Anne Perry's Silent Nights_ Two Victorian Christmas Mysteries - Anne Perry [54]
Emily was relieved that Susannah had gone before any reply to that last remark was necessary. When she came back with a tureen of stew, and then a dish of mashed potatoes, it was easy to let the previous conversation slip.
The stew was excellent, and Emily was happy enough to enjoy it, and then the apple pie that followed. They spoke of trivialities. Emily realized that she hardly knew Susannah. Being aware of the facts of someone’s life is quite different from understanding even their opinions, let alone their dreams. Susannah was her father’s sister, and yet they were strangers sitting across a table, alone with each other, at the edge of the world. Outside the wind sighed in the eaves and rain splattered the glass.
“Tell me about the village,” Emily said, unable to let the silence extend. “It was too dark to see much on my way through.”
Susannah smiled, but there was a sharp sadness in her eyes. “I don’t know that there’s anything different about them, except that they’re my people. Their griefs matter to me.” She looked down at the table with its gleaming surface, close-grained and polished like silk. “Perhaps you’ll come to know them, and then I won’t need to explain. Hugo loved them, in the quiet way you do when something is part of your life.” She took a deep breath and looked up, forcing herself to smile. “Would you like anything more to eat?”
“No, thank you,” Emily said quickly. “I have eaten excellently. Either you or Mrs. O’Bannion is an excellent cook.”
“I am with pastry, not much else,” Susannah replied. She smiled, but she looked desperately tired. “Thank you for coming, Emily. I’m sure you would rather have spent Christmas at home. Please don’t feel it necessary to deny that. I am perfectly aware of how much I am asking of you. Still, I hope you will be comfortable here, and warm enough. There is a fire in your bedroom, and peat in the box to replenish it. It’s better not to let it go out. They can be hard to start again.” She rose to her feet slowly, as if trying to make sure she did not sway or stumble. “Now, if you will excuse me, I think I will go upstairs. Please leave everything as it is. Mrs. O’Bannion will see to it when she comes in the morning.”
Emily slept so well she barely moved in the bed, but when she woke to hear the wind gusting around the eaves she was momentarily confused as to where she was. She sat up and saw the embers of the fire before she remembered with a jolt that there was no maid to help. She had better restoke it quickly, before it died completely.
Surprisingly, when she was out of bed the air was not as chill as she had expected. When the new peat was on the fire, she opened the curtains and stared at the sight that met her eyes. The panorama was breathtaking. The sky was a turmoil of clouds, rolling in like a wild reflection of the sea below, white spume topping the waves, gray water heaving. Far to the right was a long headland of dark, jagged rocks. Below was a sandy shore with the tide high and threatening. To the left the land was softer, stretching away in alternate sand and rock until it disappeared in a belt of rain and the outlines melted into one another. It was fierce, elemental, but there was a beauty about it that no static landscape could match.
She washed in the water that had been left in an ewer beside the fire, and was quite pleasantly warm, and dressed in a morning gown of plain, dark green. Then she went downstairs to see if Susannah was awake, and if she might like any assistance.
In the kitchen she found a handsome woman in her late thirties with shining brown hair and