Ashworth Hall - Anne Perry [159]
“Of course,” Justine said quickly in a curiously flat tone. It was an acknowledgment of defeat, of a kind of little death inside. She rose to her feet and at last looked at Charlotte. “Good night,” she said to Piers with a formality which was at once absurd and yet understandable. What else was there to say? She turned and went to the door, leaving him also standing helpless, watching her go.
Charlotte followed her and closed the door behind them both. They went back along the passage to Justine’s room. Charlotte was not sure if Justine might want to be alone, but she was afraid to leave her, knowing the despair she must now feel. Without asking, she went into the room after her.
Justine was walking in a nightmare, as if unaware even where she was anymore. She walked into the corner of the bed, bruising herself against the wood and barely registering the pain. She sat down suddenly, but she was too numb to weep.
Charlotte closed the door and went over to her. There was nothing to say which would mean anything. It would be ridiculous and painful to talk about hope or even to imagine plans. There was nothing which could have been done differently or better as far as Piers was concerned, and anyway it was all past. She did not know whether Justine would find touch comforting or intrusive, but it was her instinct to reach out. She sat beside her on the bed and very gently put her arms around her.
For minutes they sat unmoving, Justine rigid, locked inside her own pain. Then at last she relaxed and leaned against Charlotte’s shoulder. The wound was no less, but she consented to share it for a space.
Charlotte had no idea how long they sat. She grew stiff and even colder except where Justine’s body kept her warm. Her arm started prickling with pins and needles. When she could bear it no longer and her muscles were beginning to jump, she spoke.
“You might try to sleep a little. I’ll stay with you if you like—or go, if you’d prefer?”
Justine turned around slowly. “How selfish of me,” she answered. “I’ve sat here as if there were no one else in the world. You must be exhausted. I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m not,” Charlotte lied. “Do you want me to stay? I can sleep here anyway.”
“Please …” Justine hesitated. “No, that’s stupid. I can’t expect you to stay with me forever. I brought this on myself.”
“We bring a lot of our griefs upon ourselves,” Charlotte said honestly. “It doesn’t make it hurt any less. Lie down and get warm. Perhaps then you’ll sleep a while.”
“Will you lie down too? Under the covers, or you’ll be frozen.”
“Yes, certainly I will.” Charlotte suited the act to the words, and Justine turned out the gas. They lay in silence. Charlotte had no idea how long it was before sleep overtook her at last.
She woke with a start to hear knocking on the door. It took her a moment to remember that the person beside her was not Pitt, but Justine, and then to remember why.
She slid out of bed. She was still wearing her robe. She had climbed into bed without bothering to remove it. She made her way over to the door gingerly, feeling where she went in the dark. She opened it and saw Piers standing in the passage, the gaslight yellow behind him. There was no hint of daylight yet from the windows of the landing beyond. He looked haggard, as though he had been pacing all night, but his gaze met hers directly, without flinching.
“Come in,” she whispered, standing aside for him.
Justine sat up slowly, reaching for the candle. She lit it, and Charlotte closed the door.
Piers walked over to the bed and sat on it facing Justine, Charlotte temporarily forgotten.
“You know at first I thought it might have been Mama,” he said with a crooked, painful smile. “She would have had as good a reason. Or Doll Evans; I think she had an even better one. Poor Doll.”
Justine stared at him, searching his eyes, last night