.
“Perhaps the housekeeper’s sitting room?” Vespasia suggested. “That is very often comfortable even when all else is in disarray.”
Nerissa seemed grateful for the suggestion. Ten minutes later they were in the small but very cozy room in the servants’ quarters from which Mrs. Whiteside governed the domestic arrangements. She was a short, stout woman with a surprisingly handsome face. At the moment she was clearly very distressed, but grateful to have something useful to do. Nerissa disappeared to address the servants and Mrs. Whiteside brought Vespasia a pot of tea while she waited.
There was a brief knock on the door. Vespasia answered, expecting Mrs. Whiteside back again, but it was Tucker who came in, closing the door behind her. She looked suddenly older, as if ten years had stricken her in one night, but she stood straight, head high. She was wearing a black dress without a white apron, and was completely without adornment of any kind. Her white hair was neatly dressed as always, but her skin was so colorless it looked like wrinkled paper.
Vespasia rose to her feet and went toward her. She took Tucker’s hands in hers, something she would normally never have imagined doing to a servant of any sort.
“My dear Tucker, I am so sorry. For all the warning one has of such an event, one can never anticipate the sense of loss.”
Tucker stood rigid, overcome by her emotions. She had lost a lifetime’s companionship. She wanted to speak, but she was painfully aware that she could not do so without losing her composure. She might have come intending to say something, but now was not the time.
“Would you care for tea?” Vespasia asked, gesturing toward the tray that had been prepared for her. There was still plenty left in the pot. All it required was another cup.
Tucker swallowed. “No, thank you, my lady. I just came …” She was unable to complete the sentence.
“Then please return to your duties,” Vespasia said gently. “No doubt we shall have other opportunities to speak.”
Tucker nodded, gulped, and retreated to the door.
It was another five minutes before Nerissa came back.
“Thank you,” she said with intense feeling. “It was kind of you to come.” She sat with her hands knotted in her lap, her knuckles white. “It … it seems much easier when there is something to do.”
“Indeed,” Vespasia agreed. “I gather from what Mrs. Whiteside said that Serafina died some time during the night, and it was you who found her this morning. It must have been extremely distressing for you.”
“Yes. Yes, we were not expecting it … for weeks … even months,” Nerissa agreed.
“We? You mean you and her doctor?”
“Yes. He … I … we sent for him, of course. Mrs. Whiteside and I. He came almost straightaway. Of course there was nothing he could do. It seemed she … died … quite early in the night.” She was gasping for breath, her speech disjointed.
Vespasia looked at the young woman sitting opposite her, tense, desperately unhappy, perhaps even feeling guilty because she had not been there when her aunt had died. That was natural, but not reasonable; there was nothing at all she could have done except make it so that Serafina had not died alone. But it was also true that Serafina may have gone in her sleep, and would not have known the difference.
Nerissa was waiting for Vespasia to speak, perhaps to offer some words of comfort. The silence between them had grown heavy.
Vespasia gave a bleak smile. “The fact of death is always painful. You are not alone, nor should you feel so. I am sure the doctor assured you that there was nothing you could have done to alter things, or even to help.”
“Yes … yes, he did say that,” Nerissa agreed. “But one feels so helpless, and as if one should have known.”
